Page 32 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ocean

You can’t.

You don’t.

Those are the rules.

But rules had never exactly stopped Ocean before. Stubbornness was basically her native language. Home, school, friendships. Even the universe itself always seemed to hand her boundaries, and she never resisted the urge to push back. Especially now, when she had a mission. Jo’s mission.

The bookstore was closed, her mom upstairs talking with Arthur. Perfect cover. Ocean slipped into the same alcove where she’d felt Henry’s presence before. She flicked on the lamp and let its glow push back the shadows. Perched on the edge of the chair, she drew in a breath.

“I don’t know if you’re upstairs or downstairs,” she said, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. “But I figure if I talk long enough, loud enough, maybe you’ll hear me.”

Ocean waited a moment. Just then, a kitchen chair scraped the floor upstairs. It was the only thing that broke the silence in the quiet store.

“I know I only got here this week, but Jo and I have actually become friends,” she went on. “She showed herself to me when I was going through some boxes in my Grandma Clare’s study, and I found a bunch of her things.”

She paused, listening, waiting for some flicker of response.

Nothing.

“That’s how we met. Really met. In that box, the one with Jo’s things, there were letters.

From Henry Stewart. I’m guessing that’s you.

Sent from France. Still sealed, still unread.

But of course, they couldn’t be read because by the time they reached Harbor View, Jo was already gone.

Well, not gone. But not living, if you know what I mean. ”

The thought crept in that maybe she was doing all this for nothing. Not that she was giving up on ever meeting Henry. Just that, maybe, he had better things to do. Like, say, eavesdrop on whatever riveting conversation Arthur and her mom were having upstairs.

Still, she pressed on.

“There were a lot of tears. Yes, she can cry. I watched Jo cry as she read them.” Ocean’s voice shifted, taking on a defensive edge.

“I know it’s been years, and maybe you think that’s too much.

That’s what some of the guys at my school would’ve said.

‘Too much drama.’ But I don’t buy that. What you and Jo had?

It’s deeper. Real. The kind of real feeling people my age don’t even get. ”

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

“So, I don’t know how long I’ll even be in Harbor View. My mom can’t decide if my dad or their marriage is worth holding on to. Personally? I’m thinking no .” She caught herself and shook her head. “Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. The point is, I made a promise to Jo.”

She leaned back in the chair, the letter resting on her lap.

“She’s going to write you letters. Responses to your letters.

And I’ll come here and read them to you.

I know, you don’t actually need me to read them out loud.

You could read them yourself. But I can’t just leave them lying around.

This is still a bookstore, and strangers wander in and out.

These are private. They’re yours and Jo’s. ”

It had been emotional. Way more than she expected, having Jo dictate what she wanted to say to Henry while Ocean wrote it all down. She’d tried to keep her feelings in check, but yeah, that had been tough.

“Okay. So here goes.” Ocean cleared her throat.

My Dearest Henry,

I scarcely know how to begin, except to tell you that I am filled with sorrow for the cruel silence that stretches the distance between us.

I never received your letters though it was due to no fault of yours, nor mine.

Fate saw fit to bar them from me. Only now do I learn all the missives you penned, and the thought that your words waited, unopened, unread, while I longed for you unaware, nearly breaks me.

I must tell you again, though you already know it in your heart, I loved you then, and I love you still.

That truth has never altered, not through years nor distance nor change.

It grieves me beyond measure to think of how my father spurned you, how pride and blindness shut his eyes and ears to your true worth.

When you asked for my hand, he denied both of us our happiness, and in doing so revealed only his own folly.

I am deeply sorry, Henry. Sorry that you, a man of such goodness and worth, endured harsh words from those who never cared to know your character, who never perceived the depth of your heart.

They could not see what I knew from the first—the strength of your spirit, the gentleness of your nature, the steadfastness of your love.

If my words could heal the wounds of the past, I would write them a thousand times. Only know this, my love for you has never faltered, and though the world and life’s limits conspired successfully to keep us apart, nothing has lessened what we were and continue to be to one another.

Forever yours,

Jo

Ocean’s heart almost stopped. A man was standing there.

He leaned on an ivory-handled cane like it was part of him. His vest was deep red with dark brass buttons, a silver chain running across to a watch pocket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing muscular forearms.

He was definitely a cool-looking dude. A scar over one eyebrow, his nose a little crooked, stubble shadowing his jaw. And his eyes. Gray, sharp, impossible to look away from. It felt like they saw straight through her.

“Wow,” she whispered. “You’re Henry Stewart.”

Henry inclined his head, voice quiet but steady. “Miss, you honor me in reading Jo’s words.”

He let the silence rest for a heartbeat before continuing, softer now.

“But it hurts to think Jo suffers still because of that family nonsense. It was never her fault. I never for a moment thought it was. Whatever harshness her family showed me, it was not of her making. It was she I loved and only she. I loved her then, and I love her now. Not a day passes that I do not stand by the window, looking across the street, hoping for the lift of a curtain, the glimpse of a shadow. Anything to believe it is Jo, walking so near to me once more.”

Ocean’s mind scrambled for something to say. Anything. She didn’t dare stand, afraid that if she moved too suddenly, he might vanish. He was here. Really here. Talking to her.

“I would be honored if you brought my beloved’s letters to me,” Henry said, his voice low and deliberate. “And if it’s not too much to ask, perhaps you could do the same for me. I’d be very much obliged if you would carry my words back to her.”

“Of course!” Ocean said quickly, nodding. “Of course, I’ll do that.”

Her eyes flicked toward the door that led up to Arthur’s apartment. Her mom was standing there, watching her with a puzzled expression.

“Who are you talking to, sweetheart?” Skye asked.

Ocean shrugged, like the answer was obvious. “Henry Stewart. Who else?”