Chapter 6
HARLOW
The Florida sun provides the vitamin D I need. It’s supposed to lift your mood, isn’t it?
Instead, I’ve been wallowing around, trying to shake the days that I had with Stone.
I wish there was another way. Alas, I’m back to where I was before the retreat. Sitting at my desk with a veggie wrap that I picked up from the deli down the street and my screen open to a Word document mid-chapter.
Maybe I should head to the beach. The Gulf is still warm from the summer, yet there are fewer tourists. But somehow, a spurt of fictional ideas has been uncontrollable lately.
The ping of an incoming email doesn’t faze me, until I notice the name on the corner of my screen. His name strikes me within, and curiosity pumps up to full swing. I click it open after waiting a few seconds, as there is no way that I can be patient enough to wait.
Harlow,
You said email was faster. Speed of light would be better. How are you?
-Stone, Murderer of Deer
I hate yet love the smile hitting my lips and the fact that my fingers begin to type so eagerly.
Stone,
Can we stop with the animal talk? Irritating Jock Who Breaks the Rules is by far better. I’m okay, and you?
Signed,
Harlow, Who is Sticking to Traditional Signatures
P.S. Email is the way to go. Text messages feel too average. Handwritten letters on worn paper would imply romantic endeavors, and even my characters can't handle that.
Then it happens again a few minutes later.
Harlow,
That’s a shame, I was going to go buy paper at Pioneer Village, that kids’ park outside of town where they pretend it's pioneer times. Aw, shucks. Anyhow, I realize that I never teased you about your last name… Jelly.
And I’m not exactly okay. You left.
-Stone
The longest sigh hits me, and pain builds in my throat. I wait a few hours, debating what to say. Maybe I should wait another day to reply, but my body refuses to do that. Guilt hits me that I left, and I hate it.
Stone,
It’s what I needed to do.
-Harlow
P.S. It’s Harlow Grape Jelly actually… Okay, kidding about the middle name. Nonetheless, you shall under no circumstance repeat my last name.
Harlow,
Hmm, Olive is probably better.
And as for what you needed to do, I could argue that. You like to listen.
-Stone
P.S. Yeah, there is a hidden meaning there. ;)
I snort a laugh. Why is he letting me off so easily?
Stone,
It seems we’re writing to one another now? I guess we did talk about it. You’re the initiator, leading us to mischief, as always.
-Harlow
I could go back and forth for hours. I’m slipping back into the comfort and ease of talking to him. Missing his voice but enjoying his typed words too. Writing can sometimes be even stronger than voice.
Harlow,
Isn’t it obvious what we’re doing? You know, there is this German movie about two people who write to one another and never meet. I don’t speak German, but I’m sure it’s award worthy. Lucky for us, we’ve met, but it made me think of you and how email is better than nothing.
By the way, my baby-whisperer skills have taken a turn. It now costs me four minutes and forty-five seconds. I blame you for that. You’re in my head.
-Stone
Now I want to cry. The guy has a romantic flare to every email. Better than nothing... it’s dangerous yet true. It’s amazing how not facing one another makes it easier to be honest. Which is why I admit the truth a few days later.
Stone,
You’re perhaps in my head too. Have you been able to break your dry spell? Shit, I mean with your words, no, that’s not… Wait, let me try again. Have you managed to work on your book? Phew… that’s better.
-Harlow
His email back has a few shocked emojis and one that winks.
Now, now, Harlow, you’re not playing fair. You know people always write what’s subconsciously underneath it all (our thoughts, not clothes).
And yes… half a chapter, thank you very much.
-Stone
Then it begins. Every few days we exchange emails. Short, but they feel bittersweet. I should stop, but I don’t. Nor does he.
Harlow,
Tell me you watched the hockey game last night?
I know you’ve been watching old videos of me.
Don’t deny it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’ll tell me that it's for the sake of understanding the sports news. Lies. It has something to do with me, your favorite former athlete. Anyhow, my brother’s team slammed Las Vegas.
You can often see him on camera, yet we all know that I’m the better-looking one. Lucky you.
Have you found a bottle of sandalwood yet? It might help…
-Stone
With my dreams and sleep, he means. He mentioned it once, and I’m surprised he remembers the little things.
Stone,
Let’s not question my research tactics. And no, I haven’t bought the oil yet. I’ll go this afternoon straight to the shop that sells oils, potions, and insists that I should write my dirty scenes around the position of astrological signs.
