Dillon Largo: A Widow's Reckoning — An Opening Teaser and a Note to Readers

A first look at my Novel November 2026 dystopian Western mystery—and a few thoughts about the literary choices behind its opening scene.

By Timothy R. Berman | Mystique Noir Scribbler

A Note to Readers: Mature Themes and the Nature of the Story

Reader advisory: This work-in-progress excerpt is written for mature audiences. It includes strong language, an intimate situation with implied nudity, threats of violence, and a sudden shooting. The scene is presented as part of an adult Western mystery, not as explicit erotica.

Dillon Largo: A Widow's Reckoning is an adult-oriented work of fiction combining gritty frontier adventure, detective noir, dystopian worldbuilding, and complicated relationships. The story explores grief, loyalty, love, corrupt authority, and the personal consequences of violence. Some scenes may contain coarse language, sensual situations, and disturbing events consistent with those themes.

I'm sharing selected material from an evolving first draft, not a completed or professionally edited edition. Dialogue, pacing, and descriptive choices may change as I revise. I want readers to experience the story's atmosphere and characters while also seeing something of the craft and decision-making behind the manuscript.

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Exclusive Opening Teaser — First-Draft Excerpt

The story begins with a moment from later in Dillon and Amara's journey. The circumstances that bring them together—and the danger that follows—will unfold in the chapters ahead.

Dillon Largo did not hesitate

His hands shot toward the twin .38-caliber, long-barreled, single-action cavalry revolvers resting in their holsters; draped over the arm of a wooden chair he had deliberately positioned beside the bed. The sudden movement sent him tumbling from the mattress. He struck the rough wooden floorboards hard, his left shoulder taking the brunt of the fall before his knees slammed against the planks with a heavy thud. Pain shot through his arm and down his spine. He winced, clenched his jaw, and swallowed hard the curse rising in his throat. With a practiced roll, he brought himself onto one knee, both revolvers drawn, their long barrels trained and ready to vomit their death sentence.

The door had exploded inward only moments earlier, splintering against the wall with a thunderous crack. Framed in the doorway stood a lean, swarthy man whose gaunt face was covered in uneven stubble. A long hunting knife rested comfortably in his grip, its slightly curved blade catching the dingy yellow glow of the lanterns. He held it with the unmistakable familiarity of someone who knew precisely how to use it. His narrow eyes swept the room before settling on the woman lying beneath rumpled covers.

Amara Blackthorne watched the intruder approach without so much as a flinch. He crossed the room with deliberate quick strides and stopped beside the bed, looming over her with the curved knife poised to plunge into her torso. Across the room, Dillon steadied both revolvers, his breathing controlled despite the pulsing ache spreading through his shoulder. The man seemed quite oblivious to the twin barrels trained upon him.

Amara offered the intruder a sheepish smile.

“Do it mister, an’ you die.”

She shifted beneath the comforter, pushing herself upright against the headboard. Her reddish-orange hair spilled across her smooth, sun-bronzed shoulders as the covers slipped down, exposing her bare breasts. She made no effort to conceal herself. Instead, she regarded the knife-wielding stranger with an almost irritating degree of amusement, as though his sudden intrusion were little more than an unwelcome interruption.

For a moment, the skinny intruder hesitated.

Amara’s smile disappeared. The playful warmth drained from her expression, and when she spoke again, her voice had become cold, flat, and utterly devoid of emotion.

“I wasn’t making any suggestions.”

She gave a slight nod, her eyes shifting almost imperceptibly toward the far side of the room. Dillon remained motionless, one knee planted against the wooden floorboards, pain subsiding like a noon-day sun hangover, his revolvers held steady. Then came two unmistakable metallic clicks as he thumbed back the hammers.

The intruder stiffened for a moment.

He turned his head and found himself staring into the dark mouths of Dillon Largo’s twin cavalry revolvers. For one suspended moment, the room fell into an unnatural and awkward silence. The lantern flames flickered against the walls, throwing restless shadows across the man’s gaunt features. His grip tightened around the hunting knife, but his attention had shifted away from the woman lying in bed.

It was the opening Amara needed.

Her hand moved toward the revolver hanging in its holster from the headboard post. By the time the intruder realized his mistake and began turning back toward her, she had already drawn the heavy weapon. Her thumb pulled the hammer back with a sharp metallic click, and the barrel rose to meet him.

Amara Blackthorne's expression never changed.

She squeezed the trigger.

The room exploded with the deafening roar of her hand cannon. The bullet struck true, tearing through the intruder and sending a crimson spray against the wall behind him. He staggered backward, his heels scraping across the wooden floorboards before his shoulders collided with the wall.

For a moment, he remained upright, his eyes wide with disbelief. The hunting knife slipped from his fingers, striking the floor with a hollow clatter. His mouth opened as though he meant to speak, but no words came. Only a ragged breath escaped his lips.

He lurched forward, his expression frozen in a ghostly mask of shock, as if death itself had caught him entirely by surprise.

His knees buckled, causing him to collapse heavily onto the floorboards and lie motionless.

"Well, shit. Now we've got blood on the floor."

Dillon slowly lowered his revolvers.

"You always shoot a man before breakfast?"

Amara glanced toward the body, then back at him.

"Only the ones who interrupt it."

---

Behind the Teaser: Why Open the Novel This Way?

Beginning Near the Climax

There is a familiar pleasure in opening a Western with trouble. A rider arrives unexpectedly. A stranger steps into a saloon. A pistol clears leather before anyone has time to ask questions. With A Widow's Reckoning, I've chosen a different entrance: a moment of private intimacy is shattered when a knife-wielding intruder enters the room. The scene happens later in the story, but I'm allowing readers to encounter it first.

Technically, this is a flash-forward, sometimes described as a prolepsis. It introduces consequences before causes. Who are these two people to each other? Why are they being hunted? Why does the attacker appear to underestimate the woman he threatens? The larger narrative will supply those answers, but the opening asks readers to carry the questions with them.

Dillon Largo and Amara Blackthorne

Dillon is an experienced Pacific Northwest Territory Ranger: a capable gunfighter, a man with a taste for whiskey and flirtation, and someone whose private promises don't always receive the same discipline as his professional duties. Amara Blackthorne is a fiercely independent woman with a notorious past, sharp humor, and considerable skill with a revolver. She is not introduced merely to be rescued, nor is Dillon meant to be an invulnerable hero.

There is a history between them that the opening deliberately leaves unexplained. They once stood on opposite sides of the law, and the novel begins its main chronology with Amara searching for her missing husband, Harrison Solomon. I want their relationship to develop through disagreement, trust, danger, and mutual recognition, not simply through physical attraction. That is one reason the teaser's apparent simplicity is deceptive.

Intimacy Interrupted by Violence

The teaser brings together two experiences that rarely coexist comfortably: the vulnerability of private affection and the brutal intrusion of frontier violence. At first glance, the scene may seem like a familiar adult-Western encounter abruptly interrupted by gunplay. Its significance is meant to change as readers learn more about the characters and what they have endured.

I'm interested in the contrast between Dillon's reputation and his capacity for genuine commitment, just as I'm interested in Amara's ability to remain dangerous without sacrificing her emotional depth. When the intruder threatens her, the scene refuses the assumption that the woman in the room is the least capable person there. The danger is real, but so is the dark irony of an attacker badly misjudging his intended victim.

