Chapter 2
STONE
Ihear someone walking toward the bench swing. I’ve been waiting for her with my arms crossed as I admire the lake, lost in thought.
“Yoo-hoo. I’ve arrived for my taste of misery.” Harlow waves a hand in front of my face, and a prickle spreads along my body.
My train of thought about why I’m in a fog of peculiar confusion over a woman is broken.
I wasn’t expecting Harlow today, with her manicured nails, bouncy strawberry-blonde hair, and tight jeans and heels.
She’s every bit a reminder of the women who used to throw themselves at me when I played hockey.
Except… she has a bite to her personality and seems to be able to stand her ground.
She surprised me by arriving at our welcome session in comfortable clothing, albeit glitter on her sneakers, and without a care in the world that she’s in yoga pants.
A hint that maybe she isn’t her alter ego.
But Harlow simply seems different to what I anticipated when I saw her name on the list. Sure, she’s a little uptight.
Yet, there does seem to be a casual persona hidden underneath, and it has me curious.
I’m also not one to deny when someone is attractive.
I smirk when she mentioned misery. “The feeling isn’t mutual.” I stand taller, and my eyes lock with hers with a seriousness that feels sincere. I wonder if I have a glimmer in my eyes due to interest. Maybe she feels a small jab at her chest, and it’s not as annoying as it should be.
“What does that mean?” Her voice scrapes from her throat because her breathing changes, shaking off her disapproval of me.
I need to take the high road, otherwise this will be a strenuous afternoon. Fine, I’ll be the one to admit defeat. “We got off on the wrong foot. Speaking of feet, I might be blinded by the glitter on your shoes.”
“Don’t care,” she volleys.
I clear my throat, ready to continue. “We’re just opposites. We have a long walk ahead of us. No point in making it more difficult.”
Yay me for taking the mature road.
She doesn’t seem to be expecting it or that I don't play the game of life as everyone would anticipate. She regresses and drops her shoulders, maybe realizing that I have a point. But just then, a woman comes jogging up to us as she leaves the gym at the spa.
Oh shit, Florence.
Florence flicks her dark hair behind her shoulder and throws on an overdone smile then arches her tits out that are barely contained under her tight running t-shirt. “Stone, I thought that was you. Good to see you. Did you get my text the other day?”
Glancing to my side, I see Harlow’s eyes bug out slightly.
I awkwardly scratch my cheek. “Oh, did you text?” I lie.
Florence touches my upper arm, giving my muscle a squeeze. “Totally. We should meet up soon for an after-dinner drink.”
“Uh, I’m kind of busy the next few months or years.” I remain composed.
Florence doesn’t get the hint and just giggles before she waves goodbye to continue her run.
Harlow stands there, entertained with crossed arms. “Wow, she’s perky. Sounds like someone is getting some action. Playing the field. Keeping a woman on the backburner. Probably adding her as a notch on your belt,” Harlow lists.
I flex my jaw side to side, realizing this isn’t helping the situation. “For your information,” I say tightly, “in her wildest dreams would it happen. I’m new to town. It’s not my problem the single women here are piranhas.”
Harlow studies me for a second. “Trust me, my image of you hasn’t changed… yet.”
“Ah, so there’s hope.”
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re right, this is going to be a long afternoon. Fine. Call it a truce, and we’ll start over.”
I nod once, thankful we’re moving on. “Hi, I’m Stone. The hockey player you think can’t write.” I offer her my hand.
She looks down and slowly hesitates but gives in. “Hi, I’m Harlow, the supposedly superficial woman you assume can’t write.”
“Seems like we have a lot in common then.”
Her mouth begins to curl up into a smile. “Perhaps.”
The moment our fingers touch, a spark that should be a warning hits me. I want to retract my hand instantly, but I move past it, and we shake quickly with subtle smiles on our faces.
“Come on, you’re lucky that I know the area. We can follow a few shortcuts and head to Main Street so you can look at boutiques and probably grab green ice cream or something for you to take a photo of.”
Now she seems amused because she can tell that I’m teasing her. “Funny.”
I nudge her shoulder as we begin to walk into the forest. “We should take a detour. I really just want a milkshake,” I admit.
She seems to ease, and I decide maybe our walk won’t be so bad. “Do they have oat-milk smoothies, maybe with a little spinach in it?”
My face screws up. “Really? You want to go to a soda-shop-styled place with a jukebox in the corner and order a damn smoothie?”
“Yes,” she says, remaining firm.
I take another deep breath, reminding myself of our truce.
