I never thought much about the names of things growing up, but this one... this one was waiting for me to understand it.
My parents were two halves of the same coin—adventure and home.
Mom was the dreamer, the woman who could unfold a map and spin a whole world out of the creases. She made the future feel wide and shimmering, like the universe itself was a dare.
“No matter where you go, baby,”she’d say, her voice soft but sure,“just follow your North. Your heart will know the way.”
And for the longest time, I believed her. I thoughtNorthmeant movement. That to follow it meant chasing something—success, love, something bigger than myself.
Dad was different. He was the anchor—steady, unwavering, the kind of person who made a house feel like home just by being in it. He believed in staying, in building, in holding onto what mattered.
“A life well-lived needs both,”he used to tell me.“Something to chase and something to come back to.”
And they had both.
Smiling to myself, I remember the small, weathered boat they took to the lake on summer weekends. North & Anchor.
It wasn’t much—some cracked paint, rusted metal, and an engine that needed more convincing than it should have—but it was theirs. It was where Dad taught me to navigate by the stars, where Mom showed me that some things—somepeople—are worth holding onto.
At the time, I never thought about what it meant. It was just a boat. Just a name.
But now? Now, it’severything.
I left New York thinking I was running away. Escaping, so to speak. But it wasn’t about leaving at all.
It was aboutfinding.
Because when I landed in Port Townsend, where my Aunt Jane lives, with its salt-heavy air and cobblestone streets, it didn’t feel like running. It felt like breathing again.
I was no longer drifting.
I was building.
So I bought a bookstore, in honor of how my parents met. And when it came time to name this place, there was only ever one choice. Because that’s what my parents gave me—the freedom to explore and the reminder that I’d have a place to come home to. And I’ve finally found it. Still, some days, it doesn’t feel real.
Six months ago, I walked away from everything I thought I wanted—New York, my career, the constant chase for the next big deal. I packed my bags, bought a car, and justdrove. I didn’t know where Iwas going, only that I needed out. To breathe. To find myself in a way I never truly had before.
I landed here. Port Townsend, Washington.
Aunt Jane was waiting for me in town straight out of a postcard, with its historic waterfront, cozy stores, and a rhythm that moves just slow enough to make you stop and take it all in.
Here, people know each other’s names. They dawdle over coffee, watch the ships pull into the harbor, and talk about the tides like they’re old friends.
And now, I know them too.
I glance around the shop half-expecting to wake up and find this is just another impulsive idea that never quite made it past the dream stage. But it’sreal.
North & Anchoris part bookstore, part coffeehouse, part writer’s retreat for anyone who needs it. Shelves line the walls, filled with handpicked novels, travel journals, and books about the sea. And of course, a romance section housing everything from cozy to downright filthy.
The tables are mismatched, collected from antique stores and refurbished with love. Every corner holds something meaningful—faded maps, compasses, a vintage anchor I found at a local maritime shop.
The space feels likemein a way nothing else ever has. And for the first time in a long time, I’m settled.
Almost.
Because not a day goes by that I don’t think abouthim.
Taking a sip of my coffee, I stare out at the water, my thoughts drifting before I can stop them.