The Western, Detective Noir, and a Reclaimed Pacific Northwest

This story draws on the brisk pace, colorful characters, rough humor, and mature relationships of classic adult Western adventure. Alongside those traditions, I am developing a detective mystery involving a missing man, disputed land, uneasy law enforcement, and interests powerful enough to influence the fate of entire communities. The noir influence lies not merely in shadows and gunfire, but in unanswered questions and the uncomfortable distance between what is lawful and what is right.

The setting is a future Pacific Northwest Territory built among the remains of modern Washington. Cracked highways give way to grass and pasture, abandoned industrial corridors sit beside working farms, and horseback travel coexists with salvaged machinery and emerging steam-powered transport. I want readers to smell the wet timber and engine oil, hear hooves against broken asphalt, and recognize a landscape that is both familiar and profoundly changed.

What I Hope Readers Notice

Beyond the confrontation itself, pay attention to how quickly the balance of power shifts. Notice the difference between what Dillon expects to happen and what Amara is prepared to do. Above all, notice the information that has been withheld. The opening doesn't ask readers to understand the full relationship yet. It asks them to wonder what kind of story could bring these particular people to this particular moment.

That's the promise of the teaser: not merely that danger lies ahead, but that the same scene will carry a different emotional weight when the novel eventually returns to it. The story leading there is about the investigation into Harrison Solomon's disappearance, the price of justice, and what two complicated people discover about each other along the way.

Follow the Novel November Writing Journey

I'm drafting Dillon Largo: A Widow's Reckoning as part of Novel November 2026, with progress tracked through ProWritingAid. I'll continue posting selected excerpts, character profiles, writing updates, and reflections on the mechanics of storytelling. This is an invitation to follow the making of a novel—not a promise that every draft scene will appear unchanged in the finished book.

Thank you for reading and for supporting my work. You can follow new installments and writing updates here at Mystique Noir Scribbler.

Timothy R. Berman
Author | Mystique Noir Scribbler

Behind the Reckoning: Inside the First Five Chapters of Dillon Largo | Novel November 2026

Mystique Noir Scribbler · Novel November 2026 · From the writing desk

Dillon Largo: A Widow's Reckoning

Inside the first five chapters: a woman with a past, a missing husband, and a Territory Ranger who keeps finding himself on the wrong side of trouble.

There's a peculiar thing about writing a Western. You can put a man in a battered hat, strap two revolvers to his hips, and send him down a dusty road, but none of that tells the reader what kind of man he is. That part comes when he's late for work, when somebody asks for help, or when a woman he's spent years trying to catch sits across from him and says her husband has gone missing.

That's where I find myself with Dillon Largo: A Widow's Reckoning, my Novel November work in progress. I'm writing a gritty adult Western in the spirit of the fast-moving paperback adventures I enjoy, with some detective noir beneath the surface and a dystopian, steampunk-flavored Pacific Northwest surrounding it all. The action can move fast. The truth ought to take longer to find. And the characters, if I'm doing my job, won't reveal themselves all at once.

Rather than post entire first-draft chapters, I thought I'd invite readers behind the manuscript for a look at selected passages and the decisions I'm making as the story develops. These excerpts are from a working draft. The wording, scenes, and even the order of events may change before publication.

Reader's note: These excerpts introduce the central mystery and include a significant development from Chapter Five. They do not reveal who is responsible or how the mystery ends.

Chapter One · The Ranger before the case

A morning Dillon would rather not leave

“Where you running off to sweetheart?” A small voice came from beneath the covers.

“Work, luv. I got to go,” Largo replied.

“But, Dillon, aren’t you gonna give me another roll between the sheets? Please? I do really like a good sweating morning roll.”

“Can’t do it, Angel, much as I’d like to watch you ride me this morning, I got t’ go to work.”

Behind the scene: Character through interruption

I didn't want Dillon's introduction to read like a formal dossier about a seasoned Ranger. I wanted to meet him before he'd had his coffee, before he'd managed a shave, and before he was quite ready to face another day. His interaction with Angel—his affectionate nickname for the blonde woman in his room—lets his humor and appetites show without pretending he's some faultless frontier hero.

The literary mechanic is contrast. The opening teaser already shows Dillon under threat, with both revolvers drawn. Chapter One moves backward into an ordinary morning and gives the reader a different view of him. The sensual banter isn't meant to become the whole story; it establishes affection, temptation, and a promise that his work may interfere with. His habit of making promises is something I'm interested in exploring as the manuscript develops.

Chapter Two · The chance encounter

A woman at the Rangers' office

“It’s missus, not ma’am, not miss. And that is the problem.” She turned away for a moment. “My husband went missing bout a week or so ago and no one seems able to help me in finding out where he off and went to.”

“Come on,” he offered his arm after settling the hat back onto his head and guided her back down the steps he had just climbed up. “I know where we can get some coffee and maybe a late breakfast.”

Behind the scene: The inciting incident doesn't need gunfire

Dillon's next trouble begins with a conversation outside the Rangers' office on State Avenue in New Marysville. The woman has already been dismissed by local lawmen. He notices her distress and offers her something modest: a place to sit, a meal, and a chance to talk. I like that he begins helping before he understands what he's stepping into.

The literary mechanic is delayed identification. At first, the woman is simply an aggrieved wife with a missing husband. Readers who have seen the teaser may recognize where this is heading, but Dillon doesn't yet have the whole picture. The question moves from Who is she? to What happened to her husband? without a sudden dump of background information.

Chapter Three · The past comes to breakfast

Amara Blackthorne has a name Dillon remembers

“I’m Amara Blackthorne.” She drew her tongue along her lips for a moment. The name settled over Dillon with quite a recognition.

“I’ve heard of you,” he feigned a smile. At one time, he had been commissioned to find her. Those wanted posters never did her justice. Yet, here she was, all those years, sitting right across from him.

“And what exactly have you heard,” She smiled from the corner of her lips.

Behind the scene: Reversing the hunter and the hunted

The Rustic Ranch Café gives these two a chance to size one another up. Dillon knows the name from wanted posters and old pursuits. Amara knows more about Dillon than he realizes—including an occasion when she helped him while he was wounded. In the same conversation, she speaks of Harrison Solomon, the rancher she married and the man she now fears she has lost.

The literary mechanic is a reversal of power and expectation. The Ranger once chased the outlaw. Now the outlaw needs the Ranger, and she's the one who remembers a moment from his past that he barely understands. Underneath their teasing is a noir question I want to keep alive: how much of what Dillon once believed about her was ever true? Amara's feelings for Harrison also prevent the banter from becoming a simple romance. Her reason for being there is grief and uncertainty, not the pursuit of another man.

Chapter Four · The law and its blind spots

Three deputies, too little interest

“Near’s we figured - he’d run off. What is there to investigate” It was the pudgy sheriff that spoke up.

“Nears you’s figured huh?” Largo shot back. “Well, tell you what fellas, I’ll take on this since the three of ya’all too lazy to do something here.”

“Now wait a minute Ranger, no one here’s lazy.”

Behind the scene: Conflict inside the institution

By Chapter Four, Dillon has had enough of the deputies' dismissal of Amara's report. The confrontation takes place in the Rangers' office, where everyone ought to be interested in what happened to Harrison. Instead, the conversation reveals contempt, indifference, and a troubling lack of investigation. The proposed railroad and the disputed land begin moving from background details into the center of the case.

