Chapter 13
Harlow
Standing on this front porch brings back memories. Jimmy still resides in the place we purchased when we got married. He seemed so proud back then. While none of it was planned, he eagerly approached fatherhood with big aspirations. A ring, a house, and a life full of possibilities.
So long as they were on his terms.
Gazing lovingly at Justin, my heart feels heavy. Had I let my children down by not staying with their dads? I’d give almost anything if they could have the life they deserved. But was selling my soul an option? Because it was the one thing I promised I’d never do. Put myself second to a man.
Knock, knock, knock.
My eyes dart about the yard. It no longer has the happy home vibe it did when we first carried Justin through this front door. The place feels dated. And the grass, while cut, is full of crabgrass. Jimmy had been great about performing the “outside” chores when we were married. But from my perspective, he does little more these days than babysit his son two weekends a month, pick up takeout, hang with Rob, and use whatever expendable cash he has placing bets on getting rich quick. If that’s what he wants for himself, it isn’t my place to judge. I simply need to try harder to ensure my kids don’t think this is an admirable life goal. They deserve a far better future than that.
Justin lifts his hand to knock again, probably wondering as I am what’s taking so long, when the door flies open.
“Hey, we were out back and didn’t hear you. Just came in for a cold one,” Rob says, waving his beer bottle at us like every day’s a frat party.
Grimacing at him, I mutter, “Um, how many of those have you had?”
“Only two. And we know better than to tie one on when the kids are here, Harlow.” His tone rapidly shifts gears from playful to irritable.
“Okay, okay.” I give both of the boys a squeeze before they walk into the house. Turning for the car, my head a thunder keg of emotions, I almost miss Rob speaking behind me. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Har, you okay?” He takes a tentative step forward. “Don’t take this wrong, but you aren’t Superwoman.”
What is that supposed to mean?
The expression on my face must be terse, as Rob lifts both hands up as if he’s surrendering to the enemy. “Until you shared you were struggling and called to ask if we could take the boys a day early, I hadn’t considered how often we’ve let you down.”
I sway, almost falling down the remaining steps in shock.
“Hey, hey.” He reaches out to grab my arms. “What’s wrong?”
God, this week has done a number on me. I haven’t been able to shake that awful night with Stewart when I lost my cool. Not only could I have gotten myself into deep shit with the Guard for causing trouble in a public setting like that, but I’ve never heard anyone talk about me in that way.
I’m a good person. I work hard and take care of my responsibilities. I serve my country, despite the risks involved. And up until that night, I felt good about the way I looked. Why would I allow the petty nastiness of that jackass to cause any self-doubt?
Because you’re human, Harlow.
“It’s just been a really tough week.” I try to sound nonchalant, despite the quaver in my voice.
“Are you sick? I mean, you’ve always been the most beautiful woman on the planet to me, Har, but you don’t look good.”
“Thanks.”
“C’mon, you know what I mean. Do you want to come in?” His face is a mask of unease. Seeing it is starting to chip away at my fa?ade. “You know you can talk to me.”
Looking away, I shake my head, trying to hold back my tears. I called out from work this week for the first time in forever. I just needed a mental health day. Luckily, I was only scheduled for one twelve-hour shift until this weekend. Then it’s back to the evening rotation. Again . It never stops. My life is akin to a hamster on a wheel. “Thanks, Rob,. but I don’t want the boys to see me like this.” I hiccup, trying to push down a sob.
“Is there anything I can do?” His eyes are filled with concern. It reminds me of the early days, when his big heart and bigger personality were all I thought I needed. Until I realized having a husband who could maintain solid employment was an equally important quality.
“You taking them a day early so I can try and get myself together is enough.” I blink away a fat tear that threatens to have them all following suit. “I’ll be okay. I know you two don’t like to veer off of the schedule, so this means a lot to me.”
“Shit, Har. You’ve been getting it done alone for so long, and I’ve just stood by and let it happen. I’m sorry.” I watch, dumbfounded, as Rob stands up tall. “I’m going to do better. By you and the kids.”
