My inclination tells me not to question or even try to comfort her. Still, I’m kind of taken by surprise. “Yeah, sure.” I have to ignore my thoughts and just follow her cues.
We say nothing on our entire walk to the inn, with her arm bound to mine. I just detect how Harlow is agitated, with her eyes frozen.
The moment we arrive at the Dizzy Duck, she’s through the front door so fast that I’m nearly struggling to keep up.
But I don’t let her out of my sight and follow her up the stairs until she’s at her room door, fumbling with her keys because the hotel uses traditional keys.
A puzzle piece hits me.
I gently touch her arm and ease the key out of her fingers as she stares blankly at the door.
“Let me do that for you,” I offer softly.
I jiggle the key into the hole, and when the door is slightly ajar, she doesn’t take a step.
I patiently wait for a clue what I should do. “Harlow… are you okay?”
She takes a deep breath, and her eyes slide to meet mine. While my eyes are trapped in observation, hers are pooling with tears.
“Congratulations, you discovered my secret,” she says before she disappears into her room, closing the door, with thoughts stirring inside me that cause my chest to still.
The puzzle piece was a discovery.
The reason she writes.
Because sometimes we write to conquer our fears of past events.
Inside I crack for her. It’s sympathy for sure, anger at whoever did something to her, and the overpowering need to not walk away.
I may have discovered her secret, the one she probably wouldn’t want me to know.
So I’ll offer her my own.
A secret for a secret.
5
HARLOW
The ripples in the lake mirror my mood in this moment.
It’s mid-morning, and in one sense I feel numb, but maybe deep down, and I hate to admit it, I feel relieved that someone sneaked a peek into the side of my life that is sometimes lonely.
I’m not sure that I wanted it to be Stone. The connection that has been developing between us has been an uplifting surprise. Now, it’s been ruined by my own fears that I can’t seem to shake.
There is a reason that I hate the night and withdraw into a room behind a laptop.
The night brings out demons that I can’t seem to shake.
Except the last few days, I’ve gotten a glimpse of near normal. At least when a certain former hockey player is nearby.
The feeling of someone approaching should make me tense, but I know it’s him.
Stone.
Arriving at my side, he offers me a coffee. “Hey, you missed the morning session.”
“I don’t drink coffee,” I say as my eyes lift up to admire the view.
