5. Harmony
CHAPTER 5
Harmony
T aking a seat in the high school auditorium, I wait for the meeting to start. It’s adorned with student-made spirit posters on the walls, the blue and green colors of the Port Haven Seals dominating each one.
I really don’t want to be here today. I’m nauseated at the possibility of this meeting’s purpose being to run me out of town. My business neighbor isn’t the nicest guy. Although, I love knowing I stole his prized employee.
When Marie told me she was saving for a car, I explained how she’d get pay and tips. That I’d train her so I could eventually promote her to a manager position, which comes with a wage increase since there are more responsibilities. Mr. Kelleher, as I have decided to refer to him as, didn’t have a chance.
A driven girl like Marie? Her eyes absolutely lit up when I said manager. Her jaw dropped open a little when I mentioned I’d personally mentor her. I want her to succeed in whatever she does. The world needs more women-run businesses. No matter what Marie wants to do with herself, I can help get her there. In a way, it’s almost like I’m giving back to the world.
Poor Mr. Kelleher didn’t have a damn chance. I’ve been giddy since I got her text accepting my open position this afternoon.
Did he invite me to this town hall as some sort of ambush? Will this whole thing about The SeaSong even be fair? Is it going to be the sole topic of the meeting? I glance around the room as it fills in with citizens, most of whom I don’t know.
Aside from my landlord, a few other neighbors, and a handful of SeaSong regulars that I know mostly by their order, I haven’t really met many townspeople. Most of the individuals who come into the café are tourists. Which is fine. It’s one of the reasons I picked Port Haven. It’s a small town with a healthy tourism rate that starts in mid-spring and runs throughout the summer before picking back up during the snowy winter season. It also helps that the only other coffee shop in town is a chain store.
Port Haven loves its local family-owned stores. Just on this street alone there’s The SeasSong, the bookstore, the hardware store, and the art gallery. Even the main grocery store is under private ownership. And this is just on the long block of the main drag. It’s part of the charm here. It’s truly straight out of a Hallmark movie. It was some of the appeal of coming to Port Haven for me. The homey feeling with a hefty side of Christmas magic and the small-town vibe has spoken to me since I’m a child and has continued into adulthood. Maybe it’s because I lived in Montana until I was almost eight and they, too, have harsh winters with snow—unlike warm Southern California.
The meeting begins with talk of installing bike lanes and trails throughout town. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing this isn’t just about my business. Most people are for the bike lanes, especially the bike shop that rents to the tourists to get around town during the summer. There is discussion about what theme we want downtown for the Christmas decorations this year, which I find out starts exactly six months from today—all the downtown shops are strongly encouraged to participate. I’ve always loved Christmas, so I know it’ll be fulfilling to join in on the fun. I was thinking of commissioning SeaSong ornaments to sell at the register. A mermaid wearing headphones—like the one that graces my wall perhaps.
Though the townspeople chat amongst themselves, no one talks to me, and it makes me feel awkward, like I stand out—the perpetual outsider looking in.
“Tobias, you had an agenda item?” The man at the podium looks over his glasses at Mr. Kelleher. Tobias. So, that’s his first name. I’d only heard him referred to as Toby. I sit at attention, knowing that this will be about me, about my beloved café. Despite being bone-tired, I really need to pay attention so I can defend myself if and when the time comes.
His confident swagger makes my spine tingle as he makes his way to the podium. He has a nice ass clad under those beige slacks. Slacks that he wasn’t wearing earlier today because I remember the dark jeans he donned when I saw him pass my café on what I assumed was his lunch break. Did he go home and dress up just to show me up?
Is this what pregnancy is going to do to me? Make me notice things like my enemy’s nice ass? And how those biceps of his are being hugged just right by the spring green polo he’s wearing? Crap—now I sound like a damn romance novel. I roll my eyes internally at myself.
I must quit thinking about him and start paying attention. Damn pregnancy hormones have me all over the place. It’s what’s going to come out of his mouth that I need to concentrate on. I have a sinking feeling that whatever he says won’t be flattering.
He takes his place behind the podium, pulls a pair of glasses out of his pocket, and unfolds a piece of paper. Of course he wrote a damn speech.
“Fellow Havenites…” Havenites? Are they serious? They call themselves Havenites? I fight the eyeroll that wants to come. Too many people are watching and if anyone sees how ridiculous I think the name is, I won’t ever make friends here.
“I come to you today to highlight what’s going on right under your noses here in downtown Port Haven.” He pauses and looks up, making eye contact with various people in the audience, his eyes eventually landing on my own. “The new café that’s moved into the old Johnson storefront has applied for a liquor license.”
A small murmur spreads through the crowd as if he’s said I open every Tuesday and Thursday naked or something. “Yes, that’s right, a liquor license. So she can turn her "café" into a"—oh hell, he actually made air quotes with his fingers—"bar at night." He takes a breath before continuing. “ I don’t know about you, but I do not relish the thought of a bar next to my bookstore. They’re magnets for trouble and crime. We do not want to bring elements of unsavoriness into downtown Port Haven.”
That’s not what I’m trying to do at all. It’s not going to be a bar in the way he’s referencing it. I’m trying to give musicians a place to play locally. A place for local indie bands wanting exposure and bigger musicians looking to get back to their roots. I wouldn’t be open late every night. I’m not running some sort of weird coffee-themed speakeasy. The SeaSong is a coffee shop first, and it always will be. Coffee and music are my loves, and this is my way of joining the two.
