by Kit Graves
“We’re on!” She wiggled her backpack at him. “I’ve got the blanket you asked for and my warmest sweater.” She didn’t mention that John likely was excited for Harlan, but smiled about it anyway.
They’d planned another picnic, this one on the other side of town. There was a gorgeous hotel on the banks of the river, ironically on the side of the bridge that Olivia charged people to access and never visited herself. Kingsdale was a well-to-do area, well-known for its most famous inn, a waterfront property that oversaw the entire city from across the dark and peaceful waters of the Brooksville River. In the summer Plumeria Resort was filled with vacationing families and brunch-goers. In the winter, like now, it became a country club for locals and their visiting families. The property’s trees were flocked with glittering fake snow and bedecked with glowing lights, and restaurants, spas, and VIP cottages dotted its tranquil grounds. Olivia would never have thought to go there, but Harlan suggested they picnic on its grounds, taking advantage of the view without being sucked in for expensive cocktail and spa treatments.
Olivia was chattering about her classes - she’d spent most of her week reading at work to research the essays she was working on, working extra shifts so she could take a little time off to write them over the next few weeks. So wrapped up in ranting about how annoying it was to track citations, it took her a moment to realize that Harlan was quieter than usual. “Sorry, I know it’s boring,” she said automatically, quieting herself.
“It’s not,” he assured her instantly, reaching for her hand. “I’m interested, and I want to hear more. We’re just here is all.”
She looked up. She’d assumed they would park along the riverfront or somewhere in the resort grounds. Instead, Harlan had navigated them to the sweeping front driveway, his truck out of place surrounded by the luxury vehicles and sleek black chauffeured vehicles that lined the cobblestones. “Harlan, I think they probably charge for parking up here.”
“That’s okay.” He grinned at her, and then a valet was there, helping her out of the car and jogging over to take Harlan’s keys. The entryway to the resort glowed ahead of them, warmth and rich scent already emitting from inside. Olivia felt underdressed, having showered her makeup off post-gym and clutching a backpack. She doubted they’d even be allowed to picnic here, looking around, and was about to suggest they try somewhere else when Harlan took her arm.
“Ready?”
“Ready for what?” He led her inside. The ceilings were impossibly high, laden with chandeliers. They wandered down a hallway studded with oil paintings and padded with hand-knotted carpets. She marveled at it, pleased they’d snuck in for a quick tour. “Its beautiful.”
“It’s okay,” he shrugged, and she laughed when he tugged lightly on a piece of her hair. “It’s almost a decent backdrop for you, anyway.”
She was still smiling when he stopped at a wooden door. He slid something from his back pocket, opening the door and holding it wide.
“Wait, what?” She peered up into his face, and he finally looked nervous. “Did you get us a room?”
He nodded, biting his lip. “I thought, maybe, you know, we could have a picnic in here.”
Olivia laughed out loud and stepped into the room. “Harlan, its beautiful!” The doorway opened up into a huge room, with dark and moody walls surrounding the biggest, plushest bed she’d ever seen. She peeked into the bathroom: an enormous tub filled most of it. Olivia spun around again, delighted, but a little disarmed by the surprise. “I didn’t bring anything to sleep here.”
“Oh, I know.” He went to the close and pulled out a bag. Surprised, she recognized it as hers. “Tiffany threw some of your stuff together for me earlier. I know you girls were supposed to clean up together in the morning, so I sent a maid service. It would suck if I sent you back to a messy apartment and resentful roommates. I’m a little scared of Winnie, to be honest.”
“You should be,” Olivia agreed, laughing. “That was amazing, Harlan, thank you so much.”
He shrugged, eyes warm as he watched her explore the room. “My pleasure. I like doing stuff for you.”
They put on thick Plumeria Resort robes from the closet and spread the blanket she’d brought over the plush bedspread, ordering room service to complete their picnic. Olivia giggled her way through several glasses of champagne, feeding Harlan the decadent hors d'oeuvres that they ordered. The little bites of canapés, finished by adorable lemon cakes, looked extra tiny compared to his mass. She should have known he had something up his sleeve, she decided, looking at the man cross-legged across from her in bed. He’d worn a dark grey button-down shirt with well-fitting black jeans and leather oxfords. She’d assumed he was dressed for work, but she’d never seen him put product in his hair to work before. He had it slicked back now, tight to his head in a way that kept his scars out on full display. She was proud to see them, felt like he was secure with her now, in addition to looking exceptionally handsome. In fact, she was so content, she felt like she was floating. Harlan told her he’d planned for morning massages and a walk through the grounds to breakfast, and all she could do was nod along dreamily.
