For Sale

By Laura J. Najjar

In For Sale, debut author Laura J. Najjar crafts a heartfelt and suspenseful tale set in the quiet lakeside town of Fairbanks, where summers are steeped in tradition, community, and long-held memories. When Olivia Dalton returns to her family's cherished cottage to prepare for another season, she expects nothing more than peaceful days by Mirror

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura J. Najjar
• Release date: Jul 1, 2025
• ISBN: 9798891703919

Book preview

For Sale

Laura J. Najjar

Copyright © 2025

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at the address provided in the acknowledgments section of this book.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing Edition, 2025

ISBN 979-8-89170-391-9

Dedication

For many years, it has been a privilege to work under your leadership. Your intelligence, kindness, and unwavering vision has shaped not only the training department, but also the people who are fortunate enough to work with you.

With deep appreciation for your guidance, support, and the legacy you continue to build, I humbly dedicate this book to you, Ms. Jan Myskowski.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Authors Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Authors Note

Hi there! I’m Laura J. Najjar, the author of For Sale. Writing this book has been anincredible journey—one filled with passion, creativity, and more than a few late night writing sessions.I’ve been a proud Boston native for many years and a dedicated member of thedental profession for just as long, teaching dental professionals the fascinatingworld of digital radiography. Storytelling has always played a big role in my life,and bringing this book to fruition has been a dream come true.In my spare time, you’ll find me baking something sweet, crafting with care,or finding peace at the gym. I cherish connecting with readers—please feelfree to reach out on Facebook, Instagram, or by email at [e-mail].

Thank you for picking up this book—I hope it resonates with you as much as it didwith me while writing it. Happy reading!

Warmly,

Laura J. Najjar

Chapter One

The sweet scent of summer filled my car as I approached the town I had grown so fond of over the years. The air was warm, carrying the familiar fragrance of pine and fresh water through my open windows. As I drove past Mirror Lake, I wasn’t surprised to see the water dotted with sailboats, their white sails catching the golden afternoon light. The unusually warm weather had likely drawn people up early, eager to open their cottages for the season. If history was any indication, a warm spring like this meant a long, hot summer ahead. And I didn’t mind it one bit. Returning here always felt like stepping into a slower, more peaceful rhythm—one I had come to cherish.

My parents’ cottage had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember. The land it stood on had been in our family for over a century, passed down through generations like an heirloom. Every year, without fail, Memorial Day weekend marked the official start of summer. We would pack up the car, leave the city behind, and make our way to the lake to open our cottage for the season. My father’s job kept him in the city during the week, but he would join us every Friday night, ready to embrace the weekend by the water. Since most of his vacation time was reserved for summer, we were lucky to have him with us for the better part of the season—long, sun-drenched days filled with the sound of lapping waves, the hum of crickets at dusk, and the crackle of bonfires under a starlit sky.

As I approached the small and only gas station in town, I honked and waved to Mr. Jensen. He was sitting in his usual spot out front with his loyal dog Barney, resting at his feet. Wherever Mr. Jensen went, Barney was sure to follow. The old man sat in his well-worn beach chair, one of its legs slightly uneven, causing it to wobble when he shifted his weight. I was convinced that chair had been around as long as the gas station itself—about eighty years, give or take.

Mr. Jensen had taken over the station when he was just seventeen, stepping into his father’s shoes after his unexpected passing. No one in town ever spoke of his mother, and rumors had long circulated that she’d given birth to twins but lost one at childbirth. Whether that was true or not, Mr. Jensen had been alone for as long as anyone could remember. He never married, never had children—just him and Barney, side by side, watching the town move through its seasonal transformations.

He was the kind of man everyone respected, not only because he could fix just about anything with an engine, but because he was honest to a fault. If something could be repaired, he’d tell you. If it wasn’t worth fixing, he’d tell you that, too, even if it meant losing out on a job. Fair and hardworking, he had earned the admiration of the entire town.

In the winter months, Fairbanks was a ghost town, with fewer than 2000 full-time residents. But in the summer, the population swelled to over 3,500 as seasonal residents returned to open their cottages, eager to spend another season by the lake. For three glorious months, the town buzzed with life—kids on bikes racing down the winding roads, the scent of barbecue drifting from lakeside porches, and laughter echoing from the water as families spent their days sailing, swimming, and fishing.