Uh, oh. Is there some reason for this abrupt change of face? “Rob—”
“Harlow, I know that look. I don’t want back in your pants. Okay, well, sure I do. Hell, look at you.” He sweeps his hand from my head to my toes. “There’s a reason I’m still single. There’s no way I’m ever doing better than you.”
A blush hits my cheeks. While I know his lackadaisical approach to life has more to do with his relationship status than I do, I appreciate the thought.
“You never ask for a goddamn thing. Ever. I can’t say I’ll be able to convince Jimmy to do more, but I promise to do better. Any time you need something, ask. Please?” He seems to hesitate for a moment. “Well, if I’m lucky and have a job… or a date…” He chuckles. “I might beg you to let me off the hook, but I really want to be a better friend. You mean the world to me. And I need to show it more.”
Taking the two steps back up to where he stands, I pull him in for a hug and don’t even bother to fight the stream of tears making their way down my face. As I step away, I quickly swipe away at them, for fear the boys could come out looking for Rob and see me like this.
“Babe. What is it? You’re the strongest woman I know. Fuck that. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re scaring me.”
“It really isn’t anything. I just let someone get into my head for a minute. I’ll be okay. I think I’m just tired.”
“Well, please don’t go home and cry. We have the boys. Go get dressed up and have a nice dinner.” Rob’s face suddenly morphs as if he’s having a lightbulb moment. “Hey, wait right here.”
Before I can tell him it’s okay, that I’m heading out, he’s gone in a flash. I dab at my eyes with the back of my hand, hoping the puffiness I thought I’d managed to control from earlier in the week hasn’t taken residency under my eyes again.
The door flies open, and Rob juts a folded piece of paper in my direction.
“What’s this?”
“Jimmy and I went to the Bingo Hall last week. I won this.” Rob beams at me with pride, like he just earned his first paycheck in months. Bingo hall? Sheesh. Is that what Jimmy resorts to when he owes his bookie the juice?
Unfolding the paper, I see it’s a gift certificate to The Conch House. Hmmm… I’ve never heard of this place. It’s for a meal worth up to $50. “Rob, this is huge. Why would you give this to me if you and Jimmy could go?”
“Hell, Harlow, I couldn’t afford the gas to get to that place. I wouldn’t want to go there alone. And $50 in a place like that probably wouldn’t cover much if Jimmy and I both went.”
Maybe this could work. I glance at my watch. It’s still early enough for me to go home, get dolled up, and treat myself to a night out. I can’t remember the last time I did something just for me. “Thanks, Rob. For everything.” I lean back in, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “It’s nice to feel appreciated once in a while.”
He cups my cheek. “You deserve it far more than once in a while. I’m going to do better, Har. You watch.”
As I make my way back home, I should feel lighter. More optimistic about life after that impromptu conversation with my ex. But I’m so overcome with emotion, I can’t stop crying. Had I gotten my calendar wrong, and it was getting close to that time again? Because I feel hormonal.
But I know that isn’t it. When you work hard and try to do the right things, just to have someone you cared about treat you with such blatant disrespect, it does something to you. It wasn’t about him cheating. It was more than that. His words cut through me like a knife.
Fuck, I’d never actually date someone like her. She’s only good for one thing.
Even when you’re confident in yourself, hateful vitriol still hurts. Especially when you hear it from someone you thought cared for you.
An hour later, I’ve had a good cry, a hot shower, and I’m ready to treat myself. Rob’s right. I deserve better. It’s about time I start acting like it.
My eyes flick over the navigator app on my phone, and I grin as I see The Conch House is only a few feet ahead. This area is gorgeous. The restaurant is right on the water and appears to be a smaller establishment. Not some big, loud family buffet style with a blinking marque out front that you find in so many beachfront tourist destinations. I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw the gift certificate.
Parking the car, I step out and run my palms down the front of my dress. It’s a flowy, one-shouldered number. I’d purchased it as a bridesmaid’s dress several years ago. It isn’t overly formal. There’s a soft, sheer overlay that makes the garment appear delicate and feminine. I particularly like the contrast of the gossamer fabric against the ink on my arm. And the satin material beneath is a light shade of green that brings out the color of my eyes.
