Safe Harbor (Scoops Series Book 1), page 2
Melanie unbuckled her seatbelt slowly and opened her wallet to grab some cash. She took a deep breath and opened the door, the heat from the sun blazing down on her pasty white arms. She made her way to the counter, watching as the guy continued to read his beaten-up copy of Oliver Twist.
Melanie watched him for a moment as he read, wondering what exactly she should do with her hands, which were now dripping with sweat. She crossed her arms tightly around her chest, glancing up at the menu.
Just like the rest of Haverport, the menu at Scoops didn’t seem to have changed at all—still 32 flavors. Still an option to make it into a hot fudge sundae or a milkshake. Still the three options to dip the cones in chocolate, strawberry, or butterscotch.
“Welcome to Scoops,” drawled a deep voice from the counter. “What can I get you?”
Melanie glanced down at the guy, who was now staring up at her with a pair of eyes so strikingly blue, she instantly felt her face flush. She quickly looked back up at the menu, but all of her attention was on the small smirk on his face as he stared up at her. He closed his book.
“Uh—um,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “What’s your favorite?”
“Oreo,” he said confidently.
“Mmm,” Melanie said, wincing internally. Why was she so awkward?
She glanced at him, noticing he was now standing upright, his arms crossed along his chest. He was much taller than she anticipated, definitely more than Duncan. Maybe six feet or so? She wasn’t sure why she was hyper-focusing on his height when she should have been focusing on which flavor to order so she could get the hell out of there.
“Um, I’ll have strawberry,” she said quietly. “Two scoops.”
He nodded. “Sugar, cake, or waffle?”
“Huh?”
“Cone? Which cone do you want?”
“Oh, uh, waffle, I guess.”
He nodded, opening up a case next to him and grabbing what looked like a homemade waffle cone. Melanie watched as he reached for a clean ice cream scoop in a small bucket, noticing the way his arm flexed as he flicked the warm water from it. She turned toward the car, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flushed her face was when he approached the window again.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced down to find a text from her Mom.
Movers are en route!
Her stomach tightened. That gave her about thirty minutes to get to the cottage and open it up for the movers, and to also finish consuming what looked like the largest ice cream ever that was now coming toward her.
The guy held out her cone, a napkin wrapped tightly around the bottom. Melanie reached for it, her fingers grazing his hand, making her whole body zing. She pulled away immediately. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
The guy smirked. “New to town?”
“That obvious?”
“Your headband and your polo sort of gave it away.”
Melanie’s face fell. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “Just that you look like the usual summer people we get.”
“Summer people?”
“You know,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “People with money who come for the summer. They rent all the pretty houses down the shore and essentially pay businesses in town enough to last them the rest of the year.”
“And you can tell I’m one of them from my shirt?”
He shrugged, that smirk plastered on his face still. “Mostly the headband.”
“What’s wrong with my headband?”
“Girls here don’t really wear them,” he said.
“Great,” she said sourly, turning away from the guy and very much feeling ready to get away from him. Not only was she new in town, but her wardrobe was going to make her stand out like a sore thumb. And it wasn’t like she had any idea what to even wear to her new school.
“Hey, wait,” he called out.
Melanie turned back toward him, feeling irritated.
“It’s $3.75.”
“Oh,” she said. “Right, sorry.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a five.
The guy opened up the cash register and started counting coins at an excruciatingly slow pace, almost like he was doing it on purpose, his eyes roaming toward her.
“Keep it,” Melanie said, feeling flustered. She had to somehow finish this cone and get to the house before the movers did.
“Thanks.” He closed the register and tossed the change into a jar in front of him. “See ya, headband.”
She rolled her eyes, wondering if she could balance her now-melting ice cream cone without getting it all over her mother’s car.
Chapter Two
She couldn’t.
Melanie had to pull over once she drove down the hill, the ice cream cone now melting down her hand and onto her lap. She turned the car carefully into Hillside Park. The gate was currently open, and no one sat at the small stand guarding the entrance. It was the first time she’d ever seen the stand boarded up and the park open to the public. She slowed the car down to read the sign that was nailed to the stand’s door.
Summer season:
Memorial Day to Labor Day.
Get your passes!
Melanie only ever saw this place in August, when the parking lot was like a giant jigsaw puzzle, cars jam-packed in a long line trying to find an open spot. The streets were always lined with parked cars, some beachgoers even brave enough to park at the dirt lot up the hill as they climbed down with their beach chairs and umbrellas to avoid it altogether. Melanie’s parents never bothered getting a beach pass for Hillside when they stayed in Haverport; it wasn’t worth paying for a non-resident pass when they had easy access to Sandy Cove’s private beaches whenever they wanted.
Melanie sat in her car and licked her ice cream as she watched a mom and a toddler by the water, the mom holding the baby’s hands as he stomped his little feet in the wet sand. She wondered if maybe some families would need a babysitter this summer—it could help her make a little more money while keeping her away from what was going on at home.
