Page 32 of The Havenport Collection

Cecelia

I was still smiling as I walked briskly down Main Street near High Tide Coffee.

The sun was shining, it was cool with a light breeze, and everything seemed good. I had a job, my family, and a really hot guy who spent all his free time giving me life-changing orgasms.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out my camera.

I had taken it to get professionally cleaned at the camera store last week and was happy to find it was still in perfect working condition.

I snapped a few photos of my coffee, the harbor, and a huge flock of seagulls perched on the boardwalk.

It felt good to have the camera in my hands again—the weight and feel of it, the heightened senses of seeing things through its lens.

I couldn’t remember when I stopped taking photos.

It was after college, I think. I had just landed my first entry-level corporate job and was bartending on weekends to make my impossible Brooklyn rent.

All of a sudden, the architecture, the energy, and the feel of the city didn’t excite me anymore.

I didn’t race home to get my camera after a long day to capture a gorgeous sunset or rain bouncing off the city streets.

The camera collected dust, and I ended up packing it up and sending it back to my mom’s house along with a bunch of other things I couldn’t use in my tiny city life—old clothes, artwork, books, kitchen gear, and impractical shoes.

But for the first time in ten years I felt inspired. I looked around my everyday life, and I saw beautiful moments that I was compelled to capture.

Things had certainly turned out differently than I had expected.

Havenport wasn’t the prison I had envisioned.

I had been astounded by the community and the love its citizens had for one another.

They had accepted me back immediately and made me feel welcome.

The town had come together to support the brewery and, by extension, Liam and me.

I thought I loved New York. I thought I loved the anonymous big city atmosphere and the breakneck pace, but standing in the sunshine while breathing in clean ocean air was pretty freaking great too.

As I sat and sipped my coffee, my mind wandered to last night with Liam.

We promised each other we were going to take it slow and then ended up ripping each other’s clothes off and fucking on his couch.

Then we decided to clean off, and I went down on him under the drizzle of the rainfall showerhead.

He made me feel delicious, desired, and totally insatiable.

I wanted him all day, every day, in every conceivable position.

I wanted to fall asleep with him and wake up next to him every morning.

How was I going to survive this? How was I ever going to leave this man? The thought made me sick to my stomach.

I’d spent years lying to myself, and I’d like to think I was pretty good at it.

But even I couldn’t deny the fact that I was falling in love with Liam Quinn and it was terrifying.

My mind, my body, my soul craved him every moment of the day.

When I was with him, all my neuroses and anxieties faded into the background and I could just be myself.

And I knew that I was becoming a better version of myself.

I was more confident, smarter, and more ambitious.

He was making me better. My entire life I had assumed that men would drag me down and that being in a relationship was a sacrifice.

I thought I would have to change who I was to make a guy like me and want to keep me around.

I thought I had to dim my light to make room for a man.

Turns out I was wrong. The right man made my light shine brighter than ever.

But this was a dangerous path. Could I leave him?

Could I leave Havenport? I was beginning to feel like I belonged here—with my family, at the brewery, and in Liam’s bed.

I loved seeing Nora and my family every day.

I loved my morning run down by the docks with a stop at High Tide for an Americano on the way back.

I loved that I was taking photos again, that I was meditating and reading and spending quality time with the people who were important to me.

Me, the person who had never fit anywhere—the person who had to contort herself to fit—might have finally found her place.

But I don’t want this life. I want to be back in the city, in an office. Kicking ass and taking names in expensive shoes. Don’t I?

I told myself I wanted a corporate career. I wanted to climb the ladder.

I wanted a 401k and stock options and yearly exotic vacations.

I wanted to live in the city and soak up art and culture and museums.

But, if I was being honest with myself, I had lived in New York for almost nine years.

And how much did I really do? I worked too much to ever appreciate anything or go anywhere.

And the cost of living was so high that in the event I had the time, I certainly didn’t have the money to do anything exciting.

I didn’t have any significant friendships there, I had no time for hobbies, and I felt continually trapped and suffocated by my life.

So maybe it was time to put on my big girl pants and be honest. Did I really belong there? Just because I had built up some unrealistic fantasy in my head didn’t mean it was true.

I had no delusions about Havenport.

I had no delusions about Liam.

But I had found a place that accepted me entirely and welcomed my quirks. And instead of having to change or adapt to fit in, I was finally embracing who I really was.

Maybe this was who I really was meant to be. Maybe there was room in this town, and in Liam’s heart, for me—flaws and all.

“Excuse me, Cecelia?”

I removed my earbuds and saw Leah Bell standing before me in all her early morning punk glory. The fuchsia High Tide apron clashed with her lavender hair and black leather leggings, but somehow she made it work.

“Hi, Leah, how are you?”

“Great. Busy…tired. Our twins just started kindergarten and I have been so stressed about it.”

“Well, that’s exciting. I didn’t know you and Dave had kids. My mom taught kindergarten here for thirty years before she retired.”

“Oh yes. I love your mom. She is such a hoot. They actually have Mrs. Foster this year.”

“Lucy? She is an old friend of my mom’s. Trust me, they are in great hands.”

“Thanks for saying that.”

She tucked her hands in the pocket of her apron. “So I don’t want to bother you. But I wanted to ask you if you would be interested in doing some freelance marketing and branding work for us?”

I almost spit out my coffee.

“Um, me?”

“Dave and I have seen what you’ve done with the brewery, and you are so talented.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“We’ve been doing well here since we opened, but we want to take things to the next level and potentially expand.

We want to upgrade our website, logos, social media, the whole thing.

Maybe even start a blog or e-book with Aunt Betty’s recipes.

Obviously, this would just be a few hours of your time, but we would love to pick your brain and get some ideas from a professional. ”

“Wow, I am so flattered.”

“Do you have a business card?”

“Ha…no. But let me give you my cell.”

“It would mean so much to us if you would consider it. I know it’s small potatoes for you.”

“No, no. It’s not at all. I love High Tide, and I want you to succeed. I am not planning to stay in town much longer, just till after the holidays, but let me mull it over and get back to you?”

“That would be great. Thanks so much.”

Well, that was strange. Strange and super flattering.

I was not a marketing guru. As much as I would love to help Leah and Dave, I needed to find a real job at some point.

I am not an entrepreneur, and I’m certainly not creative enough to do branding and marketing work for people.

The brewery was just a one-off. I was a corporate person, and even if I stayed in the area, I would have to find a corporate job at some point. I couldn’t live with my mother forever.