Of course, there were embellishments, like Rogan standing on top of the bar, me sobbing at his feet, begging for him to stop. Yeah . . . good times.
“Rogan did nothing but firmly plant himself in the asshole category.” I lean against the wall and peek into the dining room, checking on my tables. “Seriously, he’s Captain Asshole, leading the brigade down Shithead Lane. Who does that?” I scoff. “Doing me a favor, my ass. He was doing himself a favor, letting everyone know that even though I was back in town, he wanted nothing to do with me.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Honestly, I think the town should take a vote. Someone who humiliates another person that much should be voted off the island.” I make a whistle sound and jab my thumb over my shoulder. “You’re out of here, buddy.”
“I would love that, being able to vote people out of this town. Franklin would be the first to go. I can’t stand that guy.”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Don’t get me started on Franklin. Like, stick your nose in someone else’s business, and when I say I want my turkey sliced thin, I mean thin, you . . . motherfucker.”
Off to the side, Eve snorts. “You tell him. Slice it thin, you motherfucker.”
“It’s just deli meat etiquette.” I throw my hands up. “Not everyone wants chunky meat.”
I stuff my order pad in my apron and take a deep breath. “I’m going to go check on table eight. They’re out-of-towners and can’t seem to drink enough water.”
Pitcher in hand, I head toward table eight, where the three strangers are sitting. It’s the best table in the place, with a window that overlooks the peninsula bay.
“I don’t know, Sally, there don’t seem to be any sandy beaches here; it’s all slate rock,” the man says, pulling at his navy-blue cap.
I pick up his water glass to fill it as Sally, a petite redhead, scoffs, “There have to be. I can’t imagine there being no sandy beaches.”
“Have you looked around?” the other woman with the freckled cheeks asks. “It really is beautiful, just . . . rocky.”
I pick up Sally’s water glass this time and clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but if you’re looking for a sandy beach in Port Snow, there’s one at the end of Seagull Lane.”
“Really?” the lady asks. “Whereabouts is Seagull Lane? Close to here?”
“Just down the hill and right off Main Street. Curves around a forested lot, so it’s a little deceiving, but when you drive to the end of the street, you’ll see the beach access. In my opinion it’s the prettiest beach in Port Snow. A close second is Turtle Cove, which is on the other side of the harbor, a few blocks from the Lobster Landing. Turtle Cove isn’t white sand, though; it’s covered in tiny pieces of slate rock that turned into what looks like sand. The water has carved out a little cove, and it’s perfect for whale watching during the season. Absolutely gorgeous.”
“Sounds breathtaking,” Sally says and looks to the other two at the table. “What’s your favorite winter spot?”
Water pitcher at my hip, I pause for a moment, considering. “Well, it depends. What are you looking for? If you’re searching for the best place to enjoy a warm drink, I love Snow Roast, but there’s a little booth that sells Snow Roast’s coffee set up at the town park. A hundred yards down from that, there’s a bench that offers the perfect view of all the evergreen trees covered in freshly fallen snow. If you want something a little bit more picturesque, there’s a spot right down the road from here, a plateau that not only gives you a beautiful view of the wintery lighthouse but also offers a lovely view of Port Snow’s Main Street. But if you want a forests-and-holly-berries feel”—I point at them knowingly—“this is a secret, but behind Brig’s Garage is a grove of huge pines that act as a canopy. Brig set up a firepit and custom-built log benches. You can sit there all night and hear nothing but the crackling of the fire and the faint sound of waves in the distance. Stunning.”
Sally studies me for a moment, then turns to her two companions. They all exchange glances before the man looks up at me and holds out his hand. “I’m Carl, this is Sally, and over here is Elizabeth. Can you tell us your name?”
Nervously, I reach out my hand. “I’m Harper Sanders.”
“How long have you lived here, Harper?”
“All my life.”
Carl nods and folds his arms over his chest, looking out toward the bay. “Would you mind if we ask you a few more questions? After your shift, of course?”
