Off the Shelf - Fiction

“I thought I belonged up here,” she whispered. “But now I see I belong in the in-between.

The moment her fingers met his, the rooftop fell away in a swirl of stars and wind. Her shawl fluttered like wings, and her skirts rippled,.

Margaret Abernathy found the journal six months after Robert died....Then a name appeared that she’d never heard before.

A gentle breeze was blowing outside, and the open window caused the wind to rustle her curtains.

With curiosity, she lifted the bouquet. The scent of lavender transported her instantly back fifteen years to summers at her grandmother’s cottage in Provo Canyon, to herb gardens and flower presses, and to Matt.