The literary mechanic is friction between authority and justice. A badge gives a man power, but it doesn't automatically give him good judgment. The deputies may be lazy, compromised, frightened, or merely convinced of a foolish explanation. I don't want readers to know too soon. In detective noir, the question isn't only what happened to the missing man. It's also who benefits when nobody asks questions.

Chapter Five · The road north

What waits beyond New Marysville

Both smelled the odd scent of fire carried on the breeze.

She already brought her mount to a slow trot and Dillon slowed before stopping next to her. Smoke rose on the horizon.

“Hell fucking no!”

Within several minutes, she tore down the path leading to the home engulfed in flames. Dillon took notice of the wooden plaque hanging above; SOLOMON’S RANCH AND FARM.

Behind the scene: The landscape becomes evidence

The ride toward Arlington is where I can bring more of the ruined Pacific Northwest onto the page. Old asphalt gives way to soil and overgrowth; industrial parks have become scattered farms; remnants of the previous civilization stand among cattle, crops, and new lives built out of what survived. It's a place I want readers to recognize and yet find unfamiliar.

The literary mechanic is a tonal turn. Dillon and Amara have been trading remarks and unexpectedly racing their horses. The smell of smoke ends that freedom before either can explain it. The reader discovers the danger through the riders' senses: the bitter air, the distant smoke, the change in the horses, then the flames. Amara's grief matters more here than an immediate explanation of the fire. Dillon can begin asking investigative questions afterward. For now, he can only stand beside her while the life she built with Harrison burns.

The larger design · Adult Western meets frontier noir

What kind of novel am I writing?

I'm drawn to the old adult Western paperback tradition because it understands momentum. A character steps into trouble, people speak plainly, and consequences arrive fast. I'm also drawn to detective noir because it refuses to make every answer easy. A witness may omit something important. A good intention may cause damage. A lawman may find that his badge gives him less control than he thought.

The dystopian steampunk element isn't meant to be decoration pasted over an ordinary Western. The repaired equipment, steam-driven industry, rebuilt towns, proposed railroad, and land claims belong to the world Dillon inhabits. The past survives in broken roads and rusting structures; the present survives through labor, improvisation, and people determined to build something on the ruins.

Then there is the slow burn. Dillon is quick with a remark and not blind to a beautiful woman. Amara can match him without giving an inch. But she's also a wife searching for Harrison. Whatever happens between these characters must grow from who they are and what they endure, rather than from attraction alone. That tension is part of the story, not a substitute for the mystery.

From the writing desk

At the time of this Novel November update, my ProWritingAid challenge tracker shows 14,450 words toward a 50,000-word goal, with the Starter, 1667, 5K, 10K, and First Steps badges earned. These are first-draft milestones, not a claim that the manuscript is finished or edited. I will share further developments as the story progresses.

Follow the Reckoning

If you're following Dillon Largo: A Widow's Reckoning, you're seeing a novel take shape while the choices are still being made. Scenes may be expanded, lines may change, and characters may prove more complicated than I first expected. I'll continue sharing selected excerpts, writing milestones, character notes, and a look at the craft behind the chapters—without posting the complete manuscript or giving the mystery away.

Subscribe to Mystique Noir Scribbler through the follow form on this site, and feel free to leave a comment. I'd be interested to know which thread draws you in first: Amara's old wanted posters, Harrison's disappearance, the railroad dispute, or the uneasy history between the Ranger and the woman he once pursued.

— Timothy R. Berman

Selected excerpts from an unpublished, evolving first draft · Novel November 2026

Novel November 2026: Dillon Largo — A Widow's Reckoning | Writing Progress, Story & Characters

Mystique Noir Scribbler · Novel November 2026

Dillon Largo: A Widow's Reckoning

A Novel November 2026 writing update: a gritty adult dystopian Western mystery where frontier justice, detective noir, and the ruins of the old world collide.

They murdered her husband. Now they've made the mistake of coming for his widow.

From My Writing Desk

Novel November has me back in the saddle with Dillon Largo, a Territory Ranger who has never been particularly good at staying out of trouble. This is a new manuscript, A Widow’s Reckoning, set among the reclaimed farmland, ruined industrial settlements, and uncertain frontier laws of the Pacific Northwest Territory. I’m bringing together the grit and irreverence of an adult Western, the slow-building suspicion of detective noir, and a dystopian world where old roads and new railroads are changing the landscape.

Rather than post the entire first draft, I’m opening up my writing journal so readers can follow the progress, meet the characters, and see selected glimpses behind the story. These are working pages, and there is still plenty of trail ahead before the manuscript becomes a finished novel.

The Writing Trail

Official tracker: ProWritingAid's Novel November challenge. Figures below are manually updated from the author's dashboard. Last updated: November 2, 2026.

14,450Words drafted

50,000November goal

28.9%Goal completed

14,450 of 50,000 words35,550 words remaining

Current draft: Chapter Five underway. This is a working manuscript: scenes, chapter order, and story details may change during revision.

Milestones Earned

These are the five badges I have earned so far in the ProWritingAid Novel November challenge. The badges below are styled labels; my actual badge screenshot can be included beneath them.

✒The Starter

✦1667

★5K

★10K

✒First Steps

Next word-count milestone: 15,000 words. Earned badges and progress will be updated as the manuscript grows.

About the Novel

DILLON
LARGO

A WIDOW'S
RECKONING

TIMOTHY R. BERMAN

The Story

In the fractured Pacific Northwest Territory, civilization survives among the ruins of the old world. Farms and settlements have reclaimed abandoned industrial lands, Territory Rangers walk a difficult line between law and violence, and the promise of a new railroad threatens to redraw more than the map.

Dillon Largo, a weathered Ranger with twin cavalry revolvers and a troublesome reputation, encounters Amara Blackthorne outside his office in New Marysville. Her husband, Harrison Solomon, has been missing for days. The local deputies have dismissed her concerns, but Dillon recognizes the woman beneath the respectable dress: a notorious former fugitive he once spent years pursuing.

As old accusations resurface and questions about Harrison's land dealings begin to mount, Dillon discovers that Amara knows more about his own past than he ever suspected. Their search leads north through the Territory toward Solomon's Ranch and Farm—where new danger threatens what remains of the life Amara built with her husband.

Part Western mystery, part dystopian frontier noir, A Widow's Reckoning explores justice and vengeance, the cost of a reputation, and what happens when yesterday's enemies must trust one another.

The People of the Territory

Dillon Largo

Pacific Northwest Territory Ranger · Investigator

Five feet nine, broad-shouldered, with long dark hair streaked silver and gray, a thick mustache, weathered boots, and twin .38-caliber cavalry revolvers. An experienced outlaw-hunter with an irreverent tongue, a practiced eye for trouble, and a habit of making promises life won't let him keep. Years ago, he was tasked with finding Amara Blackthorne. Now he's helping her.

Amara Blackthorne

Former fugitive · Gunslinger · Harrison's wife

Reddish-orange curls, green-hazel eyes, and a dangerous confidence that can turn into unnerving composure without warning. Amara is quick with a hand cannon and quicker with an insult. She insists that the charges against her were manufactured for bounty money. Beneath her formidable reputation is a woman determined to learn what happened to the husband she loves.

