Page 34 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ocean
Crumpling another piece of paper and tossing it over her shoulder, Ocean frowned at Jo.
“Tell me again why I can’t just type this up on my laptop or my phone and read it to him?”
Jo folded her arms. “Because a letter is not some telegram or machine-scrawl. A letter is meant to be savored, to be turned in the hand, to show the grace of the writer’s character in her penmanship. That is the mark of refinement.”
“My penmanship is trash,” Ocean muttered. “And you’re not even the one writing the thing. So, what difference does it make?”
“He can hold this missive in his hands,” Jo countered. “He can read it again and again.”
Ocean rolled her eyes. “Or I could just leave him a voicemail. A recording he can play a hundred times if he wants. I go back there, hit play, and boom—your words, your voice, on demand.”
Jo arched an eyebrow. “Are you going to sit there all day moaning about your scribbles? This entire enterprise was your idea, was it not?”
“Yes, it was my idea,” Ocean admitted. “But I was thinking something along the lines of FaceTime, or Zoom, or maybe you two just sending each other one-line texts. Or…” She grinned wickedly. “Sexting.”
Jo’s frown deepened, her lips parting in sharp disapproval.
Ocean laughed, holding up her hands. “Kidding! Totally kidding. I just wanted to see your face when I said that.”
Jo sniffed. “Teenagers.”
Ocean smirked. “Old people.”
“Let’s start from the top.”
Grabbing a fresh sheet of paper, Ocean scribbled down the words Jo dictated. Two lines in, the pen sputtered and died.
“Nooo. What the f?—”
“Don’t say it,” Jo cut in sharply.
“Fu…” Ocean dragged the syllable out, her eyes glittering with mischief. “…n. Fun. That’s what I was going to say.”
Jo narrowed her eyes. “I should hope so.”
Ocean searched the pigeonholes of the desk, shoving aside old envelopes and a dried-up inkwell. “Seriously? No pens in here?”
“I couldn’t say what people might have tucked away in my desk over the past hundred years,” Jo replied coolly.
Ocean froze, turning to stare at her. “Wait. This was your desk?”
Jo rested her hand on the worn wood, her voice softening. “The very same. From our summer house…back when I was still alive.”
“The house on Fourth Street,” Ocean said slowly. “My mom drove us past it yesterday. It’s under construction and all torn up.”
“My family’s summer home,” Jo confirmed. “I only really liked the house because of Esme. Every summer she would walk over, or I would slip away to meet her here. Away from my parents, I finally had a measure of freedom. And after I met Henry…well, Harbor View truly claimed my heart.”
“That explains all the furniture crammed in here and in the barn. And…” Ocean gave her a pointed look. “The letters from Henry that you never saw.”
“That property stayed in the family after I was gone. When Clare learned it was going up for sale last month, and that they meant to auction off everything, she went to the sale. This desk was the only thing I asked for. But she came back with far more than that.”
Ocean’s lips curved. “And that turned out to be a good thing, since Henry’s letters were mixed in with what she bought.”
Jo’s eyes shone. “The best news I’d had in a hundred years.”
It was amazing how everything suddenly made sense.
For all the times Ocean had visited her grandmother, she had never once seen this desk.
And Clare—practical to the bone—wasn’t the type to splurge without reason.
The only way she would’ve gone overboard, buying so many pieces at once, was if there had been true sentimental weight behind them.
“Why did this desk matter so much to you? What was special about it?” Ocean asked.
Jo’s gaze drifted toward the window, her voice turning soft and faraway.
“Because the first time I saw Henry, I was sitting at this desk, watching as he and his brother rowed their dory past our house. Later that summer, it was here that I wrote him letters, pouring my heart onto paper. And in its secret compartment, I hid the first gift he ever gave me. A locket.”
“What secret compartment?” Ocean asked, squinting at the pigeonholes and tugging at the desk drawers.
“Pull that drawer all the way out,” Jo told her.
Ocean slid it free, and her eyes widened. Behind it sat a small door, fitted with a tiny lock.
“In there,” Jo said softly.
Ocean crouched to get a closer look. “Cool, but…where’s the key?”
“At the house,” Jo said. “I used to keep it hidden behind a loose brick in my bedroom fireplace for fear my parents might discover it.”
“My grandmother got you the desk but not the key?” Ocean asked.
Jo’s expression clouded. “For all these years, others in my family used this desk. I had no hope the locket would still be inside,” she said sadly. “And then, as soon as the desk was delivered here, Clare passed. There was no chance of sending her back to search for the key.”