“We’re a small, peaceful town. We have a slower pace here that we pride ourselves on. If people want to go to a bar,” his lip curls up in derision, “they go to The Office out by the interstate.” Why did such an ass have to be so good looking? He pauses dramatically, and dammit, there are those arms again, his muscles moving his shirt ever so slightly.
“I encourage our county and city officials to think about the ramifications of what a bar will do to our wholesome family- friendly downtown area. I urge you to consider what we really want in our town. Because a café slash bar is not what I want, and I’m pretty sure it’s not what you want either. Thank you.” He picks up his paper and taps the edge on the podium before walking back to his seat.
“Is there anyone here who’d like to make a remark or rebuttal to Tobias?”
I’m standing before I know what I’m doing, then I walk up to the podium. The weight of everyone’s eyes drill into my back, watching my every move. Keep steady. You got this, Harmony.
I have no paper, no notes to fall back on, but I can’t let him trash talk my café—me—to a good portion of the town. I came here to defend The SeaSong and my intentions, and I’m going to do just that.
I take a deep breath as I step behind the podium, lifting my chin up the way my mom taught me. I am my father, my mother, and my biological mom’s child. I will not let Tobias or this town take down my dream without a fight. My family has all fought for me in some form or another, even my birth mom. She did what she could to give me the best chance at a better life than she had.
“Um, hi.” My voice cracks, a tell-tale sign of weakness. I take a deep breath and start over. “For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Harmony, and I’m the owner of The SeaSong Café, the café next to Kelleher Bookseller’s. What Mr. Kelleher says is true—I’ve started the petition process for a liquor license. But I assure you that I have no intention of turning the café into a bar or a café by morning and bar by night type of establishment.” I mimic Toby and look up, making eye contact with people who don’t know me from Batman. It’s then the feeling that I am truly alone in this town hits me.The thought momentarily breaks my train of thought and I pause, my stomach roiling for a brief second. Shit, I’m all alone here. A cold shiver passes over me. People stare at me as my heart rate jumps and my brain starts back up. Get back on track, Harm.
“My Port Haven business plan is on file in the county licensing office, along with all the permits I needed to get the café up to code.” May as well let them know that I’ve already bettered Port Haven by bringing an older building up to code. “In that plan, I detailed both my desire to apply for and gain a liquor license and why. Before I get into those details, I want to tell you why I picked Port Haven as the home of The SeaSong.
“The first time I visited this town was twelve years ago. I came as a winter tourist with my parents. We stayed at the lodge up the road and would ski. Or rather, my dad and brother would ski. My mom and I would come into town and shop in the little boutiques on Ocean and Beach Streets and buy Christmas presents, have lunch, and take part in the typical mother-daughter bonding experiences. We’ve returned to Port Haven multiple times since.” I take a breath to keep my voice steady.
“I may not be an official Havenite, but I was more than familiar with this town before I purchased The SeaSong. I’m not some out-of-towner trying to make a quick buck or pull one over on the town. I’m not here to increase crime downtown—or anywhere. I moved here from Southern California because I craved the calmer pace of life, which is exactly what Mr. Kelleher spoke about a moment ago. I needed the joyful ambiance of a Port Haven Christmas and being close to the ocean was also important to me.”
I decide not to tell them that I also came here to step out of the shadow of the rock band my father is in. That I want to make it somewhere that doesn’t care what my dad does for a living. That I am here to ultimately find my footing as Harmony Donogue—woman, business owner, and all-around good person.
“The SeaSong will always be a café first. I love everything coffee. But as the daughter of a musician, I’d like to support the local music scene by hosting evening events occasionally. Spoken word, open mic, local bands. I plan to hold these events only a few nights a week. I’d like to start by serving wine first, then maybe some beer and spirits. But I am not looking to become a tavern.” I step out from behind the podium and start back toward my seat but then decide to give The SeaSong one last plug.
“Also, if anyone is looking for a job, I’m hiring. Thank you for hearing me out, and if you would like to talk to me about The SeaSong, my business plan, or just want to check the vibe of my café and my coffee or tea, please stop by. I’d love to see you there and welcome the opportunity to chat and get to know you.” This time, I walk away from the podium without any additions.
There’s a low hum of whispers around me from those in attendance, but I can’t recognize the specifics of what anyone says. I can’t tell if anything I said made a positive impact or if the low murmurs of the crowd are more about my ridiculous ideas. How I’m too young to own a business. How I don’t belong in Port Haven and should return to Southern California.
I slip back into my seat at the very back. The mayor calls the next order of business and that’s that. We move on to raccoon proofing the garbage cans in the main park not far from the café.
As I sit and listen, the acid in my stomach builds along with the tell-tale nausea I’ve become all too familiar with thanks to the little nugget growing in my belly. And it’s right on time. Like clockwork. Every evening. So much for it being called morning sickness. My stomach churns again, this time making my mouth water like it usually does right before I throw up. Oh no. Not here. Please, baby, not here.
I’ve got to get out of here, get home. At least I was smart enough to sit in the back. It’ll make my early escape out of this meeting a bit easier and a little less noticeable.
I half gag, half heave most of the way home. How did my birth mom do this alone and while she was addicted to drugs no less? How am I going to do this alone—in a town that has such obvious disdain for me?