Harrison Solomon

Missing rancher · Husband of Amara

A hardworking, stalwart rancher who gave Amara a place to belong after years spent on the run. Shortly before disappearing, Harrison became troubled by a matter involving his land. What he discovered—and where he went—remain unanswered questions at the heart of the investigation.

“Angel”

A woman in Dillon's personal life · Nickname

Blonde, blue-eyed, warm, playful, and outspoken, with a Southern drawl and a lively sense of humor. She and Dillon share an intimate connection. He promises to return to her, but his decision to help Amara threatens to complicate yet another promise. Her real name has not yet been revealed.

Marebelle & Blackbear

Proprietors · The Rustic Ranch Café

Marebelle's gruff humor and sharp observations make her one of the few people who can embarrass Dillon without trying. Blackbear, her imposing husband, runs the kitchen. Both carry scars from earlier Gadianton violence, giving their café roots in the Territory's difficult history.

The County Deputies

Orville P. Haskins · Silas Rusk · Clayton Voss

Three newly arrived deputies whose indifference to Harrison's disappearance draws Dillon's anger. Haskins is dismissive and overbearing; Rusk is thin, watchful, and fond of his hunting knife; Voss appears perpetually exhausted. Their connection, if any, to the railroad dispute remains an open question.

Also in the developing story: Jebidiah and Daniel, whose reported involvement with railroad business may become relevant as Dillon follows the trail. Character details are subject to revision.

From the Writing Desk

“They murdered her husband. Now they've made the mistake of coming for his widow.”

Behind the scenes: What begins as a missing-husband investigation brings Dillon face-to-face with a woman whose wanted posters he remembers better than her face. A railroad, a dispute over land, and a burning homestead are making the mystery deeper with every chapter.

Coming to the journal: selected manuscript excerpts, newly earned writing badges, character spotlights, and updates on the path from rough draft to finished novel. Full chapters and major twists will be held back for the finished book.

To follow new updates, use the follow.it subscription form on this blog. Find future posts under the Dillon Largo Writing Journal label. I’ll share fresh word counts, earned badges, and occasional excerpts in new dated posts rather than quietly replacing this November 2 milestone.

© 2026 Timothy R. Berman · Mystique Noir Scribbler · First-draft project updates

Novel November 2026: Two Worlds, Two Manuscripts, and the Stories Demanding to Be Told

November has arrived, and for me it brings more than falling leaves, shorter days, and another turn of the calendar. It brings an invitation to sit down with the unfinished pages, revisit the characters who have taken up residence in my imagination, and give their stories the attention they deserve. I am calling this season of writing Novel November. My goal is not to pretend that a manuscript can be rushed into greatness in thirty days, but to approach the work with consistency, curiosity, and a willingness to discover what happens when an idea finally finds its way onto the page.

This year I am working on two very different first drafts. One steps through the boundaries of our familiar world into a fractured kingdom where love, choice, and covenant carry consequences far beyond a single family. The other rides into a broken future of the Pacific Northwest, where a territorial ranger must navigate the dangerous intersection of frontier justice, machinery, secrets, and human nature. Both stories are distinctly different in atmosphere and genre, yet each returns to questions that have followed me throughout my writing: What remains when the familiar world falls apart? What does loyalty demand? And what happens when people must choose who they will become?

The Kingdom Between Us: Flipping the Script on Romantasy

A portal fantasy built around the Oathfire Covenant

The Kingdom Between Us is the opening novel of The Oathfire Saga, an adult dark romantasy and epic portal-fantasy series. But I am approaching the romantasy genre from a different direction. Rather than beginning with strangers drawn together by irresistible attraction, I am beginning with a marriage already fractured, a family on the verge of separation, and a daughter caught between the two people she loves most. The central question is not simply whether two people will fall in love. It is whether love, once wounded and nearly abandoned, can be freely chosen again.

The story opens in Snohomish, Washington, where Marcus Aruellis Duponte and Rachael Esther Graham Duponte are navigating the painful consequences of a broken relationship. Their thirteen-year-old daughter, Genevieve Rose Duponte, becomes the unexpected center of events none of them could have imagined. When Genevieve crosses the Veil into Vaelthorne, a realm marked by a fractured crown, scattered houses, ancient witnesses, dragons, and contested loyalties, her disappearance forces Marcus and Rachael toward a world whose history is inseparable from their own. What begins as a desperate search for their daughter gradually opens into something larger than a rescue mission.

At the heart of this world is the Oathfire Covenant. In Vaelthorne, covenant is not a convenient fantasy word for destiny, nor is it a magical excuse to strip characters of their agency. I want to explore the difference between a promise freely made and a loyalty coerced, between love that protects and love that possesses, between inherited identity and an identity consciously embraced. Bloodlines, prophecy, political power, and ancient obligations may create the circumstances in which my characters must act, but they do not excuse those characters from making difficult choices. The Oathfire is bound up with that moral tension, and it shapes the kind of romance I want to tell.

A kingdom that mirrors a broken family

There is another layer to the title The Kingdom Between Us. Vaelthorne is a kingdom divided by history, suspicion, competing claims, and the wounds left by broken oaths. Marcus and Rachael stand inside a division of their own. I am interested in the way those two fractures reflect one another, not as a neat allegory that resolves every personal difficulty through a battle or prophecy, but as a living conflict in which repairing what is broken demands humility, accountability, and freedom. Genevieve's place in that unfolding story matters deeply, yet she is not simply a prize to be recovered or a symbol for her parents to argue over. She has a voice, a will, and a future of her own.

I love the imaginative scale of fantasy: ancient orders, mythic creatures, perilous crossings, ruined powers, and the sense that the visible world is only a narrow portion of a much greater reality. I also want the extraordinary to sharpen rather than replace the ordinary human stakes. A dragon can be magnificent, a lost kingdom can be breathtaking, and a prophecy can change the course of nations. None of those things automatically heals the damage people do to one another. That requires something much more difficult, which is why this novel is as concerned with covenantal love and personal responsibility as it is with the wonders beyond the Veil.

Dillon Largo: Widow's Reckoning — A Frontier Mystery in a Broken Future

Dystopian Western meets steampunk and mystery

My second manuscript, Dillon Largo: Widow's Reckoning, takes an entirely different road. This is a dystopian, steampunk-inflected Western mystery set against a reimagined Pacific Northwest frontier. I am drawing upon the grit of Western fiction, the tensions of a society living amid the consequences of collapse, the atmosphere of mechanical ingenuity, and the slow-burning questions that make a mystery worth following. It is not a nostalgic return to a simpler past. It is a story set in a future where the old world has broken apart and people have built new systems of power, survival, and justice from what remains.

Dillon Largo is a territorial ranger, and I find myself drawn to the contradiction he embodies. He may not look like the towering, polished hero one might expect from a frontier legend. He is a weathered man whose boots tell stories, whose equipment bears the evidence of careful maintenance, and whose presence owes more to experience than spectacle. He operates within the Snohomish County Territory of the Pacific Northwest, including New Marysville, a place whose familiar geography becomes something stranger when viewed through the lens of a dystopian future. For me, setting is never merely a backdrop. Streets, buildings, weather, local history, and the way people inhabit a place all help determine what sort of story can happen there.

