Page 60 of First Street
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ocean
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Even if it wasn’t technically her house, Ocean felt like she should get a vote. Who came to look at it. What might happen next. How was her grandmother’s legacy supposed to stay alive?
And Jo? Ocean’s new friend didn’t exactly have a backup place to crash. What was going to happen to her if some random stranger took over?
Downstairs, the trespassers clomped around like they owned the place. The real estate agent, with that gross honey-drip of a voice, was busy making promises. Ocean had already caught enough of their conversation to know the buyer was some kind of chef, or cook, or whatever. Rambling on about turning the house into a restaurant. A restaurant. In this house. Her grandmother’s house.
And the real estate agent? Ugh. She literally never shut up. Every other sentence was nails-on-a-chalkboard.
“Oh, these French doors are precious!”
“Look at this light. So dreamy!”
“The size of this room is amazing. And you could totally knock down this wall.”
Knock. Down. A. Wall.
Was she insane?
Ocean wanted to scream.
She didn’t want them to like the house. She wanted them gone. Out. Now. The whole thing was dragging on forever, and her mom had promised it would be quick. Just a simple ‘in and out’ walk-through. Ocean was keeping score. Twenty-five minutes and counting. And that didn’t even include the twenty minutes they’d already wasted poking around in the barn.
She had no clue what they were even doing out there. The barn was stuffed wall-to-wall with furniture. Stacked, crammed, wedged into every corner. There wasn’t even space to breathe, let alone wander around like this was some HGTV makeover show. What were they hoping to find? Unless it was just another building to renovate. Meaning, rip everything apart and shove her and Mom out for good.
And then—betrayal wrapped in a cheerful tone—her mom’s voice floated up the stairs.
“Of course you can look upstairs. My daughter is in her room.”
Ocean’s jaw dropped. Seriously? That was way too agreeable. Way too nice. Classic Mom, giving away her privacy like it was a free sample at Costco.
Fine. Two could play that game.
Ocean stomped away from the top of the stairs and into the bedroom, her sneakers landing like mini earthquakes. Her room—well, technically Jo’s room too—looked way too neat, thanks to Jo’s obsessive, type-A vibes.
Nope. That wouldn’t do. This place needed to look…lived in.
She dumped the open suitcase onto the floor, unleashing an avalanche of denim and hoodies. Then she yanked the closet door open and ripped half the dresses off the hangers, tossing them onto the bed and the floor in a beautiful storm of chaos.
Too bad she didn’t have something better, like food, to ‘accidentally’ spill in their path. Ketchup stains? Now, that had power.
As footsteps creaked up the stairs, Ocean planted herself on the edge of the bed, arms folded, frown carved deep. Perfect. Let them walk in and soak up this disaster. If they came looking for ‘cozy coastal chic’, they were about to get the full-on teenage meltdown version.
The voices drifted closer as they checked out her mom’s room first.
“The walls can be knocked out here too, if you choose to go this way.”
“No, I like the ambiance of the small rooms. Cozy. Guests get a private dining feel. They’re not only paying for the food, but for the atmosphere.”
If the real estate agent’s voice was torture, the chef’s was next-level. Like instant nausea. Ocean actually had to fight back the urge to gag.
“You said there were three bedrooms up here?”
“Yes, and a massive attic. Very charming, though you’d need to add a stairwell. Even so, you’ll love it. Add a second-floor deck off the back, and you’ll have a view of the water to the east.”