After dinner they ran a bath. Olivia sorted through the bag that Tiffany had packed, finding her makeup alongside a few outfits and her skimpiest pajamas. Blushing, she also saw that her skimpiest underwear had been included, including a sheer nightgown she’d fallen in love with on the sale rack and never worn. Nice one, Tiff. She hid it in the pocket of her robe and went to join Harlan in the bathroom.
Harlan had run the bathtub hot and filled it with eucalyptus-scented bubbles that sent Olivia’s nose twitching with happiness. He was already ensconced in its waters, just the muscles of his shoulders rising up above the rim. He had his long neck tipped back, his throat showing where scars disappeared into the ruff of his beard. She admired him for a moment before toeing her shoes off. Sensing her, he looked up, and Olivia hesitated a little. “Most baths don’t fit me,” he offered quietly, watching her from underneath his lowered lashes.
“Yeah, my legs are usually too long and I have my knobby knees sticking out,” she joked back, shifting a little before pretending to be brave, taking her hair down before pulling her blouse up over her head. She wriggled out of her pants next, feeling decidedly unsexy, but Harlan’s eyes had gone dark and hot from where he watched her.
“You don’t look knobby to me,” he said, voice scratchy yet smooth, and she couldn’t help but smile as she unhooked her bra and stepped out of her panties. The way his head snapped up from the back of the tub provided all the confidence she needed.
Olivia sunk into the sweet, fragrant bubbles, settling herself back against Harlan’s chest. His arms came around her underwater, holding her gently against the muscular mass of his chest. She stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes above the water before going boneless against him. Harlan’s lips found her shoulder, resting in one extended kiss while he skimmed his hands down her sides, back up again. When his lips moved to her neck, she shivered, turning to meet his kiss.
She sighed into his mouth and went boneless. Between the bubbles, the champagne, and the velvet heat of him, warmer even than the bathwater, Harlan’s kiss burned through her slowly. The gentle way he held her was a direct contrast to the hard, broad feel of him folded around her. His fingertips skated over her breasts, his huge hands engulfing them completely as they kissed. His tongue slid over hers at the same pace his hands slid back down again, reaching her legs and slipping in between them.
“Harlan,” she whispered, before slipping away. His answering hum warmed her to her core.
They got a lot of water on the floor.
Chapter 29
Laurel screeched again, setting Olivia’s teeth on edge. Olivia had her head flipped upside down and was brushing her hair out, but was otherwise ready to go. Laurel, on the other hand, was making increasingly questionable banging and swearing sounds from the other room.
“The top you’re wearing is fine!” Winnie shouted a
cross the apartment. Laurel answered with another thump, and Olivia had to fight not to laugh. George was in town again, and Olivia had casually invited Laur out with them. Olivia felt confident about the setup, but Laurel was clever enough to see what was happening, and her nerves were getting the best of her. She’d changed at least three times that Olivia had seen, and had re-winged her eyeliner at least twice. Usually Laurel was the least fussy of them all, seemingly put together perfectly each with no effort on her behalf. Olivia had always envied her effortless, sexy style, but pressure seemed to have gotten the best of her this time.
They were meeting the guys at White Horse, a trendy dive bar near the college campus. Olivia knew Harlan was unerringly punctual, but didn’t say anything when they started running late, because Laurel was a speedy driver under the best of circumstances. True to form, once Laurel had given up on changing again, she drove them there in much less timhar blue eyes pop, and her long pony grazed her back as she checked the mirrors.
Laurel paused in the parking lot to wipe her hands on her pants. “I’m so sweaty. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Olivia offered, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be a date.”
“We’ll see,” Laur snorted, wiping her hands again. “Okay, let’s go.”
The bar was dim and crowded, with posters wallpapering every surface and dozens of tap handles behind the bar. Harlan was easy to pick out from across the room: at the bar, his bulk seemed to draw gravity inward, Olivia’s eyes going to him automatically. He looked up, smiled at her, and she felt herself floating forward without thinking. She reached him and leaned against his leg on the barstool, curling into his chest for a hello kiss. It took a moment for her to look up, and when she did, George and Laurel were eyeing at each other like wary cats.
