By Stef Ann Holm
Unmarried mother Danalee Jackson owns the Blue Note—an Alaskan bar delivering nightly jazz and a cocktail of regulars who've an opinion approximately every little thing. among facing her son's dad, a failing float-plane enterprise and her bar's code violations, Dana has no time for romance.
Mark Moretti is burned-out after completing his father's legacy undertaking, the multimillion-dollar Grove industry in downtown Boise. He's prepared for a holiday from the relations development business—maybe for strong. And a summerlong fishing journey appears like simply the ticket.
When a canceled flight leaves Mark stranded in Ketchikan, he unearths himself on the Blue observe. One examine the exotically attractive Dana and he makes a decision to stick on the town. yet her fierce independence not just may well jeopardize Mark's support with renovations—it may also convey their mutual appeal to a screeching halt.
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Additional info for All That You Are
I thought about Nudging it with my flip-flopped foot Over the edge, rolling it into nothingness. I closed my eyes against the grey Bloor Morning, café-curries and stir-fry below, The beginnings of the hot-dog-cart’s thick Grease-heat, all twisting my gut. Or was it you, perched above it all, something So grotesque, so instinctive, I knew you had come Some distance. Your stance, it smacks of faith And love and, well, it just reminds me of home. 38 Women of Tuesday Nights I want to lie for you like a centrefold Just like the women of Tuesday nights.
Still poised enough to light a girl’s cigarette, willing to bust up a good working hand on another lousy kid with too much education and straight shiny teeth, for brief stupid love, for a week of rain days to lie next to me in bed and coffee and toast, because of this I will avoid a pissing contest in the alley and maybe the next few. 16 Door-Buster Sale, Saturday Morning There is nothing sad about a lineup waiting for 33 cent turkey dogs on a Saturday morning. All under five foot five, an amalgam of rolled down knee highs, all-season overcoats and half-functional umbrellas.
I am thinking about Memphis, its squat and desolate strip-mall bars, the man who traced for you the map and penned a crude blue route to Texas. Did he smell like your past lover, or were you imagining it, do all men on the road to New Mexico grin crooked grins and smell of tobacco and printing inks, desert their woman for the splendid ache of youth and return each night to remind her of their absence? 22 Slaughterhouse Sonnet A million smiling Isaacs before you Stab cherry coin slots into the thick pink collars.