The title Widow's Reckoning suggests that someone has an account to settle, but a mystery ought to earn its answers rather than announce them too soon. I want the reader to feel the uncertainty of a frontier where testimony can be unreliable, authority can be compromised, and justice is not always synonymous with the law. The steampunk elements provide a texture of technology and improvisation, while the Western tradition supplies its questions of courage, violence, reputation, and responsibility. The mystery gives those elements direction. Dillon must move through this world as a human being with limitations, not as a convenient instrument for delivering an effortless resolution.

Why the Pacific Northwest belongs in this story

I have long been fascinated with what happens when the landscapes we know are transformed by imagination. In a conventional Western, the frontier often unfolds beneath broad skies and across deserts, prairies, or mountain passes. My frontier carries the memory of western Washington: rain, timber, worn roads, communities shaped by difficult choices, and the uneasy meeting of wilderness and civilization. By taking a recognizable region and allowing its political and social structures to evolve into something unfamiliar, I can build a setting that feels both invented and strangely close to home. In Widow's Reckoning, that tension between the recognizable and the altered is part of the storytelling itself.

Where the Manuscripts Stand at the Beginning of November

As November begins, I am not starting these stories from a blank page. The prologue and first two chapters of The Kingdom Between Us are completed in draft form. I have also drafted the first three chapters of Dillon Largo: Widow's Reckoning. That is meaningful progress, but it is only the beginning of the work each novel requires. A first draft is where I discover the story in motion. It is where characters can surprise me, where scenes reveal what they are missing, and where an idea that appeared perfectly clear in an outline may take on unexpected dimensions once it encounters dialogue, conflict, and consequence.

For Novel November, I intend to keep moving forward on both projects while remaining attentive to their different voices. The Kingdom Between Us needs space for its emotional and mythic foundations to unfold without forcing every revelation to arrive at once. Widow's Reckoning needs the discipline of a mystery whose discoveries arise naturally from the people and circumstances Dillon encounters. My measure of success will not be an arbitrary promise to complete both books by the end of the month. It will be whether I have written with intention, strengthened the foundations already laid, and left myself with substantial new material to develop and revise.

Two Genres, a Common Thread

At first glance, an Oathfire covenant in a dragon-haunted fantasy kingdom and a ranger working a mystery on a dystopian frontier may seem to have little in common. Yet I am discovering that the questions beneath them are related. Both worlds have inherited divisions. Both place ordinary human decisions against the pressure of larger forces. Both ask whether someone can remain faithful to a conviction when the easier road is compromise, avoidance, or surrender. One story expresses those concerns through family, marriage, covenant, and the fate of a kingdom. The other works through law, reputation, survival, and the pursuit of truth in a wounded society.

I do not want to write characters who are admirable simply because the narrative insists that they are. I want their choices to reveal their character, especially when those choices carry a cost. I also believe that genre boundaries can be useful without becoming prisons. Romantasy can explore a marriage in crisis rather than only the exhilaration of a new romance. A Western can travel into the future rather than remain fixed in the nineteenth century. A mystery can unfold amid steam-driven machinery and the ruins of familiar institutions. The important thing is not to combine genres for novelty alone, but to let each element serve the people, conflicts, and questions at the center of the story.

The Work Ahead: Writing First, Refining Later

There is a particular vulnerability in sharing that a book is still in its first draft. A finished novel presents the illusion that its author always knew exactly where every scene belonged and what each character would say. The truth is far less tidy. Drafting requires experimentation, false starts, revisions of expectation, and a willingness to recognize that a promising scene may still need considerable work. I am learning to appreciate that process rather than measure the worth of a story solely by how quickly it reaches the finish line. November is an opportunity to honor the craft by doing the daily work of writing.

I plan to share occasional updates from these two fictional worlds as their manuscripts take shape. There will be more to say about Vaelthorne, the Oathfire Covenant, and the people whose lives are bound to the kingdom between them. There will also be more to discover about Dillon Largo, New Marysville, and the reckoning suggested by the title of his latest story. For now, I am content to acknowledge the progress already made and return to the page. Six opening sections across two manuscripts—the prologue and two chapters of one, and three chapters of the other—represent a foundation, not a finish line.

An Invitation to Follow the Journey

If you enjoy portal fantasy that takes love, family, and freedom seriously, I hope you will follow the development of The Kingdom Between Us. If your imagination leans toward shadowed mysteries, dusty boots, frontier justice, and a future assembled from the remnants of the past, then Dillon Largo: Widow's Reckoning may be the trail you want to ride. You do not need to choose between them. Part of the joy of being a storyteller is discovering how many different worlds can emerge from the same imagination, even when each demands its own atmosphere, structure, and voice.

As Novel November unfolds, I would love to hear from readers and fellow writers. Which story catches your attention first: a divided family drawn through the Veil into a kingdom of dragons and broken covenants, or a territorial ranger confronting mystery and danger in a steampunk Western future? Whatever your preference, thank you for being part of this developing journey. For me, the most exciting thing about November is not knowing precisely where every page will lead. It is knowing that these stories have begun—and that there are many more pages waiting to be written.

Timothy R. Berman
Author | Storyteller | Creator of Worlds

A New Chapter: Welcome to the Official Timothy R. Berman Blog

Sometimes a new chapter begins because everything has gone according to plan. Other times, it begins because circumstances force us to simplify, reevaluate, and decide what actually matters.

For me, this new chapter is a little bit of both.

Welcome to the official Timothy R. Berman blog, my new central online hub for writing, works in progress, creative projects, announcements, publishing updates, content creation, social media networking, and whatever else develops along the journey.

After spending considerable time building and maintaining content through WordPress, I have made the decision to move the primary focus of my online presence to Blogger. Part of that decision is practical and financial. Maintaining multiple websites, hosting plans, subscriptions, plugins, domains, and other digital services eventually becomes expensive, especially when the purpose of the website is primarily writing, publishing, communicating, and building community.

Rather than continuing to invest resources into maintaining a complicated online infrastructure, I wanted something simpler.

I wanted a place where the emphasis could return to what originally mattered: writing, storytelling, creating meaningful content, connecting with readers, and sharing the journey as it unfolds.

Why I Am Moving from WordPress to Blogger

WordPress is a powerful publishing platform, and it has served many of my projects well. However, powerful does not always mean necessary.

Over time, maintaining multiple WordPress properties began requiring more attention than I wanted to devote to website administration. Hosting expenses, premium features, plugins, security concerns, updates, design maintenance, and other technical responsibilities can easily become distractions from the reason a writer creates a website in the first place.

I would rather spend that time writing another chapter.

I would rather develop another character, research another article, prepare another devotional, record another livestream, have another meaningful conversation, or connect with someone who discovered something I wrote.

Blogger provides the simplicity I need right now while still offering tremendous flexibility. It allows me to publish long-form articles, project updates, photographs, videos, announcements, excerpts, embedded content, links, creative reflections, and other material without turning website management into another full-time responsibility.

There is something freeing about that simplicity.

Instead of constantly asking how I should maintain the platform, I can concentrate on what I want to say through the platform.

The Timothy R. Berman Blog Is the Main Hub

This blog will serve as the primary hub for everything related to my work as Timothy R. Berman — author, blogger, content creator, storyteller, and independent publisher.

Some posts will provide updates about books currently being written or revised. Others may explore the creative process behind a novel, character, setting, or story world. There will be announcements about upcoming projects, publishing developments, new videos, livestream conversations, interviews, collaborations, and other creative ventures.