But come Labor Day weekend, the excitement turned bittersweet. Cars and trucks would be packed up, goodbyes exchanged, and, like clockwork, the exodus would begin. By Monday afternoon, the roads out of town were lined with vehicles loaded down with bicycles, fishing rods, and deflated inner tubes, the last remnants of summer-fun strapped to their roofs. And just like that, within a few short hours, the town fell silent. The streets emptied, the seasonal shops locked their doors, and the lake settled into stillness, left only to the year-round residents like Mr. Jensen.

For those of us who returned every year, that seasonal cycle became a rhythm as natural as the changing tides. Even as we drove away, the promise of another summer on Mirror Lake was never far from our thoughts. It was that quiet pull—the knowledge that we’d be back—that made the goodbyes just a little easier to bear.

As I pulled into the gas station, I rolled down my window. Hey, Mr. Jensen! I called out, grinning.

The old man raised a hand in greeting, his weathered face breaking into a slow smile. Welcome back, he said, scratching Barney behind the ears. I was beginning to wonder when you’d roll in.

I laughed. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Since Maggie’s café was only a few doors down, I parked my car in Mr. Jensens lot and walked down to her shop.  Inside, the scent of fresh coffee and something sweet—maybe cinnamon—filling the air. The small café had always been one of my favorite spots in town. Its mismatched chairs, checkered curtains, and framed photos of Fairbanks through the decades made it feel like home, even for those of us who only spent summers here.

Maggie handed me a tall glass of iced tea, the condensation already forming on the outside. So, she said, pulling out a chair across from me at one of the small round tables, how’s your dad doing now?

I took a sip of the cold, sweet tea, letting it soothe my parched throat before answering. He’s doing okay, I think. Stubborn as ever. He hates sitting still, but the doctor told him to take it easy for a while. That’s why I thought it’d be best if I came up alone to open our summer cottage.

Maggie nodded knowingly. Sounds just like him. Always did have a hard time sittin’ still. She glanced out the window, where she could see Mr. Jensen scratching Barney’s ears. Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me. And don’t be shy about asking Hank’s guys for help. You know they’d be happy to lend a hand.

I swirled the ice in my glass. I appreciate that. I just have to make sure my father doesn’t get wind of it. He’d have a fit if he thought I let someone else put the dock in.

Maggie chuckled. Still as stubborn as ever, huh?

More than you could ever imagine, I said with a small smile.

The bell above the door jingled as a group of teenagers walked in, their faces pink from the sun. Right behind them was a delivery man.  Someone I’d never seen before.  Maggie immediately thanked him for her early morning deliveries and turned around to introduce us.  Nathan, she said, I’d like to introduce you to Olivia; she and her family have been long-time summer residents here in Fairbanks.  As we turned to greet one another, Nathan could sense my shyness.

Quickly, I took the last sip of my tea and set the glass down. I’d better get going before Hank’s crew is booked solid.

Maggie stood up and gave me a quick hug. Welcome back, Olivia. I’m glad you’re here.

Me too, I said softly, feeling a familiar warmth settle over me.

Since the Fairbanks pharmacy was within walking distance from Maggie's café, and it was such a beautiful day, I decided to take a walk up to say hello to Harold and Alice Bates.  Both had grown up in Fairbanks, and after marrying they decided to stay.  I had known them since I was a little girl and always admired them.  The original soda fountain was still set up and operational in their pharmacy.  I could remember as a young girl, frequently visiting them and sitting on the high-stools while they made me a soda.  They never had any children, but they treated my sister Dianna and I, as if we were their very own.  They were the kindest couple you’d ever want to meet, and everyone in the town admired them.  I sat with them for a short time reminiscing then realized I  better get going to Hanks shop. It was nearly noon.  I bid my goodbyes to them and walked back to my car that was parked in Mr. Jensen's lot.

Once I was back in my car, I took a deep breath of the fresh lake air before pulling out of his station. The road leading to Hank’s shop was a winding one, cutting through dense pines and rolling hills. It was a drive I had made countless times before, yet something about today felt different. Maybe it was the weight of responsibility on my shoulders or the quiet hum of excitement I felt at being back. Either way, I had a long weekend ahead of me, and I was ready to dive in.

