Page 10 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Chapter Eight

Ocean

If Grandma Clare’s house was a discovery museum, Arthur’s Rainbow Reef Bookstore had always felt a little bit magical.

Ocean’s grandmother was a big believer in supporting her friend across the way, and Skye had followed in her footsteps.

They both made it a rule to avoid ordering from big chains whenever they could.

Most of the time, if Skye wanted a book, she’d call Arthur and have his assistant ship it to California.

Their logo—a reef, a rainbow and curling script—was always on the packages.

Their whimsical bookmarks had it too, and they were scattered all over their apartment, tucked inside cookbooks, novels, even between couch cushions.

When Ocean was younger, she never really understood why her mom went through all that trouble.

Why not just click a button and have the book arrive in two days?

But by the time she got to high school, it started to make sense.

All those little indie bookstores near them in California were vanishing, one closing after another.

Supporting Arthur’s store wasn’t just sentimental. It was survival.

Even though they’d visited Harbor View many summers, Ocean never really got the chance to explore the bookstore on her own. So when her mom called her and rattled off the errands she needed to run before coming back to the house, Ocean perked up.

“Why don’t you go check out the bookstore for a bit?” Skye had said.

Ocean didn’t need to be asked twice. She was still freaked out about what happened in the attic.

So the bookstore it was.

George Pappas had been working for Arthur for as long as Ocean could remember. She’d met him a bunch of times over the years. From what she knew, he’d started part-time back in high school, and last night Arthur mentioned he was now a grad student at the University of Rhode Island.

She remembered him clearly. Tall. Black.

Thin. Kinda good-looking in a laid-back, slightly nerdy way.

Funny, too. Quick-witted with a dry sense of humor that sometimes caught her off guard.

She’d always wondered if he might be gay, like Arthur.

His glasses were perpetually crooked, and his curly hair, short now, was still just as untamable as hers.

And every time she’d seen him, he had a book in his hand.

Crossing the street and going into Rainbow Reef Books was like stepping into another world. The smell of paper and old wood filled her senses instantly. And there he was, George, perched behind the counter, eyes glued to a thick paperback. Nothing had changed.

Except maybe she had. Because when he looked up, he didn’t recognize her at first. He was sizing her up like she might be a lost tourist or someone about to ask for the bathroom key.

“Hi, George. I’m Ocean,” she said. “From across the street? Clare’s granddaughter.”

It took a beat.

“Oh, man! Ocean!” His expression softened, the corner of his mouth tilting into a sad little smile. He hopped off the stool and came around the counter to give her a hug. “I’m really sorry about your grandma. I liked her a lot.”

Ocean thought she was done grieving Clare, at least for the moment. But all it took was someone mentioning her name.

As they broke off the hug, that thick lump formed in her throat again. She blinked back tears and forced herself to swallow.

“Arthur said you guys got in yesterday,” George said gently, looking away. “So, how long are you staying? What’s the plan?”

“My mom’s still trying to figure things out.” Ocean shrugged. “Mind if I look around?”

“Of course not. Make yourself at home.” He settled back onto his stool, nudging his perpetually crooked glasses into place. “You looking for anything in particular?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m here if you need anything.”

Ocean nodded, then turned toward the shelves near the front. Familiar and unfamiliar titles caught her eye as she wandered farther back. The quiet and the books were so calming.

From the way Arthur bragged about him, she guessed George probably knew this bookstore better than anyone.

He wasn’t just some guy who worked here.

He was basically a walking, talking, database of books.

Arthur swore his employee could run the entire English department at the college rather than just take classes.

Moving deeper into the store, Ocean breathed in the scent of the old volumes.

Combined with a hint of coffee, the smells wrapped around her like an old sweatshirt.

The place was cozy in a way that big bookstores never could be.

It was more like hanging out in someone’s personal library.

The shelves weren’t just neat, orderly rows.

Instead, Arthur had created little nooks and corners, like secret rooms waiting to be discovered.

A couple of high tables near the front counter were stacked with ‘Staff Picks’ and ‘New Arrivals’.

Toward the back, in quiet niches, well-worn armchairs invited people to sit, flip through a book, and maybe even forget the time.