“Yes,” I say skeptically. “Am I in trouble? I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You’re fine. We just have some follow-up questions, and it would be nice to talk in more depth. When do you get off your shift?”
I check my watch. “Half an hour.”
“Perfect. We’ll wait here until you’re done and meet you in the lobby. We can grab a seat next to the fire and have a conversation. Does that sound all right with you?”
I swallow hard and nod. “Yes, sir. Sounds great.”
And cue the sweating.
I attempt to make myself presentable in the employee break room, but I really have nothing to work with besides a cream quarter-zip sweater and ponytail holder. I smooth my hair back and sigh. Well, this is the best I could do.
After the weird conversation I had with Sally, Carl, and Elizabeth, I pulled Eve in the back and told her everything, asking her what she thought they could possibly want. She guessed they were tourists looking for those strange or unfindable spots. I was hoping for a better story than that. They’re out-of-towners for sure, but part of me hoped they needed something more important. Maybe they’re new developers? I’m not about having chain stores, but a nicer boutique in town would be cool. There’s only so much kitschy Port Snow gear one person can own.
With my little backpack slung over my shoulder, I make my way toward the lobby, where my new “friends” are waiting for me. They greet me with smiles, and we settle into a cozy little circle of chairs by the fire.
Carl is the first to speak. “We were really impressed with your knowledge of the town, Harper. It seems like you know every nook and cranny of Port Snow.”
I smile and casually shrug. “Let’s just say there’s only so much you can do when you grow up in a small town, and venturing around is one of them.” I take a deep breath and push down the memories of all the times Rogan and I explored together. “I used to spend my summers walking all around Port Snow, taking in every little curve and bend in the roads, every tree and flower during the spring. It was fun for me.” For us.
“Where in town do you live?”
“Here.” I point. “On the peninsula. My dad takes care of the lighthouse. I recently moved back to town and have loved getting reacquainted.” Despite the nuisance of having to live in the same town as my ex-boyfriend.
“Well, it’s absolutely stunning here and so quaint. What are your favorite establishments in Port Snow?”
I wasn’t expecting them to ask me so many questions, but hey, it’s nice that they like my town so much. I’ve never met such interested visitors.
“The library is a gorgeous place that most people overlook. It’s built entirely out of stone and is just stunning when you walk inside; with its vaulted ceilings, it looks like a small cathedral. Then there’s the Harbor Walk, which is the bridge walk connecting Fairy Island and Port Snow.”
“Fairy Island? Is that really its name?” Elizabeth asks, looking interested.
“Yup. It’s tiny and gorgeous, but there really isn’t much over there besides some hiking trails and another lighthouse. But the Harbor Walk itself . . .” I sigh, thinking about all the times Rogan and I walked up and down the three-quarter-mile stretch, holding hands. “It’s magical in the morning, when the mist is rising off the water, the sun rising over the horizon. And then there’s the Harbor Walk House.”
“What’s that?” Sally asks, leaning forward with a to-go cup of coffee in her hand.
I smile inwardly, loving this story. “Well, the Harbor Walk was built back in 1902 b
y a private resident at the time. He was an old fisherman who struck it rich—as the story goes—and every time he came home from a long catch out at sea, he would worry about hitting the island and all the sea traffic that passed between the two pieces of land, so he brought his concern to the town. Can you guess what they did?”
“Built the bridge walk?” Carl asks.
I shake my head. “They laughed at him and turned down his ridiculous notion.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth laughs. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Neither was the fisherman. After he was so rudely dismissed, he made it his mission to build the bridge on his own. After fifteen years of saving, he built the bridge, along with a house dead smack in the middle.”
“The Harbor Walk House,” Carl says with a smile.
“Mm-hmm, and do you know what that fisherman did?” They all shake their heads, on the edge of their seats. “He cut the island off from the town, claiming that the rich foliage and magical grounds were only meant for those who were worthy of Fairy Island . . . or those who were willing to pay.”
“Nooo,” Sally drags out with a laugh.