Readers may also see excerpts from works in progress, behind-the-scenes reflections about writing, thoughts about independent publishing, discussions about creativity, social media updates, and lessons learned from building an audience across different platforms.

Not everything here will fit neatly into one category.

That is intentional.

My creative interests cross several boundaries. My writing moves between faith, recovery, myth, mystery, crime, western storytelling, dystopian fiction, gothic atmosphere, human struggle, redemption, and the complicated process of becoming something different from who we once were.

Some projects may eventually become novels. Some may become essays. Others may become videos, livestream conversations, short fiction, spoken-word pieces, devotionals, podcasts, or something I have not imagined yet.

This is where those projects can grow in public.

Works in Progress and Writing Updates

One of the major purposes of this blog will be sharing the development of my writing projects.

Readers will be able to follow novels and other works as they move from concept to outline, from outline to manuscript, and from manuscript toward publication. I want this space to offer more than finished-product announcements. I want readers who are interested in the creative process to be able to see some of the journey behind the work.

That may include character introductions, story concepts, cover ideas, setting inspiration, excerpts, revisions, publishing milestones, and reflections about what I am learning while writing.

Writing is rarely a straight path.

Stories change. Characters surprise us. Manuscripts get rewritten. Ideas that seemed brilliant at midnight sometimes look considerably less brilliant the next morning. Other ideas that begin as little more than a sentence suddenly become entire worlds.

Those moments are part of the work, and I want this blog to become a place where some of that process can be documented.

Content Creation and Social Media Networking

Writing today extends far beyond publishing books.

Authors and independent creators increasingly work across multiple platforms, including blogs, livestreaming services, YouTube, TikTok, Facebook, Instagram, X, and other social networks. Each platform provides a different way to communicate, tell stories, share ideas, build relationships, and introduce people to new content.

This blog will help connect those different pieces together.

Rather than allowing social media posts to disappear into an endless scrolling feed, longer reflections, important announcements, project updates, and creative developments can have a permanent home here.

Social media will remain an important part of what I do, but this blog gives everything a central point of connection.

Platforms may change. Algorithms certainly change. Trends come and go.

A writer still needs a home for the words.

This is mine.

Sacred Sobriety Has Its Own Home

Because my work extends into different areas, I also want to provide clearer separation between the major projects I create.

My recovery-centered Christian content will continue through Sacred Sobriety: A Path for the Soul.

Sacred Sobriety explores the intersection of Christian discipleship, recovery, spiritual formation, emotional resilience, sobriety, grace, personal responsibility, and meaningful transformation. It is where readers will find devotionals, recovery reflections, livestream material, biblical studies, and other content specifically connected with the Sacred Sobriety ministry and community.

Rather than mixing that material into every other writing project, Sacred Sobriety now has its own dedicated Blogger home:

Sacred Sobriety: A Path for the Soul

If you have followed my recovery writing, devotional studies, sobriety content, or livestream teaching, that is the blog you will want to bookmark and follow.

Faith & Reason: LDS Covenantal Apologetics Has Its Own Home

My theological and apologetics writing also deserves a dedicated space.

Content related specifically to Latter-day Saint theology, scripture, Church history, covenant discipleship, Restoration studies, biblical interpretation, comparative theology, apologetics, and responses to criticism will be published through Faith & Reason: LDS Covenantal Apologetics.

That separation allows Faith & Reason to develop as its own focused resource without requiring readers interested primarily in fiction, publishing, recovery, or creative projects to navigate through unrelated theological material.

Readers interested in those discussions can follow the dedicated site here:

Faith & Reason: LDS Covenantal Apologetics

Faith & Reason will continue to be the primary location for long-form apologetic studies, scripture commentary, theological discussions, Restoration-focused articles, and other material connected with that project.

Three Blogs, Three Clear Purposes

The transition to Blogger is not about abandoning previous work. It is about organizing the work more effectively.

Timothy R. Berman is the central author and creator hub.

Sacred Sobriety: A Path for the Soul is the home for Christian recovery, sobriety, spiritual formation, and devotional content.

Faith & Reason: LDS Covenantal Apologetics is the home for Latter-day Saint theology, scripture, Restoration studies, and apologetics.

Together, these sites allow each project to maintain its own identity while remaining connected to the larger body of work I am creating.

That structure also gives readers more control over what they choose to follow. Someone interested in my fiction and writing projects does not necessarily need every theological article. Someone interested in Sacred Sobriety may primarily want recovery devotionals. Someone studying LDS apologetics may want deeper theological material.

Now there is a clear home for each of them.

Building Something Sustainable

There is another reason this change matters.

Creative work has to be sustainable.

It is easy to believe that growth always requires adding more: more platforms, more subscriptions, more software, more features, more technology, and more expenses.

Sometimes growth requires the opposite.

Sometimes the wisest thing we can do is simplify.

Moving from WordPress to Blogger allows me to reduce some of the financial burden associated with maintaining several online properties while preserving the ability to publish meaningful, professional, accessible content.

That makes it possible to direct more attention toward the actual work.

• The books.
• The articles.
• The videos.
• The livestreams.
• The conversations.
• The stories.

And ultimately, the people who take the time to read, watch, listen, comment, share, and participate.

What You Can Expect Here

Going forward, this blog will continue evolving alongside my creative work.

Expect updates about current manuscripts, new fiction projects, publishing announcements, cover concepts, creative experiments, author reflections, social media projects, livestream appearances, collaborations, upcoming releases, excerpts, behind-the-scenes material, and the occasional unexpected idea that refuses to remain inside my notebook.

Some projects will succeed.

Some will change direction.

Some will probably disappear completely and later return wearing a different title.

That is part of creating.

I do not want this blog to pretend that creative work happens through perfectly polished steps. I want it to document the process honestly enough that readers can follow what is being built while it is still being built.

Welcome to the Next Chapter

So, whether you discovered my work through fiction, recovery ministry, theology, apologetics, social media, livestreaming, or somewhere completely unexpected, welcome.

This new Blogger network represents a simpler approach to something I have been doing for a long time: writing about faith, struggle, redemption, imagination, identity, and the strange and beautiful experience of being human.

The platform may have changed.

The work continues.

The stories continue.

The conversations continue.

And there are still a great many pages left to write.

Welcome to the official Timothy R. Berman blog.

Welcome to the next chapter.

Smoke and Shadows: A Seattle Noir Romance in 1945

 

The Smoke of Autumn

It was a wet and windy night in Seattle, the kind that makes you want to crawl into a bottle and forget the world. Autumn had draped the city in a shroud of fog and falling leaves, the streets slick with rain that never seemed to stop. I leaned back in my chair, the dim light of my office at the Seattle Times casting shadows across the clutter on my desk—empty coffee cups, crumpled notes, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. My name’s Jack Sullivan, and I’m a reporter. Not the glamorous kind you see in the movies, but the kind who digs through the muck to find a story. Lately, the muck had been piling up, just like the bills.

The war had ended a few months back, in August of ’45, and Seattle was still shaking off the weight of it. Soldiers were trickling home, shipyards were slowing down, and the city buzzed with a strange mix of relief and restlessness. I’d seen my share of it all—three years as a war correspondent, dodging bullets in Europe, watching friends die in the mud. I came back jaded, a little harder than I’d left, and threw myself into work to keep the ghosts at bay. That night, as I stared out at the gray skyline, the door swung open, and my editor, Frank Hensley, stormed in.