When we walk farther and are under the trees, I glance over my shoulder to see the hotel is nowhere in sight and I inhale the fresh air.
“Do you actually believe in your romance crap? What the hell are the tropes again?” I ask her. My expectations are low for the genre.
“We can all escape to a fictional world, and maybe there is a lot of truth behind it. Well, actually, I’m not sure true love happens,” she admits.
“Yeah, you sound convincing,” I respond flatly.
“Maybe we haven’t met anyone to make us believe,” she strikes back.
“Hmm, maybe. I’m not sure my history with women has given me any outlook on the matter. It’s a wild ride when people discover you are an overly handsome retired hockey player.” I can tell she grasps that my cockiness is only half serious. I’m not that big of an ass.
She gives me wide eyes. “There you go. You just need someone to prove you wrong.”
I scoff a laugh. “Not many options in Lake Spark.”
“Really? I had bouncy back there pegged as wife material.”
I look at her, unimpressed.
“You’re living in a small town. That’s romance subgenre number one.” She raises a brow at me. “A lot of fictional men live in small towns.”
I shake my head at this. “So, tell me, Harlow. Why don’t you just write romance, you had to take it up a notch and write the dirty stuff?” I don’t mind. It makes me want to unlock the filthy thoughts that must be floating in her head. I bet she has a wild side.
She stops right in her tracks, and a tightness seems to hit her entire body. I get the feeling she isn’t going to tell me, and if she opens her mouth, then anything she says will be a lie.
Secrets can be fun. It gives me something to unravel.
“For two people who went into this walk a little shaky on how the mood would go, you sure are inquisitive.” She brushes past answering and diverts us into a different road of our conversation as she begins to pick up her pace.
“Sorry if I’m trying to get to know my inspiration partner.” I follow hot on her heels, except she’s in sneakers, and still they suit her. I’m still chill as a cucumber, so I bite into my apple that I took out of my pocket.
“Why do you write? Surely, playing hockey would have set you up for life.” I sense a tad of sarcasm in her words.
I chuckle at her thought as she continues to walk in front of me. “Listen, sweetheart, did we not just agree to start on a new foot?” Truthfully, it made me financially set, but I wanted to keep busy.
Harlow pauses again and glances over her shoulder, a small grin forming on her luscious lips. “We did. My bad.”
“My guess is you are bad, very bad.”
She laughs at my sentence. “Gosh, am I going to have to listen to romance jokes all day now?”
“My guess is you will throw back hockey jokes just as fast.”
“Maybe.” She’s playing coy.
“Now come on, aren’t we supposed to walk?” I mumble as I chew on my fruit.
I tread past her to take us to the trail marked with a green dot on the signpost. It will be way faster than the yellow dot that the retreat suggested.
“Do you want to be in town in twenty minutes or do you really want to do this whole two-hour indicated trail?” I ask, as I’m up for anything. “I kind of love hiking. Walking is the best exercise.”
“Despite what you may think, I love hiking too.”
I give her eyes that indicate really?
Harlow grins to herself. “Really, I do… Okay, I don’t. I’m more of a Zumba kind of girl. Besides, perusing Main Street counts as inspiration, right?”
“I think so. Plus, we’ll need to walk there and back, so that amounts to something.”
We both have a wistfulness on our face, all traces of earlier hostility fading away. “Do you think we’ll get in trouble with Gloria?” she wonders.
My lips quirk out. “You’re the girl who literally loves to write bad girl on a daily basis, so something tells me you don’t mind.”
She playfully swats me. “Har, har. And… it’s good girl.”
I crack out a laugh because this woman has a good sense of humor.
“Okay, to milkshake, disgusting smoothies, and perusing,” I announce and begin to walk the track, with the sticks and leaves crunching under our feet.
Throwing my apple core to the side without a thought, I’m met quickly with a sharp scolding sound hitting my ears.
“Hey! Pick that up.”
My head half circles to face Harlow who doesn’t appear to be joking. “What did the apple do to you?”
“Pick up the apple.” Her voice is stern and adamant.
“It’s an apple core.” I lift my shoulders up.
Harlow gawks at me, while her hands land on her hips. “And? Are you trying to kill a deer?”
My face scrunches into confusion. “Kill a deer?”
“Yeah. Mr. Deer could show up and eat the apple then choke.” She is so serious with conviction that I can’t help but chortle a sound, which leaves her unimpressed.
I step closer to her, ready to debate this. “Choke on an apple?” I repeat her question, very confident of what’s about to go down.