Page 1 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Welcome to Harbor View.

Tucked into a sliver of land that stretches into the sea like a narwhal’s tusk, Harbor View is no ordinary New England village. It’s a place where time slows down and the wind always has something to say.

Stand at the edge of its gravel lot—the southernmost tip of town—and the world seems to split in two. To your left, the Atlantic rolls wild and restless, slate-blue and endless. To your right, the harbor cradles quiet waters in shades of silver and green, a shimmering mirror of Long Island Sound.

Harbor View is a town of contrast, where secrets linger like sea mist and stories wait just below the surface.

Turn around, and you’ll see white and gray clapboard houses, weathered shops, and pointy-spired churches tucked into a patchwork of narrow streets and shady, tree-lined lanes.

To the north, a tangle of salt marsh and an old rail line form a natural border, as if the village itself decided long ago to face the ocean and forget the rest.

And truly, the people of Harbor View have always looked seaward. That’s where the tide brings in news. And where the past never really lets go.

From its earliest days, the briny waters have formed the town’s history.

After its first colonial inhabitants purchased—which means, of course, stole—the area from a tribe of Pequots, rude shelters went up to house the fishing families and the farmers who foolishly thought they could pry some crops out of the salty, rocky soil.

Fortunately for the new townspeople, it all worked out, with coastal traders making it a regular stopping point between Newport and New Haven.

Harbor View even had its blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment in the American Revolution.

A single cannonball was fired—just one—at a passing British warship.

The cannon still sits in Battle Square, rusted and proud, a monument to the town’s brief brush with glory.

Locals like to say it’s now guarding the little stone-pillared bank behind it. Though it’s unclear from what.

But never mind the ancient history.

Our story, which absolutely takes place in the present (promise!), actually began in the early 1900s. That’s when New York socialites, those without quite enough money to summer in Newport, started flocking to Harbor View instead.

We’ll get to all that. The socialites. The Prohibition-era whisky runners. The fishing boats that slowly gave way to white-hulled pleasure craft and yacht-club fundraisers.

But first, let’s talk about what’s happening now—because something in Harbor View is stirring.

These days, Harbor View might pass for quaint, if it weren’t for the hulking, abandoned brick fish-canning factory looming across Washington Street from Battle Square.

‘Quaint’ is a word that shows up on travel blogs and tourist brochures, but don’t let that fool you.

The locals mostly hate it. They prefer the grit, the character.

In fact, many would say the factory’s crumbling shell gives the town just the right amount of edge.

You’ll find that Harbor View is full of hardy souls and salt-scrubbed personalities.

In the warmer months, poets, painters, and sailing enthusiasts drift in with the sea breeze.

Year-round, it’s home to book lovers, contrarians, eccentrics, and more than a few no-nonsense Daughters of the American Revolution.

The winding lanes are dotted with gift shops, antique stores, a cozy library, cafés, a couple of restaurants, a creaky old hardware store, a tucked-away grocery, a beloved bookstore, and at least two, possibly three, art galleries, depending on who’s renting what this season.

Let’s get you oriented. Washington Street and Franklin Street both stretch north from the point like the arms of a tuning fork. A short walk up either brings you to the cross-lanes that stitch the village together—First Street, Second Street, and so on.

But it’s First Street that matters right now.

Tucked among a row of timeworn homes sits a lively little bookstore.

There, you’ll always find a few customers browsing, and always the scent of old paper and fresh coffee in the air.

Directly across the narrow street, half-shielded by a picket fence and a house begging for a paint job (or mercy), you’ll find a weary antique shop with more stories than sales.

Here’s the part most folks don’t know: both the bookstore and the antique shop come with… well, a ghost. Two of them, in fact. Long-time residents—about a century, give or take.

Don’t let that keep you out.

The ghosts aren’t the ones you need to worry about. It’s the living in Harbor View who are finally starting to stir.

Here comes one now...