Throwing my pen onto my leatherbound notebook, I heave a deep sigh. This lady needs to get laid or loosen a notch somewhere to ease up. Gloria is my new enemy number one.
Who the hell makes a group write in their notebooks at a great restaurant? I’m grateful that the waiter just brought a few bottles of wine to the table to end the tyrant’s demands of stirring our thoughts.
We’re at Catch 22 here in Lake Spark for dinner with the retreat group. Apparently bonding on day two was on Gloria’s agenda, after a day of workshops about deep narrative and editing your manuscript before you send it to your editor. Sure, some people are finding it useful and writing up a storm on our breaks. Me? Meh, I use breaks for breaks.
But luckily, Harlow ended up sitting next to me most of the day, not that we could talk much as we listened to Gloria. Just a shame that we’re not alone now as the sun sets over the lake. Catch 22 is casual enough, still with enough classiness for a good ambiance, with its dock outside. A lot of the locals come here for lunch or evening dates. Why that thought comes to my head, I kind of know why.
Harlow is completely under my skin. She’s beautiful, and I judged her wrong. Doesn’t mean I can’t tease her that she’s wearing long earrings and taking a picture of her notebook next to a candle on the table.
When her head tilts to the side to offer me a subtle look that informs me that she’s content, I’m even more entranced.
“This isn’t turning out like I imagined. I mean, well, the retreat,” Harlow mentions. “I’ve been stuck with you, and if I hear the words escape or inspiration one more time from anyone, then I might just throw my laptop into that lake.” She chuckles to herself.
I grab the bottle of white wine, ready to get this evening started. “I’m not sure that would work. The lake might be too shallow to give your laptop a proper goodbye. Might want to add a few weights to the thing.”
She laughs and her face brightens. I hate how her lip gloss is a little too much. She doesn’t need it, yet it completes its goal, drawing me in to stare at her mouth.
“So, what’s good here?” She seems chipper.
“You mean your rabbit food?” Harlow throws me a playful scowl. “I’ve heard the beet salad with goat cheese is not bad, and for the main entrée, the pumpkin cranberry loaf is in season, with this apparently mouthwatering sage-butter sauce. I’m not much help, as I normally grab a steak for dinner… need to fuel these guns.” I flex my biceps.
She squints her eyes. “Oh yeah? I didn’t notice that you work out.” She’s sarcastic, and that’s not something many women I’ve been around have managed to pull off.
“What was your word count today?” Jennifer attempts to make conversation from my side.
“Only 1200,” Harlow replies.
“Am I supposed to be counting?” My tone is flippant.
Jennifer grins. “You’re making this whole trip a bit more eventful, Stone. Saving us from Commander Gloria over there.” She indicates to the head of the table.
“Offer Glorialotsof wine,” Harlow suggests.
“I bet you by dessert we can get her slipping up with a few embarrassing stories from her college years. Something tells me she’s a wild one,” I mention.
“Hopefully.” Jennifer turns her attention back to Frank sitting next to her.
Harlow leans back in her chair to examine me. “Do you ever have a serious moment?”
“Trust me, I had enough to last me a lifetime,” I assure her. “Childhood, ending my hockey career, to name a few.”
She grabs her wine glass. “May I ask about your upbringing?”
I drop my head before lifting it back up because this woman somehow feels easy to talk to. “Our dad bailed, and our mom did it all on her own. She’s married now and focuses on her life in Arizona. And my sports career? Nobody wants to see something like that end early.”
“What happens in life only makes us stronger,” she remarks.
That’s the right mindset to have. “I believe that. What non-happy memories makeyoustronger?”
Harlow stalls for a second and then bites her bottom lip. “Uh, not drinking a good wine. We should focus on enjoying this evening.” Again, an air of mystery surrounds her.
The waiter arrives to take our order, and I hand over my menu after I tell him a Caesar salad and steak medium done. Harlow seems to have listened to my advice and orders what I suggested.
I lean to the side to speak low. “You seem like a woman who listens well.” My voice is sweltering with a desire I can’t deny.
It’s been a while since I’ve spent the night with a woman. My bedroom style tends to be a little too dominant, and I’m not used to wanting something without diving in full force on the physical front, then I just leave it all there, I don’t need more. With Harlow, slow seems to be my calling. That isn’t really my character, but I can’t seem to shake that feeling.
Her face flushes to a pink that I’ve seen a few times today, as if her cheeks are burning.
