So, on this particular sunny afternoon, with the light cascading through the skylights, wearing the pink summer dress she’d ordered from Sears, Harlow Hayes finalized her grocery list before heading out.
In her BMW, she cruised through the pretty little town toward Biggs, barely shifting into third gear before turning into the parking lot. The late-March temperatures were leaving winter behind, and before she reached the sliding door, she was perspiring. She welcomed the freezing temps of the store as she grabbed a shopping cart and started toward the produce section.
Whispers buzzed around her.
“...look... Harlow Hayes?”
“No, no, can’t be. In Sea Blue Beach?”
“...cover ofNational Enquirer, and she doesnotlook good.”
So, she’d been found out. Harlow snatched a beach hat off a rack as she passed, letting the price tag dangle Minnie Pearl–style. In Manhattan, she ordered groceries to be delivered. If she ventured out, she covered herself with long loose clothes. Winter wear made it easy to hide. But in Sea Blue Beach, winter wear made her stand out.
You’re here to get in shape for work, Harlow Hayes.True, true.Thank you, inner voice, for reminding me.
Grapes, bananas (though she recently read somewhere they caused cancer), apples and oranges, eggs, broccoli, carrots, celery, lettuce, tomatoes, light salad dressing, three cases of Diet Coke, chicken breasts (she passed on the steak, though it almost killed her to do so), cream cheese, cottage cheese, skim milk, a case of SlimFast...
At the checkout line, she kept her chin low, only glancing at the cashier when she said, “Fifty-two eighty-nine, please.”
“Did you get the hat?”
“I got the hat.”
She paid and as she headed to her car, a group of teenage girls approached. “Hey, lady, wait up. Are you—” The blonde asking the question peeked at her friends. “Her?Harlow Hayes?”
“Me?” Harlow Hayes feigned a laugh. “As if. . . . Sorry to disappoint.” She smiled, then remembered it was one of her main identifiers and toned it down. “I get that a lot, though.”
“See, I told you.”
“Wait until I see Susie. She swore it was her.”
From now on, she’d have to pay attention. She wasn’t so incognito in a small town.
At home, Harlow had every intention of grilling a nice piece of chicken for dinner and tossing a garden salad. She’d dine on the back porch with the wind in her face and a good book in her hand.
Yet instead of prepping the chicken, she flashed on an image of the girls wondering if she was Harlow Hayes. Why had she lied to them? They might have been excited if she’d said,Yes, I am.Instead, she’d denied herself, afraid they’d laugh at her. How ironic that one of her first commercials was for a body spray with the taglineBecause it’s wonderful to just be you.
That’s it.Prada handbag slung over her shoulder, the Biggs’ hat still low on her head, price tag swinging, she headed to Tony’s. Pizza for one, please.
You be you, girl.
She ordered and paid under the name Glenda, then stepped aside.
Fifteen minutes later, she was back in her Beemer, blasting the air. She was about to shift into reverse when the aroma of pizza coming from the passenger seat made her whole body tingle.
Have a slice!It was intoxicating to eat whatever she wanted when she wanted. She’d never, ever had such freedom, even for a day, until she was twenty-seven years old.
Harlow grabbed a napkin from the Tony’s bag, added some parmesan cheese to her selected slice, and bit into the hot, tangy, savory cheese and pepperoni.
Know what?Thiscould be her true self. Why not? She’d never intended to be a model her whole life anyway, let alone a supermodel or the Most Beautiful Woman in the World. Titles come and go. Beauty fades. But pizza...
Eyes closed, she rested her head against the seat and savored the crispy dough, the garlic and oregano, the creamy mozzarella.
She was about to take another bite when one high-pitched scream, followed by another, caused the slice to slip from her hand and plop against her dress. Well, shoot. As she reached for more napkins, she glanced out the window. Was everything okay? She didn’t see anything except the girls from Biggs clustered around a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shock of black hair over a smooth, chiseled face.
Harlow squinted through the windshield. He looked a lot like—oh my word—Matt Knight.
Suddenly, he snapped around, glancing her way, as if he heard her thoughts or sensed her presence. Harlow’s hat tumbled off as she shot down in the seat, shoving her legs beneath the steering wheel. Did he see her?Please, please, please...
