“You have this vision of me skating merrily along, and I’m telling you, this is going to be tragic.” She tugged on the laces while Matt shoved on another skate.
“We’re starting by the beach, so if you start to fall, topple into the sand.”
“Oh that’s nice. Just fall into the sand. As if I’ll have a choice.” She laughed despite herself. “You’re such a twit.”
“But a good-looking twit.” He peered up at her, his smile in his eyes. “You said so yourself.”
Yes,yes, she did. Matt skated their shoes back to the rink, then returned to help her stand. Immediately, her feet flew out from under her. He caught her with his mighty-strong right arm.
“I get it now,” she said. “You’re trying to kill me. Death by roller skates.”
“Or maybe I’m trying to hold you in my arms.”
“Matt—”
“H, come on, j-just kidding.” Yet it didn’t feel like kidding. Neither did his comment in the jail yesterday. Something about falling and a trailing, wordless ellipsis . . .Falling for you? Falling in love?“Just glide,” he said. “Don’t resist the forward motion. The wheels know what to do.”
“Oh really? Do they have a degree from Yale?” Harlow inched forward, arms flapping at her side.
“Graduated summa cum laude. H, you’re doing great.” Matt looped the smallestGazettenewspaper sack over her head. “Hand a flyer to anyone and everyone along the beach, and leave some at the food trucks. If you run out, there are more in Granny’s office.”
“Wait, aren’t we doing this together?” She clung to the bag, yet it couldn’t save her. If she went down, the bag went down.
“If we split up, we’ll cover more ground.” Matt skated backward, a big grin on his chiseled face. “Harlow Hayes, it’s time to learn to skate.”
“Is that a metaphor? Huh? Matt Knight, that better not be a metaphor.”
“It’s like walking the runway, HH.”
“It’s nothing like walking a runway.”
Granted, walking a Paris runway hadn’t been easy the first time either. Especially in six-inch spiked heels as her dress fell apart and she strutted all but naked. She was lauded for her professionalism. And to no one’s surprise, that designer didn’t make it.
Stiff-legged and angling forward, Harlow roll-walked toward the food carts. If she made it to Pete’s Pretzels, she was getting one. Flat out. The flyer sack was awkward, and when she tried to adjust it, her feet moved farther and farther apart.
“Here.” She handed a flyer to a couple walking their dog. “Sign the petition at the courthouse. If you do, Matt Knight, the A-list actor, will visit your house.”
By some miracle, she inched her feet together and handed out another flyer. “Save the Starlight. Sign the petition. Matt Knight, the A-list actor will buy you a Lamborghini.”
Her feet rolled apart again, and she painfully pulled them back together. Matt lied. The skates didnotknow what to do.
Next, she rolled into a group of women, grabbing the nearest arm as a brake. “Do you live in town? Voters? Go sign the Matt Knight A-list actor petition to save his grandmother’s skating rink. He’ll pay for your kids’ college tuition.”
She passed out a few more flyers, finally, barely getting the hang of rolling. Then the Beachwalk took a dip, and she went flying.
“Hey, slow down. Wheels, slow down!”Faux Victorian lamppost up ahead.She hooked her arm around the post and spun, stopping all forward progress when her skates hit sand. “Matt!”
Crumpled in the sand, clinging to theGazettesack, she spied him yukking it up with a group of clipped-haired men watchingthe waves and women. Pilots from Eglin. She’d seen them at the rink.
She pulled herself up and carefully, slowly, hitched forward onto the solid concrete of the Beachwalk. Sweat trickled down the side of her face. Her blue sundress clung to her back and torso.
Matt slapped one of them a high five. The real pilot and the fake one finding camaraderie. Matt spotted her and motioned her over. “Harlow, come say hello.”
“I’m busy. Passing out flyers.” As much progress as she’d made in recent weeks, she didn’t need a stand of hunky men giving her the once-over, remarking how they used to have a poster of her on their bedroom wall.
Focusing on keeping her feet together, she managed to stay upright and moving, passing out flyers, promising Sea Blue Beach citizens and probably a handful of tourists dinner with Matt Knight.
“Harlow, hey, what’re you doing?” Simon Caster steadied her as she started to trip.
