Page 14 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Chapter Eleven

Ocean

Ocean opened her eyes as the muffled sounds of conversation in the kitchen pulled her up from the edges of sleep. She recognized Arthur’s voice, but the other one didn’t ring a bell. Her mom had said today was supposed to be a ‘stay home and deal with paperwork’ kind of day.

Last night, Ocean had grabbed the blanket from her grandma’s favorite chair. Wrapped in its softness—with its faded colors and the scent of something old and comforting—grief had crashed over her like a wave, making sleep impossible.

Grandma Clare was gone. For real. No more random FaceTime calls.

No more talking about school drama or annoying girls or what she should wear to the next dance.

No more secret surfing lessons Clare had slipped her the cash for.

What they had was their own thing—Ocean and her grandma.

She’d talked to Clare way more than she ever talked to her mom.

And every time they did, it felt like a hug.

Safe and warm, like everything was going to be okay. Her grandmother had been her rock.

When it hit her last night, she’d cried into her pillow, keeping the sobs quiet so her mom wouldn’t hear. Eventually, exhaustion had dragged her under with the damp pillow pressed to her cheek and Clare’s blanket wrapped tight around her.

Now, blinking back a tear that had slipped free, Ocean swiped at her face and reached for her phone. Crying wasn’t going to bring her back.

She texted Ivy.

You up?

No answer. She checked the time. 8:27. She didn’t even know what time zone Ivy was in anymore.

She breathed in the familiar scent of the blanket one more time before tossing it aside and sitting up.

She gasped.

Last night, the room had looked like a hurricane had blown through it. She’d planned to get organized today. When she went to bed, her suitcase had been open on the floor, clothes spilling out. The books she’d gotten from Arthur’s bookstore lay scattered everywhere.

But now?

Everything was…neat. Weirdly straightened out.

Some of her clothes were folded and tucked back into the open suitcase, neater than she ever left them.

Neater than when she packed. The closet door was open.

Dresses and shirts hung up. They were evenly spaced, as if someone had been looking them over, judging them or something.

“What the fuck?”

The Harbor View history and map books were now stacked in a perfect little tower on the desk, spines all lined up. A few had sticky notes sticking out like bookmarks. It looked like someone had actually been reading them and leaving notes on pages that needed to be checked out.

Ocean rubbed her eyes and blinked, still half-convinced she was dreaming.

She hadn’t done any of this. And her mom definitely hadn’t. The last time Skye had picked up after her, she’d been twelve.

You make the mess, you live in the mess.

Did Grandma have a cleaning lady? One who came overnight and was so quiet Ocean hadn’t heard a thing? Because that would be too weird. And honestly? This was starting to feel really creepy.

Her heart was pounding as she stood up. There was also a strange stillness in the room. And the same light flowery scent she’d noticed in the attic.

“Thanks,” she whispered, feeling stupid as soon as the word slipped out. She wasn’t sure why she’d said it out loud...or who might be listening.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ocean saw the edge of Clare’s shawl, which had been hung neatly over the corner of a mirror, flutter ever so slightly, like it had caught a breeze.

But there was no breeze.

A chill ran down her spine.

Then she noticed it. A sticky note, stuck to the top book in the tidy pile on the desk.

She stepped closer and peeled it off.

Just one word, scrawled in super neat handwriting.

Jo .

“Jo?” she murmured under her breath.

A cool breeze slipped in through the open window, giving Ocean a little shiver. She grabbed a sweatshirt and sweatpants from the pile in her suitcase and made a dash for the bathroom.

When she came back a few minutes later, she stood staring from the doorway.

The bed was made. The pillows fluffed up, hotel-room perfect. Clare’s blanket had been folded neatly and draped across the foot of the bed.

Ocean just stood there, her damp towel clutched against her chest. The voices from the kitchen were still floating up, calm and normal, like nothing had happened.

“Okay, this is getting...very weird.”

Too weird. But honestly, it wasn’t scary.

Ocean didn’t feel freaked out. Just, well, watched over.

“Grandma? Are you here, Grandma?” she whispered, not sure if it was silly or desperate. Maybe both. But part of her really hoped ghosts were real. That somehow, Clare was still here.

Her grandma had always been the one picking up after her. Making the bed. Folding laundry. Clearing dishes without saying a word. Thinking about it now made Ocean feel a little guilty.

Grandma Clare always had Ocean’s favorite cereal in the pantry. Cheese sticks in the fridge. Every single visit. She took care of her in those quiet, thoughtful ways that never seemed like a big deal. Until now.