“Yup.” I nod. “He started collecting a toll on the footbridge from anyone who wanted to experience the island. Word quickly spread that the island brought not only the fisherman good fortune but others as well. Before he knew it, the fisherman was knee deep in toll money and laughing in the town’s face.”
“If only they listened to him.” Carl shakes his head, grinning. “And who owns the house now?”
“Well, after he felt like the town had repaid its debt, the fisherman donated the bridge to Port Snow—or as it was called at the time, Duck Foot—and passed the house down to his next of kin, making it known that there would be no more toll to collect. I’m not sure who owns the house now, but I do know they rent it out for a pretty penny, and the Harbor Walk is open to all who want to take the jaunt to Fairy Island.”
I remember taking that walk many times with Rogan, talking about the Harbor Walk House and how cool it would be to live in the middle of the water, the seagulls as your neighbors and the boats as your view. It was one of many houses all over town that I’ve loved and fantasized about.
Elizabeth sits back. “That’s incredible. What a story.” She folds her arms over her chest. “You know, Harper, you’re a wonderful storyteller.”
“Thank you. I’ve spent the last seven years working as a tour guide, so I have some doozies I could tell you.”
“A tour guide? Really?” Carl asks, scratching the side of his cheek and looking between Sally and Elizabeth.
I can see something brewing in his eyes, and before he even thinks about getting an idea, I say, “I’m not a tour guide anymore . . . kind of in the midst of figuring out what to do.”
“Hmm . . .” Elizabeth’s smile grows wide. “You’re in transition?”
“Yeah,” I drag out, wondering where all this is headed.
As one, they nod at each other, and Carl leans forward, beckoning me to do the same. “Harper, how would you like to be a location scout for Lovemark?”
“Lovemark?” I shout-whisper. “As in the most popular romance channel on TV, the same channel that brought us I Fell for Hunky Saint Nick and Tut-Tut, It Looks like Snow?”
Sally smiles warmly. “The one and only.”
I look between all three of them. “Wait, you’re not tourists, are you? You want to make a movie in Port Snow? Wait . . . oh my God! Are you going to make a Christmas movie in Port Snow?” I’m bouncing on my chair, all professionalism thrown right out the window. “That would be . . . God, what a dream.” I grip my forehead. “Oh Christ, the town will have a collective aneurism. I don’t think they’re ready for this kind of excitement. Someone will have to be on call for the elders down at Senior Row, and then Mrs. Davenport, she’s already so old and frail. Gah, and Franklin—he’s a gossip, so any inside scoop will have to be kept away from him because he will ruin everything. And don’t forget Brig; I think it’s been his lifelong dream to be an extra in a movie.” I look up, eyes wide. “Is this going to be a . . .” I bite my bottom lip and take a deep breath. “Is this going to be a ‘Kickoff to Christmas’ movie?”
Sally pats my hand. “I think we found our town.”
“Your town? What does that mean?”
Carl takes the lead. “We were on the fence between Port Snow and another town, but once we made it here and took in the quaint Main Street, the pastel buildings, beautiful lights . . . we knew we had to film here. We just need someone who can help us scout the actual locations for filming and act as town liaison. From your little spiel of excitement, it seems like you know everyone in town. Am I correct?”
“Oh yeah. When you’re a lifer in Port Snow, you know everything about everyone. Believe me, we’re all family here.”
“Which is great to hear, and I hate to ask this, but are you on good terms with everyone? We really need a town liaison who can smooth our path here.”
“Oh yeah.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, but I’m just so excited. A location scout for Lovemark? A dream job just fell right in my lap; what’s a little lie going to do?
Technically, I am on good terms with everyone. Yes, my ex-boyfriend and I might have had a fight in the middle of the street the other night, but it’s not like I’m going to have to work with Rogan on this. No, everything will be just fine.
“Perfect. Well, the job is yours if you want it. Since we’re directing and producing the film, we have to fly back to LA and spend a week there getting everything set, but if you’re on board, we would love to send you the script so you can get to work on finding some scene locations and give us some options. Does that work?”