The lighting was warm, a little dim in some spots where the shelves cast long shadows, but that only added to the atmosphere.

It felt like the kind of place where books whispered to each other when no one was around.

Ocean trailed her fingers along the spines as she meandered along, her sneakers making almost no sound on the ancient wooden floorboards.

She liked taking her time. Maybe a book would leap off a shelf at her.

“Hey Ocean, before I forget...”

George’s voice reached her. He caught up to her by a section crammed with fantasy novels and used paperbacks.

“This lawyer from New Haven’s been by twice,” he said. “She’s looking to buy something your grandmother has in the Salt Box.”

“If the barn is packed with as much stuff as the house is...” Ocean frowned. “Did she say what she wants?”

He shrugged. “Not really sure. A box of postcards or letters. Something like that. She left a card.”

He handed it over, and Ocean slipped it into her pocket without a glance. She didn’t want to think about her mom selling Clare’s house or the business. She definitely didn’t want strangers picking through the stuff. Rapacious vultures.

George turned to head back toward the front.

But something tugged at her.

“Hey, do you have anything on Harbor View?” she asked. “You know, like the history of the town.”

Clare had always collected local antiques, stories, bits of history. Maybe it was time she started learning more about the place herself.

“Absolutely,” George said, nodding. “And do yourself a favor. Skip the shelf up front labeled ‘Local Interest.’ That’s mostly brochures, writing notebooks with pictures of the coast on the cover, and a life-coaching book someone’s aunt self-published. The good stuff is back here.”

George led the way to an alcove tucked into the back corner of the store.

A single upholstered chair sat beside a well-worn step stool and a low coffee table.

Surrounding it all were towering bookcases, packed from floor to ceiling.

The shelves bowed slightly under the weight of age and stories.

A window faced out on the neighbor’s garden, and dust motes floated in the light.

“This,” he said with a touch of pride, “is the real local history. Memoirs, centennial publications, maps. All kinds of cool stuff.”

Ocean turned in a slow circle, taking it in. Four bookcases. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of books and binders.

“Wow,” she said, almost under her breath.

George nodded. “Almost everything here was written by locals. Shopkeepers, fishermen, teachers, sailors, even Harbor View’s very first mayor. If you want to understand this town, this is the place to start.”

She stepped closer to the shelves, drawn in. “Thanks.”

The bell by the door chimed as a customer entered, and George strolled back to the front counter.

She didn’t know what she was looking for or where she should start. Still, maps always fascinated her. They always made a place look organized. It would be cool to see how Harbor View had changed. How it had grown.

“Maps, it is,” Ocean whispered, scanning the shelves. “Old maps.”

Her eyes landed on a large binder tucked high on the top shelf. She grabbed the step stool and climbed up, stretching toward it.

Thud .

The sound came from behind her, and she froze, one hand still reaching for the binder. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder.

A thick old book now sat on the coffee table.

She hadn’t noticed it there before. No, she was sure it hadn’t been there before.

Frowning, she craned her neck toward the alcove’s entrance.

Nothing. No one.

She could hear George’s voice from the front of the store. He was chatting with a customer, casual and unconcerned.

A prickle ran down her spine.

She shook it off. Old bookstores were creaky. Books shifted. It was nothing.

Turning back to the bookcase, she reached up again.

Thud ... Thud …

Ocean nearly fell as she scrambled off the stool. Her heart hammered in her chest as she turned around.

“Shit,” she whispered.

Three books had clearly been dropped on the table. Three leather-bound volumes of different sizes. Dust was still swirling above them. One of the books lay open to an old map. She could see it was Harbor View.

She stared, trying to breathe, staring at the spines of the other two. The History of Harbor View...with Maps . This was impossible. Early Coastal Towns...with Maps.

She edged out of the alcove, peering down the nearest aisles. Nothing. No one. Just George speaking in the distance. Perfectly normal.

Suddenly, the attic flashed back in her mind. The windows popping open on their own. The rush of cold air. The feeling of being watched.

And now this. The books.

Ocean swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled as she snatched them up. Clutching them tightly to her chest, she turned and walked—no, ran —toward the front of the store.