“Bachelor pad,” she states. Harlow saunters to the room off the living room with opened French doors, and she realizes it’s my office. I lean against the doorframe to observe her. She circles the desk, with her fingertips brushing along the books and paper, then stops at my closed laptop to tap twice. “So, this is where you write your emails to me? Or is it upstairs in your bed?” Her voice is floaty, sultry, and our eyes catch.
Now I’m curious what’s going on in her head.
I rub my thumb across my jaw. “I’ll let your mind run wild there.”
She swallows. “Uhm, speaking of upstairs. Can you show me? We should probably … put my suitcase there.” Now she’s just toying with me.
I have to roll my eyes. “Good idea.”
Every step up the stairs strengthens that thumping in my chest. I watch her sway as she moves, as if she’s always belonged here. It’s a challenge because I know I need to be patient, but that tether that she’s had me on is getting too short.
She figures out which room is mine right away, as if it was a magnetic pull that led her that direction. We enter my room, and we both stall.
Harlow breaks the tension yet again with the laugh that fills the room as she marches forward. “Wow. A good start to earn your five stars.” She heads straight to the edge of the bed where a folded towel rests with the box of cookies with the Dizzy Duck Inn logo. She pauses, and her fingers trace the outline of my folded shirt on top of the towel. She glances up at me. "You left me a shirt to sleep in." Her voice is delicate, and the gesture causes her lips to press while she smiles gently.
“I have high standards of what a hotel should offer.”
She turns to me then throws her arms around me. “Thank you.”
Fuck, that need to not let her go and rip her clothes off returns.
The thought is intercepted when I hear her mumble something against my chest, and as she backs up, it’s now clear as day. “Stone, I don’t know what it is, but the flight over opened a gate that I’ve tried to keep closed since I met you. I’m incredibly weak for you, and the thoughts just become… no words to describe it.”
“What are you saying?” I caress her cheek.
Her eyes sideline toward my bedroom window. “How about I freshen up and we can grab something to eat before I burst out with words that would’ve been far easier to write… I wish I thought of that.”
Now I have to clunk my tongue. “Alright, Harlow. I’ll follow your lead.”
“You do that a lot.”
I tip my nose up in agreement. “I’ll give you some space. The bathroom is over there. My top drawer is fair game for your curiosity,” I say to brighten her beaming smile even more.
She chuckles and swats me away. “I’m not that nosy… today.”
Our banter apparently continues even outside of our emails.
That’s a relief.
Which is why I head downstairs, content and positive that today is different to others.
* * *
Harlow setsher wine glass on the counter, causing a satisfying clink noise.
“That was delicious. The eggplant parmesan was mmm, chef’s kiss.” She kisses her fingers.
“Unlucky for me, I wasn’t the chef, and we can thank the general store. That place is a gourmet store with a whole deli of food to take away and heat at home in the oven, then pretend you stood over the stove for hours,” I quip.
She licks her bottom lip, amused.
I’d already decided this morning that going out for dinner wasn’t really appealing. Being alone and catching up without people around was more our calling. Harlow couldn’t have agreed more.
“Want some dessert?” I offer.
“Absolutely not. I had about two cookies pre-dinner plus wine, so my sugar intake is at its limit.” She looks around, figuring out which topic to switch us to. “Considering Christmas is in a few weeks, you’re not very much in the festive cheer.”
“I bet you have a small tree that is in decoration overload. We can decorate a cactus tomorrow if you want,” I propose.
