We’re sitting at the Dizzy Duck Inn for brunch in the restaurant, partly due to the fact that we skipped the breakfast hour and slept in. Having her long hair splayed against one of my pillows is a fantasy that any guy would dream of, yet I get to live it.
We sit by the big bay window to overlook the lake that is partly frozen with the cloudy sky in the backdrop. We’re taking it easy and not rushing the morning.
“What?” She’s near bashful. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
“You have a glow,” I state bluntly. “It’s good that you ordered more than toast for breakfast, you seem a little exhausted.” A half-smirk hits the corner of my mouth.
She smiles. “That would be for a good reason. And don’t criticize my breakfast choices. Toast is an important start of the day, but it has to be just soft enough to ensure your knife doesn’t make the scraping noise. Halfway between not toasted and half crunchy. The butter will melt better that way, then a thin layer of jam, preferably strawberry or apricot, is the finishing factor.”
I laugh. “Wow. I didn’t realize there is an art to toast and that Harlow Olive treats it like a sport. No wonder you have a hate for frozen bread.”
“It ruins the toasting process,” she retorts.
The waiter arrives to leave us with Harlow’s toast and a basket of breads and croissants then quickly scurries off.
“Right on time,” I say. She quickly grabs the croissant, and I feign shock. “You’re cheating on your toast?”
Harlow grins. “We should probably exit this ridiculous discussion on carbs.”
A teenager enters the dining room with his parents and gives me a wave and seems excited.
Harlow quickly looks over her shoulder after I wave back. “Who’s that?”
“I don’t remember his name, but he was at a hockey weekend for the local prep school’s hockey team not too long ago,” I explain.
“You help with kids’ hockey?” She seems surprised.
I pick up my cup of coffee and take a quick sip before I answer. “I volunteer, yeah. Next summer, I’ll help with the development camp here at the Spinners training facility for rookies and also the camp for inner-city kids.”
Harlow’s jaw drops a little, and she brings a hand to her heart. “Swoon.”
I chuckle at her response. “Wasn’t expecting that?”
“You never mentioned.”
“I guess not. Probably because we’re still getting to know one another. We’ve only seen each other a handful of times.”
Her eyes dip down to the tablecloth, and she grows silent as she seems to be occupied with a thought, and her lips tuck into her mouth. Now she seems different. I study her, but honestly, I have no clue where her head is at.
“About that.” Her eyes drift up so our eyes can lock again. “I kind of… hmm, you see…” Harlow can’t seem to bring her words together.
“Yes?” I draw it out as I wait patiently, which is why I grab my coffee cup again.
“Last night was great.”
“Way above average,” I correct her, and it earns me a smile that she’s pleased.
“You don’t need to treat me like a delicate flower.”
Hmm, not sure where we’re going with this, but I will take a wild guess and tread carefully. I scan the room, and it’s only half occupied with people; still, I lean in, as Harlow is sitting beside me at the square table.
Lowering my voice, I manage to figure out what to tell her. “Harlow, I think, considering the circumstances, it was better that your fir—” God damn it, I shouldn’t say that. “It was just better that you were in control, okay?”
“Maybe, but also not. The thing is, I know you’re keeping your…” This time she checks the room. “Inner inhibitions locked down.” Her voice is uneven.
I snicker, and my eyes widen, but I can’t help but smirk. “You want to talk about our sexual desires at 11am in the very public restaurant of the Dizzy Duck Inn?” I can’t help but tease her.
She carefully tucks her hair behind her ear, and it brings my attention to her fingers that I want to tug away from her head to interlace with my own; instead, I grab my orange juice and sit back and enjoy whatever direction this conversation could be going in.