“Grandma?” she said again, softer this time.

But there was no answer. Just that stillness.

Pulling on her clothes, she hung her sweatshirt and pants on a peg inside the closet door. Ocean grabbed the sticky note with the name on it and headed for the stairs. But halfway down, she stopped.

She could hear the voices clearly now. Arthur was still here. Her mother and the two men were talking very seriously. Words came to her like pieces of a puzzle.

Someone had been in the barn the night her grandmother died.

There was security footage.

He’s only seventeen .

Give him a chance.

Ocean gripped the banister, heart thudding.

Give him a chance.

Unexpectedly, a memory slammed into her, sharp and hard, like a bad dream that wakes you up shaking in the middle of the night.

Ocean sank onto the stairs, the note still clenched in her hand, as her mind shot back to that awful day.

She’d been fourteen.

All she wanted was eyeliner. Just one thing. But she didn’t have enough money, and her parents were always fighting about money, bills, everything. Asking wasn’t an option.

She’d walked into the makeup store and spotted the perfect one. The color. The tone. It felt like it was meant for her.

So she slipped it into her pocket.

And didn’t even make it to the door.

A store employee stepped in front of her. Said the security cameras caught everything. Said they were calling the police.

Ocean panicked. Begged. Cried. Swore she’d never done anything like this before.

Gave them her parents’ names and numbers. Promised they’d pay.

Kept saying, I’m not like this. I don’t do stuff like this. I’m really sorry.

They put her in a small office while they called the police.

Ocean had curled up in the corner of that windowless back room, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed until her whole body hurt. It felt like days.

Later, her mom told her it had barely been an hour.

She remembered the gut-punch swirl of shock and relief when the door finally opened. It wasn’t a cop.

It was her mom.

The store employee had decided to let her go. Said everyone deserves a second chance.

That moment still haunted her. How close she’d come to wrecking everything over something as stupid as eyeliner.

And now, downstairs, they were talking about a boy. Seventeen. A mistake.

Give him a chance.

A chair scraped across the floor. Heavy footsteps moved through the house as Ocean came down the stairs.

A thin, bald, older man with a weathered, deeply lined face came into view. He had a Band-Aid on his forehead and was shaking a cigarette out of a pack. He looked sad. Distracted. Like his mind was somewhere far away.

He didn’t even see her until she said, “Good morning.”

His head jerked up. Their eyes met.

He gave a small nod. “Morning.”

Then, without another word, he went out the front door.

Ocean stood there, watching him go. That was the voice she’d heard asking for a second chance for a seventeen-year-old. She wondered what his connection was to the boy.

The sticky note slipped from her fingers and drifted down the stairs, reminding her of the weirdness in her room. She went down the last few steps and bent to pick it up.

Ocean had no idea who could’ve come in and straightened up her room. Her bed was made. Everything looked…intentional. But she hadn’t seen anyone upstairs. And down here? No sound of a vacuum. No footsteps. Definitely no one cleaning.

She ran her eyes over the same mess that had been here last night. It was definitely beyond weird.

In the kitchen, her mother and Arthur sat at the table, looking upset. He was speaking quietly and stopped talking as soon as she entered.

“Good morning,” Ocean said.

“Hi, hon,” her mom replied.

Arthur stood up and pulled her into a warm hug. “Good morning, sweetness.”

When he released her, Ocean saw that Skye was sitting back in her chair and staring out the window. She was lost in whatever was going on.

Ocean grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and poured cereal from the box on the counter.

“Hey, did you clean my room last night?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Skye’s head snapped around. “No. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Well, someone did. And this morning, while I was in the bathroom, my bed got made.”

Skye shook her head, eyes dropping to her coffee like it suddenly held all the answers.

Arthur was frozen by his chair, lips pressed tight. Like he was holding something back.

Then—eye contact between them. Just for a second. One of those weird silent exchanges. Like they were deciding what version of the truth to give her. Or if they could just avoid the question altogether.

Her mom had always been a terrible liar. And this wasn’t even good cover. Skye wasn’t the neat-freak type. She wasn’t messy, but she didn’t fold sheets or color-code anything either.

Whoever had gone through her stuff last night? Totally Type A. Organized. Intense.

Definitely not her mom.

And besides, Skye had been in the kitchen, talking with Arthur and that other guy. So who made the bed?

Ocean didn’t bother pressing it. She just walked over and set the sticky note on the table.

“Who’s Jo?”