She looked down at her cone, amazed at how she barely scratched the surface. Melanie wondered if that guy did it on purpose, or if the scoops really were supposed to be that big. She thought about the slight smirk on his face as he handed her the cone, his blue eyes twinkling deviously at her. Her stomach flip-flopped again at the thought of him, which frustrated her. She did not want to be thinking of him after he so clearly made assumptions about her based on her outfit.
Melanie looked at her phone, realizing she now only had ten minutes until the movers were set to arrive. She sighed, turning on the car and pulling out of the empty lot. As she inched toward the gate, she saw a trash can at the entrance and tossed the rest of her half-eaten cone into it.
She followed the windy road down the coastline, away from Hillside Park and down to the private beach communities. The houses were much smaller than the sprawling mansions she became accustomed to in Garrison, yet bursting with so much charm. Hydrangea bushes lined white picket fences in front of the cottages, blooming in soft pinks, purples, whites, and blues. She watched as Haverport came to life, joggers out on a run, neighbors greeting one another as they watered and pruned their hydrangeas as others grabbed the mail.
Melanie finally came to that familiar sign, the one that she and Duncan fervently looked for every summer as soon as Dad veered his car off the highway.
Sandy Cove.
Her eyes began to water as she pulled onto the sandy road and drove slowly down the row of cottages that had become so familiar to her. Spending a week in Sandy Cove every summer was her favorite part of the year. More than Christmas. More than her birthday. It meant she could relax and not have to worry about school or her grades. It meant she had time with Duncan without any lacrosse practices or friends interrupting them.
Eventually, those things became more important. The summer before their freshman year at Garrison, everything was about Duncan’s lacrosse. Summer camps and travel games dominated their schedule, and practices for Garrison’s team began an entire month before school started. Their week in Haverport soon became something of the past.
Melanie counted down the numbers on the cottages like they always did before reaching their summer home. Nine, Eight, Seven, Six…
And there was cottage five. Cedar shingles, baby blue shutters, white trimming, and a sweeping front porch. It looked exactly the same as it did when they left it three years ago. Like it was waiting for them to finally come home.
Melanie turned the car into the gravel driveway and cut the ignition, sliding out of her seat. The tiny rocks and seashells crunched underneath her Converse as she climbed up the creaky wooden steps. The porch swing was still there, swaying softly in the breeze. She dug into her pocket for her mother’s keys and unlocked the front door.
Melanie expected the usual setup: the wicker couch and the lamps covered in seashells, the turquoise kitchen table with chipped paint, the pictures of Haverport lining the walls. But the stark emptiness of it startled her, how different it seemed on the inside. She made her way up the small staircase to the second floor, peeking into both rooms. Melanie and Duncan never really declared a room in summers past; they always shared the one, alternating which to stay in. One year they attempted to split into separate rooms, but Duncan gave up on the first night, slowly sneaking into Melanie’s and tucking in next to her.
Each was empty except for a set of old curtains that still hung on her right, blanketing the space with darkness. The room on her left was full of streaks of light like they were beckoning her to enter. She stepped inside and gazed at the bay window in front of her, the bright sun beaming through. She sat down on the small wooden bench beneath the window, watching the afternoon light dancing on the waves at the beach across the street. The image of it all seemed so pure, so untouched and unaware of the anger and disappointment tainting Melanie’s heart, that it finally made her cry. Tears streamed down her face willingly as she sat in the cottage staring out at the sea, wishing she could protect this special place from what was to come, wishing it would retain only her happy memories.
Melanie headed down the stairs fully expecting to greet the movers but found two people in tie-dye standing near the front door instead.
She felt her shoulders drop away from her ears as she flew right into Jan Fletcher’s arms.
“It’s been too long, girlie,” Jan said, giving her a tight squeeze. “We missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Melanie mumbled.
Jan gave her one more squeeze before pulling away, leaving her hands firmly planted on Melanie’s arms, her face full of concern. “How are you doing?”
She shrugged. “As good as I can, I guess.”
“Your mother told us everything. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.”
She simply shrugged again as she watched Dan Fletcher place a massive basket filled with different jam jars on the kitchen counter. The Fletchers lived in the cottage next door where they operated a jam-making business aptly named Fletcher Fam Jam. Jan said she started making jam after she retired because it gave her something to do, but when her friends convinced her to set up a small stand at the Haverport Farmer’s Market, it was “game over” as Dan always said. The jam sold out every week in a matter of minutes.
She smiled at the basket, peeking into it. Strawberry Rhubarb. Blackberry. Peach. All of her favorites. Melanie remembered summers in cottage four, stirring big pots of jam with Duncan as the Fletchers blasted the Grateful Dead over the speakers, the entire inside of their cottage a homage to their favorite band.
“How long has it been now?” Dan asked.
“Three years,” Melanie said quietly.
“Too long, if you ask me,” Jan said. “Have you eaten anything?”
“I got a cone at Scoops,” she responded, thinking of the other half of her massive ice cream cone now probably melted at the bottom of the trash can at Hillside.
Her neighbor’s face lit up. “Oh, we love that place! Was Calvin working?”
Melanie’s stomach twisted. “Uh—”
“He always opens Saturdays, so I’m sure you saw him.”
