9. Harlow
Chapter 9
Harlow
W hatever is in the water of this small town is working. The men here are to die for—I haven’t seen an ugly one yet. If I was on the hunt, this place would be a prime location. First, it was the property, then the alley, and now this bar. The owner, the patrons, it’s unbelievable.
My outfit seemed to stand out before getting here. But the owner of this place, Silas, has a somewhat similar fashion sense. He’s wearing a black band T-shirt, a worn-out gray flannel, and a leather necklace with two old rings on it. I already thought Hunter was a widow, so I don’t want to assume this guy is one. The forlorn look on his face when he thinks no one is looking has me thinking I might be right.
He has the kind of hair most women would die for—brown with natural lighter tones, long with a slight curl, healthy as all get out. I bet he uses a three-in-one body wash.
He brought my food and then kept busy with his regulars. His eyes travel back to where I sit every now and then, quirking his head as if to ask, need anything? I’ve just given him slight shakes of the head to let him know I’m fine. While I eat, I look over one of my manuscripts. Before I know it, my attention has officially been stolen by some messy but catchy words.
Silas steps in front of me, giving the bar top a knock. Three small glasses are set in front of me. Each one holds a different hue of brown ranging from almost black to a light amber.
“Sorry for interrupting, but I thought I would bring you a drink. Do you drink beer?” He’s leaning on his elbows, taking a peek at the fat stack of papers I have clipped together.
“I do. Tell me about these.” I dog-ear the edge of the page I’m on and click my pen, setting it aside. Looking at the three drinks in front of me, I pick up the dark one first. The cup is cute, it looks like a mini goblet. If this town wasn’t so small, I’d probably steal it. Taking a deep inhale through my nose, I smell it has a rich aroma with a hint of maybe cinnamon or nutmeg.
“Well, I wouldn’t start with that one. That’s the boldest of the three. When you drink beer, what is your go-to?” This man is a knockout—all hard creative energy. Bold, just like the dark beer in front of me.
“I like most beers, just not too many IPAs. Love a good summer shandy in the heat of summer, a porter during the winter, and in between, mostly wine.” He smirks and a moth flutters in my stomach for a moment. Am I so far out of the dating game that a small smile from a hot man sets me off?
“Start with the blonde then; she’s the last of my summer batch. Delicious, light, and great for the straggling hot days we’ve had out here.” He breaks away from me for a moment and comes back with a matching set of cups. Being the owner of this place must come with the perk of having an occasional drink with his customers.
I notice when he grabs the blonde cup that his right hand has a tattoo on it. A spider lily, with smaller ones at his wrist, the stems all coming from a thick black band with Roman numerals in the negative space. It’s dark and beautiful. Silas holds the glass up in the air, and I clink mine to his before taking in half of its contents. The brew is light and refreshing with a hoppy bite at the end, but not sour.
“A little too hoppy for me, but good.” I take down the second half of it, wishing I had something salty to offset the taste.
“Hoppy isn’t for everyone,” he chuckles.
“Tell me about your town, how long have you been here?” I ask. He looks me over thoughtfully, surely wondering where I’m from.
“Born and raised. Most of us are. Those who have joined our community usually do so by marriage. Not a lot of outsiders. A few, but not many.”
“Your handyman one of those outsiders?” I wave my free hand to the door.
He gives me a surprised look. “He’s been here his whole life, too. His family owns the largest produce and dairy farm in town. We went to grade school together and I’ve been stuck with him since.”
“Ah, one of those friends, more like a sibling now than only a friend. Makes sense with his level of comfort at this place.”
Silas picks up the middle of the three, a timber brown color. He holds up the glass and I clink mine to his again. “How long have you owned this bar?”
We take a long drink and this one sits better than the last—bolder flavor, warmer tones, and the aftertaste is great. There isn’t the need to pair it with anything; a few of these would go down easily and sit well.
I hum. “Mmm, I like this one. I could drink a few of these.” Silas smiles proudly.
“I’ve had this little spot for almost six years.” He tilts his glass in a slight gesture to the space. “This is my local lager; it stays on the menu year-round. Glad you like it.” We finish that glass, and Silas talks more about the little updates he’s made to the bar. He pulls his phone out to show me some before and after pictures. It’s easy conversation; I like seeing the small details he’s put in, and the stories that come with them.
Suddenly, he stops, and I can tell he feels like he’s been talking too much. He’s a friendly character, and I can see how each of the locals adores him as they come and go.
There has to be a downside to this town; it can’t be this picturesque.