As I passed by Mr. and Mrs. Briggs home, a landmark in Fairbanks, I was surprised to see the windows boarded up and a No Trespassing sign on the front overgrown lawn.  The house itself was over 100 years old, and the Briggs had lived there for well over 50 years.  It was a large white Victorian house with an abundance of character.   He and his wife had bought the old, dilapidated Victorian many years ago, and, over a period of time, restored it to its natural beauty.   Mrs. Briggs was very creative and always had beautiful flowers blooming throughout the summer in the front yard.   Their lawn was so green that you would think it was a carpet.  After Mrs. Briggs passed away Mr. Briggs began letting things go around the house.  He was getting older himself, and he didn’t have the desire or the energy to keep it up anymore. Nevertheless, the house looked abandoned, and I found it peculiar that Maggie hadn’t mentioned anything to me. 

As I turned onto Main Street, I could already see the small garage up ahead, its weathered sign hanging slightly askew. Hank’s Landscaping & Dock Service had been a fixture in town as long as I could remember, just like Mr. Jensen’s gas station. There was no shortage of work for Hank and his crew, especially once the summer residents started arriving in droves. If I didn’t catch him now, I might not get the help I needed before I had to leave.

Just as I pulled onto the gravel lot outside Hank’s shop, I spotted a familiar figure.  It was Nathan, the delivery man I had met at Maggie's café.  He turned and looked at me as I pulled up, with a knowing smirk on his face.

Well, well. Looks like I don’t have to ask Maggie for your number after all, he said, leaning on the open door of my car.

I fought back a blush. Looks like you don’t.

He grinned. Small town, huh? You get used to running into the same people.

I nodded, reaching for the handle. Seems that way. Well, I should—

Would you like to grab a coffee sometime? Maybe when you’re done with all the cleaning and dock stuff?

I hesitated for a moment. It had been a long time since I even considered dating, and now wasn’t exactly the best moment to start. Between taking care of my parents and dealing with the emotions that came with being back in Fairbanks, romance was the last thing on my mind.

I glanced toward the garage, where I could see Hank walking towards the entrance, wiping his hands on an old rag. That’s really sweet, but I just don’t know if I have time for anything right now.

Nathan didn’t look put off. If anything, he seemed more intrigued. Fair enough, he said with an easy smile. But I’m around all summer, so if you change your mind, you know where to find me.

I nodded, muttered a quick goodbye, and stepped out of my car. As I walked toward the shop, I felt his eyes on me, but I resisted the urge to turn back.

I had more pressing things to worry about.

Hank met me at the entrance, his hands still stained with grease. Took your time getting here, he teased.

I exhaled and shook my head. Yeah, well, apparently, your delivery guys are very chatty.

Hank laughed, clapping me on the back. Nathan? Good kid. Works hard. He shot her a look. You should take him up on that coffee.

I groaned. Not you, too.

As I stepped up to the entrance of the shop, I hesitated for a brief moment, still thinking about the boarded up Briggs house I had driven by earlier.  Again, it felt strange that Maggie hadn’t mentioned anything to me about it.  In a town like Fairbanks, where news traveled faster than the wind off the lake, something as significant as Mr. Brigg’s leaving his home-or worse-would have surely been a topic of conversation.  Maybe I’d ask Hank about it after handling my business.

Following Hank towards the back of the shop, where I was instantly greeted with the scent of sweet motor oil, I pushed the thoughts of Nathan aside. I was here for a reason, and no matter how charming the delivery man might be, I had work to do. But still, there was something about the way he had looked at me, something that lingered even as I focused on the task at hand.

Maybe Fairbanks had more in store for me than just another summer of chores.

I smiled, stepping up to the counter. Yeah, it’s been a long winter. But I’m back for the summer, and I need a little help.

Help, huh? He tossed the rag aside and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. Let me guess—getting the cottage back in shape?

Exactly. And I was hoping you might have a couple of men you could spare to help me with the yard work and putting the dock in the water.

Hank scratched his chin, considering. Normally, I’d say yes, but this time of year, my crew’s stretched thin. Everyone’s got summer projects lined up, and I have at least four docks waiting to go in before Memorial Day weekend is over.

I frowned. That’s what Maggie warned me about. Is there any way you could spare even one or two guys? I don’t mind doing a lot of the work myself, but I could really use the extra hands.

Hank exhaled