Page 30 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Another hug. Then a few whispered words Ocean couldn’t quite catch, low and urgent, like secrets.

“You’re here for your mom’s funeral?”

“And I have to decide what to do with her things.”

More back-and-forth, too quiet for Ocean to follow. She shifted her weight, watching the two old friends standing close to each other, like no time had passed at all.

“Can we get together? There’s so much we have to catch up on.”

“Love to,” Skye said. “By the way, come and meet my daughter.”

They walked toward her and before Ocean could react, Barb swooped in and wrapped her in a big hug.

Ocean stiffened, completely caught off guard.

Back in California, people weren’t this affectionate with strangers.

A polite smile, definitely. Maybe a casual “Hey” or a half-wave if you were feeling generous.

But hugs? Those were reserved for close friends or family.

If then, even. Most people she knew kept their personal space locked down tighter than a beach house in winter.

Here, though, Barb wore her warmth on the outside. No hesitation, no filter. Like hugging someone you’d just met was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re beautiful. How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” Ocean answered, the word catching in her throat as she tried to process the sudden closeness.

“I have a sixteen-year-old. Maybe you two could get together.” Barb turned to Skye. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? How long are you staying?”

“We haven’t decided yet, but maybe until the end of the month.”

“I’m pushing for longer,” Ocean had to add, throwing in her two cents.

The old friends fell quickly into conversation, their voices soft and full of memories. Ocean stepped away, giving them space. She drifted toward the back of the store, racks of fabric brushing her shoulders. She needed something to wear for her grandmother’s funeral.

The thought landed heavy, pulling her down like an anchor she couldn’t cut loose. Grandma Clare was gone. Really gone. Why couldn’t she have stuck around the way Jo had?

A one-piece, dark gray pantsuit caught Ocean’s eye. It was kind of boring, but it was her size and better than anything she’d packed from California. She flipped the price tag over and immediately stepped back. Nope. Not happening. She headed straight for the clearance rack.

That rack was a preppy nightmare. Pale pinks, loud oranges, blinding yellows. Nothing she would ever wear, not even on a dare.

When she circled back, her mom was already at the counter, paying for the gray outfit Ocean had just decided against.

“Mom,” she whispered, low so only Skye could hear.

“Barb’s giving me the family discount,” Skye said with a wink.

The woman nodded. “Now go get a table in the bar. I’ll be there in half an hour, tops.”

As they walked out of the store, Ocean glanced at her mother. “We’re going to a bar?”

“A restaurant. It’s right around the corner on the wharf. Barb’s going to meet us there. Is that okay?”

“That’s great. I’m starving,” Ocean said. She was actually glad. Her mom having someone to connect with meant maybe—just maybe—Skye would want to stay longer in town. The more of that she did, the better.

They dropped the dress in the car and walked the block toward the harbor.

The restaurant looked like it had been lifted right off a postcard and plunked on this wharf.

Weathered shingles, white trim, a striped awning fluttering in the breeze.

Lobster traps and coiled ropes decorated the outside like props in a movie set, and from the porch you could see the masts of boats rocking in the slips.

Definitely New England, down to the shimmery water, salty air, and gulls circling overhead.

Inside, the place felt cozy but worn, as if it had a million stories trapped in the walls.

The wooden floors were scuffed from years of boots, the kind of scuffs you didn’t see in the shiny chain restaurants back home.

Brass rails along the bar gleamed where countless elbows had polished them smooth, proof that people actually hung out here instead of just posting about it.

Sunlight slanted in through the big harbor-facing windows, bouncing off glassware and giving everything a soft golden glow.

A handful of people lingered over plates piled with fries and lobster rolls that made Ocean’s stomach growl. Half the seats at the bar were already taken. Locals, she guessed. They all seemed comfortable, like this was their spot, the kind of place you claimed as yours.

To Ocean, it felt different from anywhere she’d been in California. No giant TVs blaring sports, no trendy décor designed for Instagram, no one pretending not to see each other. Just a bar, a harbor view, and people who looked like they’d known each other forever.

As Ocean scanned the room for an empty table, she caught it—the sudden change in her mom’s face.

Her eyes were locked on someone. Following her gaze, Ocean spotted the bartender. And he was staring at Skye.

Ocean knew exactly who he was. She’d seen the pictures of him when she and Jo flipped through the old albums.

Caleb Reed with that easy smile, Skye clinging to his arm like some prom-night princess. He was older now, sure, but in that rugged, weathered way that made him look like a movie cowboy. Still unmistakable.

Skye’s high school boyfriend.

Ocean’s lips tugged upward. Oh, this just got good. Very good.