“Sullivan,” he barked, tossing a file onto my desk. “Got a story for you. Councilman Henry Walsh has gone missing. Last seen a week ago. Rumor has it he was mixed up in something dirty. I want you to find out what.”

I flicked my cigarette, ash tumbling into the tray. “Walsh, huh? The golden boy of city hall? What’s the angle?”

“That’s for you to figure out,” Frank said, jabbing a finger at me. “Start digging.”

I nodded, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Alright, Frank. I’ll see what I can turn up.”

The Trail Begins

The next day, I hit the streets. Seattle in autumn was a moody dame—rain drumming on my fedora, fog curling around the brick buildings like cigarette smoke. I started at city hall, where Walsh’s colleagues fed me the usual line: he was a stand-up guy, no enemies, no scandals. Their smiles were too tight, their eyes too shifty. I could smell a rat a mile off.

Walsh’s wife was next, a nervous woman in a manicured house overlooking Lake Washington. She twisted a handkerchief in her hands, more worried about her bridge club than her missing husband. “Henry was fine,” she insisted. “Just busy with work.” I left with nothing but a headache.

The breakthrough came later, at a dive bar near the docks. Mickey, an old informant with a limp and a whiskey-soaked voice, slid into the booth across from me. “Heard you’re lookin’ for Walsh,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “Word is, he was a regular at the Blue Note. That jazz joint downtown. Might wanna poke around.”

I slipped him a few bucks and headed out into the drizzle. The Blue Note nightclub—it rang a bell. A place where high society rubbed elbows with the underworld, all under the cover of jazz and gin. If Walsh had been there, it wasn’t for the music.

Into the Blue Note

That night, I traded my trench coat for a suit and stepped into the Blue Note. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, the kind that clings to your skin. A jazz band wailed in the corner—saxophone weaving through the murmur of voices, the clink of glasses. Dim lights glinted off polished tables, casting the room in a haze of amber and shadow. I slid onto a barstool, ordered a whiskey, and scanned the crowd. Businessmen in tailored suits, dames in glittering dresses, a few rough types who didn’t belong. Then she took the stage.

Evelyn Moore. She stepped into the spotlight, a vision in a red dress that hugged her like a second skin. Her hair was dark, cascading over one shoulder, and her voice—God, her voice—was like honey and smoke, wrapping around me, pulling me in. She sang “Stormy Weather,” each note dripping with melancholy, and for a moment, I forgot why I was there. The war, the story, the rain—all of it faded. There was just her.

When the song ended, the room erupted in applause. I downed my drink and made my move, catching her near the bar. “Nice set, Miss Moore,” I said, lighting a cigarette.

She turned, her green eyes cool and guarded. “Thanks. But I don’t talk to reporters.”

“How’d you know I’m a reporter?”

“You’ve got that look,” she said, brushing past me. “Curious and broke.”

I smirked. She wasn’t wrong. But I wasn’t giving up that easily.

Shadows and Smokes

I went back to the Blue Note night after night, blending into the crowd, picking up scraps. I spotted Tony Rizzo, the club’s owner—a slick, dangerous type with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I recognized a known smuggler nursing a drink in the corner. Something was rotten here, and Walsh had been in the thick of it.

One rainy evening, I stepped outside for a smoke and saw Evelyn in the alley, arguing with a hulking figure. His voice was low, threatening. I flicked my cigarette into a puddle and strode over. “Everything alright, miss?”

The man glared at me, then slunk off into the fog. Evelyn shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Thanks,” she muttered.

I pulled out my pack of Lucky Strikes, offered her one. She took it, her fingers trembling as I lit it for her. We stood under the awning, rain tapping around us, smoke curling between us. “You know something about Walsh, don’t you?” I asked.

She took a long drag, staring at the ground. “I can’t talk about it.”

“I’m trying to help,” I said, stepping closer. “Whatever it is, I can protect you.”

Her eyes met mine, searching. “Maybe,” she whispered. “But it’s dangerous.”

“I’ve handled dangerous before.”

She almost smiled. Almost.

Digging Deeper

The pieces started coming together. Walsh had been neck-deep in a smuggling ring—booze, black-market goods, maybe even weapons—funneled through Seattle’s docks. The war’s end had shifted the game, and he’d wanted out. The Blue Note was the hub, a place where deals were sealed over martinis and jazz. Evelyn had been close to him—too close, maybe. A mistress? A confidante? I couldn’t tell yet.

I tailed Rizzo, talked to a cop buddy who owed me a favor, found a matchbook from the Blue Note in Walsh’s abandoned office. Every lead pointed back to Evelyn. One night, I confronted her outside the club. “You were Walsh’s girl, weren’t you?”

She flinched. “It wasn’t like that. He was kind to me, that’s all.”

“Then why’s Rizzo watching you like a hawk?”

She looked away, voice barely audible. “Because I saw something I shouldn’t have.”

Before I could press her, two goons jumped me. Fists flew, and I took a beating—cracked ribs, a black eye—but I gave as good as I got. They left me in the gutter with a warning: “Drop the story, Sullivan, or you’re next.” I spat blood and grinned. They’d just confirmed I was onto something big.

Evelyn had disappeared when those goons got the jump on me. I nursed my aching ribs and staggered home. 

Love in the Rain

I showed up at Evelyn’s apartment the next day, bruised but stubborn. She let me in, her face pale. “They’re after me too,” she said, pouring me a coffee with shaky hands. “I saw them kill Walsh. He wanted out, and they shot him. Dumped his body in the Sound.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“They’re in on it,” she said. “I didn’t know who to trust.”

I set the coffee down, met her gaze. “Trust me.”

She nodded, and something shifted between us. Over the next few days, we grew closer. I took her for a walk in Volunteer Park, the leaves crunching underfoot, the air crisp. She told me about her small-town roots, her dreams of singing on bigger stages, how Walsh had promised to help before it all went sour. I opened up too—about the war, the friends I’d lost, the cynicism that had settled in my bones. One night, outside the club, I pulled her close under a streetlamp, the fog swirling around us. Our lips met, tentative at first, then hungry. For the first time in years, I felt alive.

The Reckoning

I worked fast, gathering evidence—photos of Rizzo with known crooks, a ledger I swiped from the club’s back room. But they were onto me. One night, Evelyn didn’t show for her set. A note arrived at my office: Pier 54, midnight. Come alone, or she’s dead.

I went, knowing it was a trap. At the docks, the rain poured, the Sound lapping at the pilings. Rizzo’s men were waiting, Evelyn bound and gagged beside them. “You should’ve listened, Sullivan,” Rizzo sneered, drawing a gun.

I dove behind a crate as bullets sparked off the wood. My own revolver was in my hand, a relic from the war. I returned fire, picking them off one by one—Rizzo took a slug to the shoulder, another goon went down screaming. I untied Evelyn, her eyes wide with fear and gratitude. “Let’s go,” I said, pulling her into the night.

With the evidence, the police had to act. The smuggling ring collapsed, corrupt cops included. My story hit the front page: “Councilman’s Murder Exposes Seattle Underworld.” I left Evelyn’s name out, kept her safe.

A New Dawn

A week later, we stood outside the Blue Note, the rain finally easing. The club was shuttered, the jazz silenced, but the city hummed with possibility. Evelyn slipped her hand into mine. “What now, Jack?”