I’d stood in the bathroom, meticulously applying natural appearing makeup before stepping into the dress. Another Shania Twain song, “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” played on repeat in my head as I stared back into my mirror. Everything about this dress made me feel happier, and tonight was no exception.
“Good evening, Miss. How many?”
Why does this question always bother me? I know I’m being ridiculous. There’s no judgment from this man. He merely needs to know where to place me for dinner. But I always feel so defensive when I answer, “Just one.” I’m not “Just” anything.
“One, please.”
“Absolutely. Follow me.”
Clutching my purse, my eyes roam about the room. The place is breathtaking, but as I notice all the couples sharing an intimate evening together, I start to feel conspicuous. As much as I’d like to embrace strong, confident, hear me roar, Harlow tonight, I don’t know that I want to do it at a table for one. “Excuse me.” I tap the host on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Is there any chance I could dine at the bar?”
I’ve clearly caught him off guard. He looks stunned for a moment. “Why, of course. If that’s what you’d prefer.” By the looks of it, he was giving me a prime seat near the wide expanse of windows overlooking the Florida Bay. As beautiful as that might be some other evening, I’m afraid I’d sense all of the eyes in the place on me. Literally feeling I was in a fishbowl instead of relaxing to the unobstructive view of the waves crashing on shore. Everyone wondering if I’d been stood up or something. Ha, I’m sure normal people wouldn’t understand why I got all dressed up for a date with myself.
The bartender approaches with a menu as I adjust myself on one of the most comfortable barstools I’ve ever sat on. I could relax here with a cocktail for hours. “Can I bring you something to drink while you look over the menu?”
“Yes, can I have a glass of Pinot Grigio, please?” I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like a loon. How had my week turned into this?
“Hi, there.”
Spoke too soon.
My head snaps to my left, where an attractive man is sliding into the seat next to me. Leaning forward, I look past him to confirm there are six chairs on the other side which all remain vacant. It’s clear what his agenda is.
“Hi.”
Thankfully, the bartender returns with my wine, and I’m able to place my order before having to entertain any further chatter with this interloper.
“I hope I’m not intruding by sitting here.”
What does one say to that? Yes, as a matter of fact, you are. I was enjoying my date with me, myself, and I, thank you very much. But I’ve had enough public confrontation this week. So, I simply sip my wine and give him a polite smile.
“I’m Bill.” He holds out his hand.
Ugh. I’m annoyed. However, I decide to introduce myself with my given name, not my attitude. “Harlow.”
“Beautiful.”
My name or me? Don’t care. Everything about this guy screams cheesy pick-up guy. And I should know. I’ve earned an honorary Doctorate.
“Are you from around here?” This guy really needs to work on his game. He’s not a bad-looking man. He’s probably about five or six years older than I am. He’s tall, attractive, with a nice smile. If I hadn’t just had the week from hell, he might look more like a catch. Heck, maybe even a catch and release. Yet today, this fisherwoman is going to keep her line safely in her boat. I don’t want to know if he’s biting.
“No.” I don’t want to come off as being rude. But I didn’t ask him to join me.
“Me either. But it’s a nice place.”
Ugh. I feel like I’m being a raving bitch right now. Maybe the guy’s just lonely and needs someone to talk to. I mean, I get it.
Bill gives the bartender his order before proceeding to deliver his resume as if he’s applying for a job. Maybe I’ve just been listening to too much of Shania lately, but the chorus of “That Don’t Impress Me Much” keeps playing on repeat as I nibble my food and try not to roll my eyes when Bill’s looking directly at me.
Is it too late to wave that host back over and ask if I can sit at that pretty little table by the window? And I’d had such high hopes for this evening a few moments ago.
There’s a haughty tone about him when he rattles on that’s rubbing me the wrong way. I may only be a hard-working nurse and single mom of two, but I’ve been around plenty of rich doctors and surgeons with similar attitudes. Ones who act as if you should fall at their feet, given their impressive pedigree. They spout off their accomplishments like it’s a sales pitch, and you’d be crazy not to buy. But it doesn’t matter whether they are blue blood or blue collar, they all have the potential to be a complete douchenozzle. And I’m so done with it all.
