“Passing out flyers.” She freed herself from the sack as Simon introduced his brothers, Todd and Adam, who had the same ruddy cheeks and John Travolta hair as Simon. “Nice to meet you. Here, Simon, you work for the Starlight. Matt wants one in every business.”
Simon took the bag while Adam—or was it Todd?—just stared. “You’re Harlow Hayes.”
“I told you I mowed her grass, Todd.” Simon made a Bugs Bunny what-a-maroon face.
“Yep, he does.” Harlow turned into the breeze. “I’ll buy you all milkshakes from the Tasty Dip if you empty that sack for me.”
That did the trick. Armed with flyers, Adam and Todd started off, but Simon hung back. “Hey, I was coming to find you. There’s a man at your house,” he said in a low voice. “Looking in the windows. When he saw me, he asked where to find you.”
“That’s weird.” And creepy. She’d had a stalker in her early days. But maybe Dad drove down to surprise her. He’d flown toNew York after Xander kicked her to the curb. Sat with her on a friend’s couch, watching movies, holding her hand when she started weeping, offering to have a talk with “that young man.”
“He said he was your fiancé.”
“My fiancé?” Harlow chilled in the sunlight. “Are you sure he said fiancé?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know you even had a boyfriend.”
“Simon, do you know Xander Cole? What he looks like? Dark hair, aristocratic face, New York accent?”
“Oh yeah, that’s him.” Simon grinned. “Didn’t you two break up?”
“Yes, we did.” Harlow started for the house, forgetting her feet had wheels and stumbling into Simon. “For crying out loud.” Dropping down to the Beachwalk, she yanked off the skates and handed them to Simon. “Return these to the Starlight. Please.”
She ran from the beach through town, her sock feet thumping across the asphalt, only slowing when she saw a dark sedan parked along the curb. Xander sat on the porch steps, watching her.
“When Simon told me . . . I didn’t believe it.” She patted her pocket for her keys and gathered her breath. “What are you doing here?” Shoot, her keys were at the Starlight.
“Looking for you.” His posture and expression were utterly Xander Cole. Right down to his khakis and sockless feet sheathed in Italian leather loafers.
“W-where’s Davina?”
“Can we talk? Inside?”
“I don’t have my keys.”
“There’s a spare under that fake rock.” Xander pointed to the one at the far end of the trimmed but neglected flower bed. “I remembered as you came running up.”
“Well, that’s nice to know.” The fake rock, the key, her dream, his sudden appearance felt ominous, as if she should be paying attention to the unseen.
When she unlocked the door, Xander followed her in. Therewere a few newspapers lying around, but the house was tidy, lived-in, and welcoming.
“The place looks great, H.” Xander turned in a circle. “I’ve not been here since the remodel. You have exquisite taste.”
“Except the chandelier. That was all you.” She bristled a bit when he called her H. That was Matt’s nickname. Xander picked it up on set but surrendered the right to use it when he locked her out of the penthouse.
“I rather like the chandelier. It fits the room.” He smiled. “Strange being here with you standing so far away when my only night here we—”
“Xander, what do you want?” She resented his intimate inference. That he felt free to travel through her memories.
“To talk.” He closed the distance between them. “Harlow, where are your shoes?”
“At the rink. I was passing out flyers on the beach.”
“In socks?”
“I was wearing skates. Talk about what, Xander?”
He laughed softly. “You don’t skate, Harlow. Remember my nephew’s birthday party? When I rented Rockefeller Center? You fell a thousand times before making it halfway around.”