Silas grabs our last sampler and holds it up. I smell again and get that rich aroma I first smelled. I hold my glass up before bringing it to my lips. He was right; I couldn’t have had this one first. Bold. Bodied. Rich. Spiced. This beer towers over the other two and I wouldn’t have appreciated their flavors as much.
“Damn, this is good. What is that? Nutmeg?”
“A brewmaster can’t share all his secrets. I’ve told you enough for tonight.” He offers me a flirtatious smile and then finishes his glass. Without hesitation or much thought, I do the same.
“A refill of any of the three?” he asks. I think about it but decide to decline.
“Honestly, I’d love another glass of the last one, but I still need to drive back to where I’m staying.” Offering him an easy smile. “Maybe another time, I can Uber.”
He laughs.
“Uber? Not out here, darlin’. You’d have to call the car service, there are cards up front. It’s a group of kids fresh out of high school offering rides to anyone drunk or sick. We don’t have Uber out here.”
No Uber? Damn, this place is off the grid.
“So, tell me, where are you from, and what brings you to a small town without Ubers?” He leans back against the bar, crossing his thick arms across his chest.
I take a long drink of water. “I’m from northern California, and I’m here to get away from it all and focus on work.”
“How can you get away and focus on work?” He refills my water while clearing our beer glasses.
“I work as an editor, so I brought my manuscripts with me. I can get away from family, city life, people, and the rush, and just slow down. I can read, focus, and simplify things.”
Silas nods. “You’ll get that here; it’s real quiet, especially right now. Things won’t pick up until after Halloween. The B and B is a great spot, too. The baker in town brings her fresh pastries in the morning to serve daily, and the sitting room there is perfect for reading.”
“Thanks, I’ll have the check that out. Reading here was working fine, too. Sometimes I just need to change my space to be able to focus the way I want. Tell me more about the charms of your town,” I say, leaning forward, and he does. He gives me little snippets of what this little slice has to offer: Saturday markets for a few more weeks before they stop for winter, stores that I should check out, and what I can find in the neighboring towns.
“We used to have a great little bookshop, but it’s closed now. Mrs. Hewitt recently passed and all her kids have careers of their own. So the shop is unmanned and the space for sale,” he finishes. That makes me sad to hear. I love local bookshops and the fact that this town’s just closed its doors for good is a little heartbreaking.
“Damn, that’s so sad.”
“Yeah, it can be hard when local stuff closes like that. We had to wait three years for a new barber to open and they split the shop with a salon. The atmosphere can get tense at times.” He laughs.
I laugh lightly but it turns into a yawn—the traveling, unpacking, food, and beers hitting me.
“Time for you to head on out?” he asks.
“Yeah, can I get the check?”
“Don’t worry about it, just come by again during your stay. Returning customers are the best payment.” He winks playfully, and it’s not cheesy or slimy. It’s cute and charming.
“I will definitely be back.” I offer him my own smile, standing and gathering my things.
“I’ll see you around, Harlow.”
“See you around, Silas.”
I stop by the Quick Mart on the way home to grab a few things to hold me over until I can do some more detailed grocery shopping. I don’t purchase a lot, just some essentials.
My drive back to the property seems longer than my ride into town, but it could be the weight of my fatigue. When my tires hit the long main drive, I let out a sigh of relief that I’m almost there. I see the main house is dark except for one light on the main floor and the porch lights. As I take the small side road, I contemplate going to Harrison’s place to greet him but think better of going to a stranger’s door after nine. I’m sure at some point during my stay I’ll run into him, especially if I want to get some riding in.
A random thought slices through me: asking Silas to join me for a ride sometime. Growing up in this town, he must know how to ride horses.
I should have asked for his number.
I park my car next to my little place and climb the few stairs. Once inside, I walk over to Cleo’s carrier and open the door, reaching in for her. She willingly snuggles into my arms, and I climb the stairs to our room. We go through our nightly routine: me washing my face and combing my hair, Cleo eating a treat at my feet, and us exchanging warmth.
I tuck myself into bed and open my phone.
Heath: Have you arrived safely?
Heath: Please let me know when you’re settled.
Heath: Goodnight, Harlow. I’ll call you in the morning.
A heavy weight sits on my chest, and it feels like a burden and a loss all at once. In just two months my life is likely to change.
Heath’s persistence doesn’t help. It will only push our parents and this arranged marriage further down my throat.
Frustration clings to me, and I try to let sleep take me, but it doesn’t come. The quiet night is deafening once again. I wait for a sound other than the ceiling fan to come, but there is nothing.
I open my phone, pull up a “green noise” clip on YouTube, and set a sleep timer to shut my phone off. It’s then I’m finally able to sleep and hope for an easier time with all this nothingness tomorrow.