1. Harmony
CHAPTER 1
Harmony
I t’s been a few weeks since I talked to Mom, and I feel so guilty. I miss hearing her voice. We text throughout the day, but it’s just not the same. Tonight is the perfect night for one of our long video calls since I close The SeaSong early on Sundays. I’ll pack up the extra baked goods for my neighbors, and after I deliver them, I’ll give her a call. I meant to do it last weekend, but I fell asleep on the couch when I got home. Running a business is exhausting, especially on the days I don’t feel like peopling. Much like my dad, I’m fairly introverted. Working in cafés over the years taught me to mask this well. It’s been hard for me to make friends here in Port Haven, but I’ve been trying, starting with my immediate neighbors.
I turn up the sound system in my empty café as I go through my afternoon cleaning rituals. Sundays are busy in the mornings, but usually only a few people trickle in throughout the afternoon, and I’m about an hour from closing. The SeaSong Cafe is doing pretty well in this town, considering I’m an outsider. They have their tourists, who everyone in town bends over to accommodate and chat up, and then there’s me. I’m firmly in outsider territory because this little town is tight-knit, and I’ve found that they don’t trust new people easily.But I’ll win them over eventually.
Living in Port Haven is not like growing up in Southern California with a family full of famous musicians. That’s why I opened The SeaSong somewhere the Blind Rebels weren’t. Don’t get me wrong—I love my large, raucous band family, but I want this to be all mine. I want The SeaSong to stand on its own and not be popular because I’m the daughter of the bass player for a popular rock band. I love my dad with all that I am, but I don’t always love living in the long shadow he casts.
My mother-in-law unit is in the backyard of a nice house. It’s cute and private with my own entrance separate from the main house. My landlady has even given me a small square of the yard that I can use for a garden. I’m excited to start growing my own shiny tomatoes, beans, and some herbs. It’s something Mom and I did every spring. I remember always being so excited when our little crops started to yield actual veggies.
I’m still working on trying to get Amanda, my baker, to agree to work for me full-time. It helps that because of the work that Fend and Dad did before they left, she has a full kitchen at her disposal. I’d have more time to work on the garden in the morning. That, and I just need additional help, but I’m also hoping a teen who seems to love the café will apply soon.
The bell on the front door rings, and I shove my phone into my pocket as I hustle back out to the front of the café.
“Welcome to The SeaSong. What can I get started for you?” My customer-friendly voice trails off as I watch the customer, a somewhat familiar looking man, walk to the front window and rip my liquor license notice off it. He charges toward me next, his face reddening with each step, while the piece of paper crinkles in his fisted grip.
“This is not acceptable!” He waves the notice in my face, his mouth agape like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out but some spittle. The veins in his neck pop. He’d be handsome in that older guy kind of way if he weren’t yelling at me. His dark blonde temples are dusted with a smattering of gray, which is sprinkled throughout his bearded scruff as well. As he shakes the paper in my face, his forehead wrinkles and his eyes narrow on me.
“Um, hello…” I try to remain calm, but I’m already wishing I let Dad install that panic button under the counter near the register.If it were there right now, all I’d have to do is reach down and press my thumb to it.
“First, someone buys this space,” he yells, waving his hands around like a lunatic. “For above the asking price right when I was getting my finances together to purchase it, and now you’re acquiring a liquor license?” He shakes it at me for what seems like the twentieth time, and I reach out to take it from him. I’m half inclined to walk it back over to the window and return it to where I posted it yesterday afternoon per the licensing regulations. But I don’t want to come out from behind the counter while he’s still here ranting at me.
“When it gets approved, I’m going to host after-hours events on select Friday and Saturday nights to highlight local and up-and-coming musicians. And I might do Sunday brunch during the summer for tourists.” I motion to the stage. “It was in the business plan I filed with the county before I opened.”
“ Your business plan? You own this place?” He looks incredulous, his eyebrows high, then moving down tight as his maple brown eyes narrow at me all over again. “You can’t be over, what, twenty?”
“My age isn’t any of your business. I have an MBA from UCLA and loads of experience working in coffee shops and bakeries. I even spent a summer in South America on a coffee farm learning the ins and outs of coffee making straight from the farm.” It comes out like something a privileged brat would say, but I can’t help myself. Old Dude is rude as fuck, throwing my age into question. There is no way I’m telling him I’m almost twenty-five.
“Ah, I get it now.” He rocks back. “Your rich daddy bought you this place. Explains that Barbie pink eyesore of a Jeep.” He’s not wrong about The SeaSong or the Jeep, except the Jeep was given to me by my rich uncle. Still, it doesn’t feel good the way Old Dude says it. Like there is something wrong with my parents supporting my dream and having a generous uncle who loves to give gifts.
“You’re certainly not a local.” His nose wrinkles as disdain drips from his voice, stabbing the knife of not belonging into my back a little deeper. He has no idea that I’ve loved Port Haven with all my heart since I was in middle school when we vacationed here during winter break. I fell in love with the little coastal town that felt like it was right out of a Christmas movie, while Fender and my dad fell in love with all things snow sports. This town exuded a peaceful sense of community that spoke to my heart—even way back then.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but I bought this place fair and square. I’m going to do what I like with it.” I straighten my shoulders and try to stand tall, even though I feel a little nauseous at the fact that this guy, who I don’t know, is giving me such a hard time. Like my dad, I don’t love conflict. And when faced with it, I would much rather run away than face it head-on. But I need to stand up and defend myself as a business owner.
“I’m Toby Kelleher.” He looks at me like that’s supposed to mean something, but I’m at a loss.
Until it finally clicks.
“From Kelleher Bookseller’s next door,” we say in tandem. It would be cute completing each other’s sentences if it weren’t for the hostility pointed at me and the ridiculous way he’s acting. I tip my chin up, keep calm, and don’t react. That’s what he wants—my reaction.
If I need to escape, the back door is unlocked, and my keys to the Jeep are in my pocket , I remind myself.
“And that monstrosity of a mural in the parking lot is atrocious. It looks like graffiti. It’s not art and shouldn’t be in public view.”
His comment stings. My mom and I drew and painted that mural together. I get tons of compliments on it from customers, and I haven’t even been open that long. I know this is just an attempt to push my buttons, to make me squirm uncomfortably, but I will not give him the satisfaction.
He lowers his voice. “You can be damn sure I’m going to contest this permit. That will drag out the process for you, if not cancel out your license application entirely.” He tilts his chin up slightly, signaling that the conversation is both over and that he thinks he’s won.
Well, Old Dude’s going to eat that smug look. His words won’t dissuade me in the least.I want to wipe that conceited look right off his damn face, but what he doesn’t know is that I operate best when someone tells me not to do something.
He has no idea what he’s started.