“I mean . . . hell yeah.” I laugh, still in shock. “You know I know nothing about film or anything like that.”
“But you know the heart of the town, and that’s what we’re looking for. That’s what makes our movies so dynamic and addicting,” Sally says. “It’s the heart.”
Isn’t that the truth? The number of times I’ve shamelessly swooned over a Lovemark movie is absurd.
“Unfortunately, once we get back, we will need you on board full time. Will the restaurant be okay with that?”
“I think so.” I wink. Eve can help me get out of my waitressing duties.
They all laugh and stand. I stand as well and exchange information and handshakes. In minutes they’re walking out the door, leaving me with a giant smile on my face and the tiniest glimmer of hope. This might be the break I was looking for.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ROGAN
Senior Year, High School
“Hey, Claire,” I say, walking into the kitchen to grab a drink. Sweaty and exhausted from practice, I snag a Gatorade and take a seat at the dining room table across from her and Griffin. “What are you guys up to?”
“Thinking about a movie. Claire got all her schoolwork done for the night. Thought we’d relax.”
“Oh yeah?” I uncap the bottle. “How’s nursing school? Still gross?”
“It’s not gross,” Claire scoffs. “Just, you know, not for the faint of heart.”
Hand clasped around my bottle, I point at my brother. “That would be Griffin.”
“No it’s not, dipshit. I’m training to be a volunteer fireman. Kind of need to be able to handle gruesome stuff. You’re thinking of Reid.”
“Yup.” I nod. “I was thinking of Reid. He was the one who fainted in PE when a girl got knocked in the mouth with a soccer ball and lost a tooth.” I take a large gulp of the lemon-lime sports drink. “You know, he’s giving the Knightlys a bit of a bad reputation, fainting and throwing up his cookies after running a mile.”
“In his defense, he ran it in five minutes,” Griffin points out.
“Still, hold it in, man, and puke in a bush when no one is looking, not on the track.”
“Are you talking about me?” Reid asks, strolling into the kitchen, shirtless and looking like he j
ust got out of bed. He reaches into the fridge, snags a Coke, and then walks back out, not even waiting for an answer.
With a scrunched nose, Claire turns to Griffin. “No offense, but he is by far the weirdest brother you have. First of all, does he not own any shirts? And secondly, if he didn’t pop in the kitchen every once in a while, I would swear he never left his bedroom.”
Griffin and I exchange smiles. “He’s fifteen, babe. There are things he’s more interested in than sitting around a table and talking with us.”
Realization hits her as she starts to giggle. “Oh, Reid.”
“Happens to the best of us,” I say, taking a large gulp again and sympathizing. After all, my hand is my only source of pleasure too . . . well, that and Harper’s mouth.
“Still haven’t had sex with Harper?” Griffin asks while Claire swats him in the stomach.
“That’s none of our business. Plus, they’re still seniors; they have plenty of time to explore. And don’t act all cocky. You didn’t get any until after we graduated.”
“Really?” I ask, giving Griffin a questioning brow.
He shrugs and pulls her into his side. “She was worth the wait.”
“So is Harper.”
Just then the front door flies open, and shoes are kicked off in the entryway. Together, Griffin, Claire, and I all lean forward to look down the hallway, searching for the source of the commotion. In a flash of dark red, Harper comes barreling down the hallway and hops right into my sweaty arms.
“Hey.” I laugh as she starts kissing my lips. “Harp, I’m . . . all . . . sweaty,” I say in between kisses.
“I don’t care.” She pulls away and beams right before pressing her lips against mine again.
Not that I don’t like kisses from my girl or her bouncing on my lap in excitement, but I also want to know why I’m deserving such treatment.
Gripping her shoulders, I carefully put some distance between us and look her in those excited hazel eyes. “What’s going on?”
From her back pocket, she pulls out a thick envelope and waves it in front of my face, making it impossible to make out what it is. “I got in, Rogue. I got into Syracuse University!”
That Forever Girl Page 11