Melanie thought about the way his arms flexed as he scooped her ice cream. She quickly brushed off the thought as a flash of orange outside the window alerted her to the moving truck pulling up in front of the cottage.
“Oh, looks like you’re getting started, we’ll get out of your hair,” Jan said. She pulled Melanie into one more hug, whispering softly into her ear. “If you need anything, you come find us, okay?”
Melanie nodded, her face flushed. She wondered how much her mother actually told the Fletchers about what happened. Did they know the entire story or just the small bits Mom wanted people to know? She didn’t have the energy to ask.
She waved the Fletchers off, watching as the two of them said hello to the movers, offering them free jars of jam when they finished. Melanie shook her head, a smile creeping up on her face. It was good to be back.
“No. I am not going.”
Melanie woke up to shouting. She blinked her eyes open, her boxes neatly stacked in the corner of her bedroom coming into view. After two days of helping her parents unpack most of the downstairs, she didn’t have the energy to unpack her own things. So she just grabbed a blanket and plopped down on her unmade bed each night.
But now she was jolted awake, listening to the arguing that seemed to be the constant melody of the Albertson household.
“Duncan, you have to,” Melanie heard her mother say. “They are giving you a chance. The least you can do is meet the principal and hear what he has to say.”
“And have someone else tell me how much of a fuck up I am?” Duncan shouted back. “No thanks, I’ll pass.”
Melanie pulled open her door, glancing downstairs. Duncan and Mom were facing each other at the bottom of the stairs as Dad sipped on a cup of coffee at the kitchen table, the table surface still covered in bubble-wrapped glasses and plates.
“It’s not our fault you put yourself in this position,” Mom said sharply. “Maybe if you actually—”
“Alice,” Dad said coolly, cutting her off. “Don’t.”
Silence swept through the house. Mom was fuming.
Dad set down his coffee mug, looking at his son. “You will get dressed and go with us to Haverport High,” he said rather calmly. “You will be polite to the principal and hear what he has to say. We will make a plan for your next year. There is no negotiation here.”
Duncan rolled his eyes as he turned toward the steps, slamming his feet down so hard, Melanie thought the creaky stairs would plummet. She winced with each step, shrinking into her doorway to make a clear path for the wrath of Duncan.
After he pointedly slammed his door, she noticed her parents now looking at her, both of their faces an unspoken apology.
“Sweetheart,” Dad said softly. “Come here for a minute.”
Melanie obeyed, walking down the steps quietly toward her parents.
Dad put his arm around her. “We have a surprise for you,” he said sweetly.
Melanie’s eyes widened as they darted between both of her parents. Mom’s arms were crossed firmly around her chest, and on her lips was a tight, forced smile. Melanie was familiar with that stance—the one Mom always took after a fight with Duncan.
Before Melanie could respond, Dad was leading her out the door of the kitchen, which led to a shed and an outdoor shower. It was a well-known rule that you always showered off after the beach—one that Melanie and Duncan used to conveniently forget.
Leaning against the shed was a brand-new bike. It had a white frame with white taped handlebars and a big red bow tied into a small wicker basket.
“If I remember correctly, you used to love biking around Haverport every summer,” Dad said.
Melanie turned toward her father, tears welling up in her eyes. She didn’t bother swatting them away this time. Yes, she loved biking around town, but she was never alone. Her brother was always with her. Two peas in a pod.
“I’m not dumb,” Dad said softly, as if he didn’t want a particular person in the house to hear. “I know it hasn’t been easy sharing a car with him.” He leaned closer, a smirk on his face. “Truthfully, I wanted to buy you a car.”
“Harold,” Mom’s voice came from behind them.
Dad chuckled. “We just…don’t exactly have the funds for it right now, kid. The hospital…the—”
“It’s perfect,” Melanie interrupted, flinging her arms around his middle. “Thank you.”
He hugged back as Mom revealed a matching pearly white helmet. “Safety first.”
“All right, I’m ready,” Duncan boomed from inside. “Are we doing this or what?”
Dad sighed. “You going to be okay by yourself for a few hours?”
Melanie nodded. “Yep,” she responded, surprising herself with her latest revelation. “I’m gonna go look for a job.”
Melanie knew she didn’t want to hang around the house hearing them yell at each other all summer. She needed out—some kind of escape to get her through the next few months before she could drown herself in school assignments again. Maybe something she would actually enjoy doing. Something that could save what looked to be a bleak summer ahead.
After rifling through her boxes and slipping on a pair of jeans and a light blue polo, she carefully guided her bike along the lawn to avoid the harsh gravel driveway, remembering she popped both of her bike tires on it one summer. When she reached the sandy drive she mounted it, feeling excitement bubble in her chest. Dad was right—she always loved riding around town, seeing Haverport at different times of the day. Watching beachgoers as they lazily left the beach, or sailboats bobbing in the bay.
She rode through the curvy roads of Haverport, taking her time, enjoying the view of the sun glittering on the ocean, the mid-May heat warming her skin yet still not hot enough to make her sweat. As she eventually neared Hillside Park, she noticed someone tinkering with the small stand at the entrance, wearing a bright white T-shirt that said Haverport Parks & Rec.