-Harlow
I do go to the shop, and my fixed smile doesn’t seem to fade.
Every night when I place a few drops of oil on my wrist, I think of him, and I lie in bed in a blissful state.
Sometimes letting my fingers explore my skin, moving lower, reaching between my legs and thinking of Stone.
I feel it in my bones that he would want to use his tongue before he slams into me with his cock.
The mere thought brings more sensitivity to the little bundle of nerves between my thighs.
I imagine him at that very moment lying in his own bed, stroking his length in his hand, wishing it was me.
Some nights, I could swear we are coming at the same time in different places.
The thing is, when I’m alone, I’m completely comfortable fantasizing and touching myself.
It’s when someone else is present that it changes.
With Stone, though, something within me feels altered.
There is a boiling of sensual urges. If I wasn’t broken, then I would have already been in his bed naked… if only I could let myself breathe.
Every email, he seems to circle us back to sweet, just when I’m tempted to hear him beg to try and touch me in every single way. We’re not even writing anything remotely near sexting. Even if I wish we would, that isn’t fair to him. I’m just not sure he is patient enough.
Another week goes by, and another email pops into my inbox.
Harlow,
Has it helped? The oil?
-Stone
I type back without much thought.
Hey there,
Over days, the nightmares only lessen, but do they ever go away? I believe they do, want to believe they will, anyhow. You got me to open that door of possibility.
-Harlow
Then he goes bold on me. Innately, I knew it was coming.
Harlow,
Don’t you want to meet again? Our trails are bound to cross.
-Stone
Stone,
Sometimes what we want isn’t what we need. Besides, I’m traveling for the next few weeks. Marketing has me at a few signings, ending in Seattle.
Hope your writing came back in a tsunami.
-Harlow
I don’t hear from him again. Not for a few days and not even a week or two. Time passes. I assume his impatience must have eventually worn out. Waiting can wear people down. Waiting for nothing is a deeper wound.
Fortunately, my mind could be occupied. The publisher kept me busy with meetings, signings, pictures for social media, causing my need to take an hour to put on makeup and curl my hair. Between it all, I write better than I ever have and try to write in spare moments.
It’s all left me exhausted, though. I walk down the hall of my fancy hotel in Seattle with my heels hanging from my fingers. I rub the back of my neck, eager to get my makeup off and throw on some pajamas. When the door’s green light flashes from my key card, I’m already celebrating relief.
Sliding my key into the wall switch, the lights flicker on, and I let the door close behind me. Dropping my shoes to the floor, I walk into my room to grab my pajamas.
Then I spot it.
On the small table in my room there is a basket… full of apples.
That’s a little strange, but an inkling hits me.
There is only a small card on hotel stationery from the concierge.
This was delivered without a card. With kindest regards, Reception.
A soft knock on my door causes me to instantly dart back to the door. I peek through the viewer and squint my eye, but I see nothing as another guest walks by, blocking my view.
It feels safe enough with other people around, but it doesn’t matter anyhow because I’m certain who is here.
Opening the door, I’m greeted with a smirk as Stone leans against the opposite wall with his ankles crossed, and he’s holding up a single apple, with his other hand in his pocket.
He’s wearing dark slacks and a dark blue button-down shirt.
Not entirely sure why he’s on the formal side, but his appearance is sexy as hell.
“I believe you’re missing one,” he informs me before he tosses it up, only to catch it.
My face eases into a happiness that I’ve been keeping on the offside. “You found me,” I rasp.
Stone steps forward. “Had to. One of us didn’t want to admit that they wanted to see the other.”
A sharp breath hits me. It’s me, completely me.
“The thing is, Harlow, you miss me. I know you do.”
“Stone, I…” What should I say? I want to run and not ruin this moment at all. But I want this moment, every second, and what comes next too. “If I say yes, then what?”
He steps closer, and his eyes narrow in on me, they darken, have me in a hold, and I get that glimmer that I’ve had a few times when Stone Madden has a strong desire to ensure he gets what he wants.
He glides the back of his long finger along my cheek. “I believe our kiss scared you away, and our emails only solidified that you ran when you didn’t want to.”
My chest rises, and I want to crumble and admit the truth. A shaky nod is all I can give.
Another step closer and the back of his hand brushes my cheek, and I nuzzle my face into his hand, breathing in his scent that has a hint of cardamom, taking in this natural movement between us.