An Excerpt From "Timeless Sojourn"

Here is an excerpt from my upcoming romance, Timeless Sojourn.




Tuesday came and I started making the rounds of some of the possible locations Tom had picked out. The first stop was in the downtown historic section of Seattle. I saw a coffee shop and ordered a large cup to go, walking over to a small park I’d spotted. The park was pretty empty as was most of this area during the week. Except for the art college students, tourists would be scarce until the weekend. As I was taking in my surroundings I noticed a building in the process of renovation. It was obvious it wasn’t a residence but a store front.

Grabbing my coffee and camera I walk in the direction of the sound of hammers, drills and saws. The building was typical of the area, early twentieth century, brick exterior. Standing in the middle of one of the spaces in the middle of the renovation I could see a small office there. The raw brick wall gave the room a sense of old world ambience. I pulled out my camera to take some photos when I heard a male voice speaking to me pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Are you interested in renting space here?”

“No, I don’t think so. I was more intrigued by the building and renovation,” I replied. I looked up to see a man with dark brown, almost black hair that contrasted well against his tan. The man obviously spent a good deal of time outdoors. His sapphire blue eyes followed me with great interest.

“Well that’s good. I don’t think your business would fit in here.”

He extended his hand as I was trying to decide what his cockiness implied, if anything. How did he know what my business was? I also detect a strong Irish accent.

“Geoffrey Quinn,” he said.

“Anne. Anne Harrison,” I replied. Strangely I didn’t want him to take his hand away.

“So Anne Harrison, are you an architect or perhaps a designer?” he asked letting go of my hand.

I tried to ignore his question, trying to figure this strange man out. “No, I’m neither. I just have a long time interest in old architecture.” I decide to pop in a question on him. “Why are you interested in this space Mr. Quinn?”

“Well, for starters, you can call me Geoff. As for my interest in this space, well I am a sculptor and I also do pottery. Lastly, I own the building Ms. Harrison.”

“An artist?” I replied. “Somehow you struck me more of the seafaring type.”

“Ah, do I detect a distaste for artists in your voice?”

“No, not at all, I merely meant you don’t fit my preconceived vision of what an artist should look like. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m a sculptor, not a ‘I think I can paint, let me sell my work’ type of artist. Big difference.”

The brash cockiness was becoming more apparent the longer we talked. “Time to go Anne,” I thought.

“Mr. Quinn, Geoff. It was nice to meet you. I’m sure you’ll do well here. I guess I’ll see you around.” I turned and crossed the street.