Until someone larger than life can sweep me off of my feet with one hand tied behind his back, I’m sticking with my battery-operated boyfriend.
“Hi. I hate to interrupt. But I wondered if I could ask the lovely lady for a dance?”
Freezing with my glass of wine halfway to my lips, I almost thank the universe for delivering an escape from Bill and his ramblings until a thought comes to mind. This guy is bold. Doesn’t give two shits if Bill and I are together and asks for a dance anyway. I mean, to anyone else, this probably looks like a date. Suddenly, I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or annoyed that another man is trying to impose upon my evening.
Putting my glass down, I narrow my eyes and turn to the gentleman in question, prepared to give him a piece of my mind. This night is starting to push my buttons.
Until his beautiful green eyes connect with mine.
He may have one arm tied in a sling instead of behind his back, but there’s no masking my delight. “I’d love to,” I reply with gratitude at his hutzpah.
Draping my arm over his free one, I step in beside Harrison as he guides me to the dance floor. He’s dressed in a navy suit, a crisp white button down beneath. Hell, the only thing that could rival him shirtless is being dressed like this. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll still be dreaming of him shirtless.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispers into my ear as we sway to the music.
Looking up into his beautiful face, I reply, “Same.”
We move slowly to the music, swaying to and fro, our eyes never straying from the other until a big smile crosses his face. “Hi.”
I giggle. “Hi.”
“You look stunning.”
“Thank you.” I laugh. “So do you. I like this look on you.” I rub my fingertips over the lapel of his suit jacket.
“As opposed to sweaty, construction Harry.”
“No.” I may have hurt my tongue answering so quickly.
Harrison’s brow arches toward his forehead in confusion.
“Okay, I guess it’s time to make a confession of my own. You weren’t the only one who’d come up with a nickname.”
“What?” He grins in anticipation, the little lines crinkling by his eyes are making my lower belly flip. “You gave me a nickname?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “You were the hard hat hottie. Now, apparently, you’re Harry, the hard hat hottie.”
He throws his head back in a fit of laughter, and I can’t help but join him. Although the sight of his Adam’s apple makes me want to lean in and take a bite.
The first song ends, and “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton starts to play. I assume now that our dance is over, he’ll escort me back to my seat, but instead, Harrison pulls me in closer and buries his face in my hair. Does he care that I may have been here with someone else? I’m not sure how I feel about that after the week I’ve had.
“I’m sorry.”
Pulling back a little, I look into his face. “For what?”
“Monopolizing you. I tried to convince myself you weren’t on a date with that tool at the bar. It’s been a shit week. Then I saw you there, and nothing else mattered. I needed to hold you like I needed my next breath.”
I’m sure my quick intake of air was audible. But I can’t disguise my shock. Who knew I needed to hear those words? Yet now that he’s put them out there, I’m starting to feel emotional.
I still need to be level-headed here. I don’t want some self-righteous ass in my life that knows how to use smooth words to get what he wants, even if the girl in question is on a date with another guy. I’ve endured too much of that nonsense. “How are you so sure I wasn’t on a date?”
Harrison stops dancing and looks me dead in the eyes. “No guy in their right mind puts you in the corner of the bar. I would’ve made sure you were seated at the best table in the house. So, every guy in the place knew you were here with me.”
Without thinking, I stand on my toes and plant a kiss on his big, soft lips. Wrapping my hands around the back of his neck, I glide my mouth back and forth over his before pressing deep against his soft flesh. His taste is warm, minty, with the slightest hint of whiskey. Apropos given the song.
His free hand rests at the small of my back as I place my cheek to his, and we continue to move sensually to the music. I can’t remember ever feeling like this. So adored. It’s one thing to think someone finds you attractive. Or even to acknowledge there’s enough chemistry between you to light the place on fire. Yet this is different.
What must we look like? I bite my lip, hoping we come off as star-crossed lovers, and not a hookup about to go down.
As Chris Stapleton sings about things that are smooth, like Tennessee whiskey and sweet, like strawberry wine, I move back in for another kiss when Harrison steps away.
Wait? What?