From the cold Canadian border, the US1 runs along the east coast with patience.
Throughout its 2,369 miles, it braces itself in the northern winters, sighs with pride in Richmond. It falls west in the Carolinas, to stroke the great smoky mountains with loving eyes. And it’s south, still south, through the marshes and plantations of Georgia.
Not the fastest way, sure, but if you have time to drive it all the way down, you might find yourself lost in on of the coastal towns that dot the US1 like little jewels. Maybe that town’s name is Crescent Creek. God knows if I stumbled upon it by chance.
Crescent Creek is a lot like my own town–sandy, hot, with a lot of blue coming from the uncluttered sky and the ocean.
How did I find out about it?
Well, it was thanks to a (hopefully) common friend you and I have, Erik Axelsson.
I met him when I wrote his and Andrea’s story, She Came With The Tide. At some point, he told me that when he had enough of his rock & roll lifestyle, the only place he could think of settling down was the town he was born in, Crescent Creek. He was Erik there, not Ax. Nobody actually cared too much about Ax. Plus, the whole town was very protective of him, and made the transition from stardom to normality easier.
Thanks to him I met Charlotte O’Brien, Sheriff Charlie. And that’s pretty much how it started. I paid some visits to the town, met too many interesting people to just pass the opportunity to write their stories.
The May family, the owners of May’s Bakery; Eva, the fearless reporter for the Crescent Creek News; the Beckett brothers. Scott Beckett, owner of the restaurant Scott’s, told me his story–well, his and DJ’s. I started writing it. Thinking about all the others, too.
See, the point is, that while I get to know so many new people, if I stay in Crescent Creek I get to catch glimpses of friends I already know. I can have actual updates on how their lives are going after that happily ever after. Which is why I’ll spend some good time in here.
I hope you’ll stay with me, us, for a while.
Welcome to Crescent Creek!
Erik and Andrea’s is the first story in The Crescent Creek’s Tales.
He’s impulsive, fearless, and fun loving.
Erik Axelsson, Ax, had it all: talent, fame, money. He’d lived the rock & roll life fully and with gusto until it wasn’t fun anymore. Without a second thought, he’d traded the spotlight with the Floridian sun, and the guitar with a surfboard. Young, rich, and free from anything - what more he could need?
She’s innocent, scared, and in trouble.
Andrea Smith escaped the life imposed to her when her parents joined a cult. After years on the run, hunger pushed her to accept a stranger’s offer for breakfast. She had no clue her life changed with that simple ‘yes’.
But the past catches up with her, forcing Andrea to choose what person she wants to be: the scared cult member that obeyed in silence, or the new woman Erik made blossom.
She had no clue her life changed with that simple ‘yes’
Erik brushed his palm on his prickling shoulders as the angry sun hit, leaving only salt where ocean drops had been a few minutes before. He revered in that roasting pleasure, in the blues of the sky and water surrounding him. Entertained by his unplanned guest, he pulled his dripping hair into a messy bun.
It had been a good day for surfing, with waves still crashing on the shoreline. The rumble must have hidden the croaky zip of the tent’s zipper because when he looked down at the entrance, he found two huge brown eyes staring at him.
The echo of lifetimes ago, distant, feeble, poked at him. The feeling dwelling into his heart after his parents had died, now lingered on her delicate features. Fear.
The girl took a breath, clenched her teeth and crawled out. She rose on all of her five feet five or so. “Who–” she cleared her throat. “Who are you?”
Wasn’t that a question he wasn’t used to? Everybody knew Ax and the Hurricanes. He’d spent ten years of his life on everybody’s mouth, eyes and above all, ears. Newspapers. TV. Concerts. Surprise for the question shadowed the male appreciation of the woman in front of him. For now. He’ll so be back at that.
“I think the question is, who are you?” he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well, camper, your tent is on my property, in case you missed that,” he said pointing at the Private Property notice on the berm not far from her den. He had to invest some money into a proper sign, he thought when he eyed the rusty, barely visible sign. “My house’s back there, anyway.”
She turned around, took those details in. “Oh.”
Erik used that time to make some math. A girl, alone, in an old tent. The black bag he’d peeked to with clothes in it. That look in her eyes. He sighed. “You hungry?”
He took his surfboard and turned to go. “What?” he asked when she didn’t move.
“I–I don’t know you.”
Yeah, okay, back to that. She either had lived on the moon for the past fifteen years or was bullshitting him. He would give her the benefit of the doubt because she was hot, and keep Sheriff Charlie on speed dial for a while. He turned around. “I’m Erik Axelsson.”
He waited for his name to dawn on her. Nothing. Seriously?
“I’m Andrea Smith.”
“All right, Andrea Smith. I’m hungry, covered in sand, and the sun is cooking my brain. I’m going in, you do as you please.”
Our Rock Stars are going FREE on the 22nd and 23rd of April, so write a note on you calendar!
On my website and blog www.viviana-mackade.com