I lit a cigarette, passed it to her, our fingers brushing. “Now we start over. Together.”

As the last leaves fell, I knew she was my redemption, my reason to keep going. The war was over, the story was done—but ours was just beginning.

Sweet Kiss of Merlot

 

A Short Story of First Love and Romance

Originally published over at Vocal Media for a Short Story Competition with a bottle of Wine being the theme.

A Short Story of First Love and Romance

Originally published over at Vocal Media for a Short Story Competition with a bottle of Wine being the theme.

“It’s so lovely to meet you!” Virginia Thomas voice sung with sweet softness. He immediately swooned over her as his caramel eyes drank her in. Soft raven curls bounced and cascaded over slender shoulders. Her dark blue eyes pierced the depths of his soul. She kept herself in good shape. She clutched a dainty handbag in her slender fingers. She appeared quite innocent. There ought to be a law against how her curves suffocated against the fabric of her cocktail dress. She was more than what Tristan Raymond expected of a woman.

“Pleasure meeting you,” He offered a soft smile, “shall we?” He motioned for her to walk ahead as he held open the door. A quaint and cozy wine bar overlooked Lake Union in Seattle. Early Summer had fallen upon the Pacific Northwest. And already the early evening felt warm and inviting. Jazz lift and fell over the soft din of conversation and clanking of dishware. Tristan followed close behind, eyes never parting from taking in all her beauty. God was quite an artist with her.

The hostess sparkled and smiled as the couple approach.

“Reservation for Tristan,” He spoke with confidence while he flashed a charming smile. The hostess appeared to blush before turning on her heels and escorted the two to a quiet table. Both settled down and thanked the hostess.

“I’ve never been here,” Virginia chuckled as she gazed at him for a moment. Her eyes lingering on his.

“You’ll love it here. Good food and good wine…” he paused a moment and leaned a bit forward, “unless you are not much of a wine drinker.”

She leaned forward as well, “Wine, whiskey, depends on the setting.” She leaned back and a more mysterious smile etched her full pouty lips. Both picked up the menu’s and took a moment of silence to make their selection.

The waiter approached and within moments the two placed their respective orders. Tristan took a momentary reprieve and looked out the window. His eye caught something in the distance before he glanced at his own faint reflection. Virginia followed his gaze out of curiosity.

“I have to admit that I was a bit anxious…” He turned his gaze back to her. She sat with a gracious pose. Her fingers interlocked and her chin rested upon them. Tristan took a drink from the water. He felt his throat parched with thirst. “Not so anxious now.”

Virginia gazed with intriguing affection and spoke in hushed tones. “I’ve felt nervous meeting you as well.” Both looked at each other with calm feelings. Soon their awkward romantic interlude was politely interrupted as the waiter brought over their entrees. He smiled and nodded.

“Anything else?” He was polite, slender, and quite gentle in his demeanor.

“Not at all, thank you,” Tristan thanked the young man with a gentleman like nod. Virginia smiled and kept her gaze on him before turning to the waiter.

“I am good here thanks,” she offered a gracious smile. The waiter left their table and made his rounds to other patrons. She looked delighted and her emotions blushed like a sweet precious peach.

Both enjoyed their meals and held quiet conversations. She found herself falling in love with his intellect. A gentle knight with a down-to-earth courage. His stories of heroic chivalry and gestures. she even giggled at the story of how he helped steady an old lady struggling at a grocery store.

The waiter came and cleared their plates. "Anything else," Tristan looked over Virginia as she bit down on the corner of her lower lip.

"What is the best Merlot you have?"

The waiter paused a moment and searched. "I recommend a bottle of 2012 Northstar Winery Premier Merlot from Columbia Valley." Tristan glanced over to Virginia and with a nod of approval, he ordered the $85.00 bottle. The young man disappeared a moment and then returned with two wine glasses, wine key, and the merlot. After settling the glasses onto the table, he presented the bottle to Tristan. Only a gold minimalist label adorned the dark bottle.

"2012 Northstar Winery Premier Merlot," The waiter waited for approval.

Tristan smiled and nodded.

Again, with expert precision, the waiter removed the foil and pulled the cork. He placed the wet side up on the table in front of Tristan. A small amount of wine splashed into the glass.

He kept his eyes locked on the waiter, he looked over the color, swirled the liquid, and smelled the fragrance. Aromatic flavorful tones of cocoa, cherry, and raspberry felt inviting and calming. The waiter smiled. He first poured Virginia a glass and then topped off Tristan's. With careful gentleness, he placed the bottle onto the table.

"A toast." Tristan raised his glass and winked. Virginia smiled and lifted her glass as well. "To a nice romantic first date with a beautiful woman any artist ought to be envious of." both took a small drink and enjoyed the warmth of the wine.

Jazz continued to play, and Tristan stood. He stretched out a strong hand, "care to dance?" She smiled, placed her hand in his. He guided her across the dance floor as if she was in a dream. Tristan rested his hand along the small of her back. Her hand draped over his shoulder and their free hands met. Fingers interlocked. Together, they felt the music as their feet moved in perfect sync. Virginia felt relaxed as apprehension drained from her. He had ditched the suit jacket and loosened the tie. He also loosened the top button of his lavender shirt. His eyes were a light hazel and irresistible.

Their gaze locked and yet their bodies swayed in slow synchronicity. Every moment, every angle seemed natural. Nothing forced as she felt herself floating away.

Tristan squeezed her hand with tenderness. His charming smile showed he needed to say nothing else. Her heart, whole being, was now his and his alone. He turned with elegant style, his body in tuned to hers and the music. He was someone she did not want to underestimate. She did not care at that moment. Was it because she was already falling in love with him? A man she hardly knew. The warmth between them grew more powerful. She felt his heartbeat with steadiness against her chest. She rested her body against his. Melting into him.

A perfect dance. Her breath taken away and her mind drunk with infatuation. She pulled away from him a moment and had lost herself in those eyes of his. Their lips drew to one another like magnets. Crashing like gentle waves upon one another.

A sweet kiss of merlot upon their lips. Tongues dancing, mimicking their slow movements. Surge of passion rising, ebbing, and flowing. They did not concern themselves with those dancing around them.

He felt her warm and inviting. Soft moans bubbled from her throat as her fingertips grazed along the nape of his neck. She pressed her body further into his. Eternity seemed to pass as time appeared to stop.

Passion subsided and she pulled away to catch her breath. "I...I ... I love you," Her soft voice quivered. Her pouty lips pinched. Tristan drew the tip of his tongue across his lips. Still tasting the moistness and warmth of hers.

Tristan regarded her soft eyes. Sparkling like sapphires. "I definitely feel the same way." He spoke with hushed tones.

Gentle rainfall began to descend from the clouds. A young woman stood next to him. He smiled and wiped away the tears. Tristan reached out and touched the coffin of his beloved.

"My sweet Merlot," He spoke with softness.

"Dad..." the sweet voice of his daughter broke his moment of silence. "You ready?" She asked, arm around him in comfort. "I already miss her too." She rested her head against her aging father.

Tristan placed a small bouquet of roses onto the casket and looked heavenward. "My sweet Merlot," he mumbled and watched as the casket lowered into the ground.

He turned and walked in silence. Daughter beside him. Tristan Raymond thought about that first date and how Virginia Thomas looked. The taste of merlot wine and the sweet tender kiss haunted his aged lips.