“George, Laurel, Laurel, George,” Harlan said, tightening one arm around Olivia and using the other to gesture between them.
“We’ve met” George said shyly, eyeing Laurel’s outfit with awe. He didn’t sound any different than usual, but he raked a nervous hand through his hair, leaving it even more tangled than usual.
Laurel sniffed a little, took one small step, and crossed her arms like she would rather be anywhere else. “Whatever you’re paying for, I suppose,” she offered, sounding begrudging.
Olivia looked at Harlan: this didn’t seem promising. He smirked and winked, standing up and inclining his head so she could follow him. “Excuse us,” he told Laur and George, handing Olivia a drink and leading her over to the jukebox. “Give them a second,” he said under his breath, scrolling through music. She snuggled under his arm and looked too, feeding Harlan’s quarters into the machine and finding all of her 90s favorite. He rolled his eyes at a few, but kept giving her quarters, so it was actually fun. He’d gotten her a Moscow mule, and the ginger tickled her throat. She said so, and Harlan seized on her happily with kisses. “Here?” he murmured, drawing her against him despite her giggles. “Here?”
“We should go back and check on them,” she sighed, imagining the stilted first-date conversation going on behind them.
“Don’t be so sure.” Harlan loosened his arms from around her and nodded back to the bar. She looked over her shoulder and paused in shock.
George and Laurel were making out intensely. Olivia watched George’s hands run down Laurel’s bare back and take her butt firmly in both hands, Laurel practically defying gravity to climb up onto him.
“Oh my god,” she murmured, horrorstruck. “I did not need to see my brother do that.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Harlan suggested.
“I should check in with Laur first,” she said weakly, not truly wanting to interrupt. George picked the girl in question up and lifted her onto the bar. The bartender hustled over, towel in hand, as Laurel’s legs went around George. “Actually, nevermind.” So much for George being the bookish, non-ladies’ man!
They went back to Olivia’s apartment, secure in the knowledge that they’d be the only ones there, everyone else being out on dates. “You hungry?” she asked once they got inside, looking at the kitchen. “Want another beer, maybe?”
He shrugged. “Let’s hang out in your room or something.”
“Hang out,” she teased, but he laughed.
“After seeing those horndogs? I really do just want to hang out,” he said, laughing.
They curled up on her bed and enjoyed the silence for a while, chatting here and there about nothing much. It was nice, having Harlan in her space. He dwarfed her twin bed and made her realize how girly her space was. His house was all blues and greys and dark wood, while her bedroom was frills and white and the occasional coral. She had necklaces hanging up above her desk, school books neatly piled next to romance novels, and a massive collection of sweaters that hid her body to varying degrees. He didn’t seem uncomfortable, though. If anything he was only curious, asking about one book or another and nodding through her summaries and reviews. She realized the library book he’d checked out for her was still on the shelf, and pointed it out, but he admitted he’d reported it lost and paid for it so she could keep it. She laughed and kissed him, letting the kiss draw on into a long, sweet one.
Eventually he pointed to an oversized book on the bottom of her bookshelf. “What’s that one?”
“This one?” She reached for it, drawing it into her lap as she sat up on the bed. He was still stretched out, head propped up on one arm that was flexing distractingly. She stroked the cover, feeling suddenly nervous. He hadn’t known he was asking after her photo album, she knew that, but it felt like time to show him. He’d been so supportive so far, and she knew he wouldn’t say anything to upset her. And she wanted to show him. She wanted to speak the names of her entire family and show him how they’d been alive, how they’d been a part of her.
So she flipped open the book.
It was a scrapbook that she’d made after the accident, in the pre-move downsizing of leaving their home. They’d had to sort through family photos to create the funeral materials and obituaries, so she’d simply taken the best and put them into an album, not paying any particular attention to making it beautiful so much as preserving its images in one place.
Harlan sat up as soon as he saw what the first page contained. “Olivia, are you sure?”
“Definitely.” She nodded to him, trying not to let her eyes tear up. She could feel the tears somewhere behind her eyes, but she didn’t shed them. Instead she held the page up so he could see better, and he leaned over it, touching his hand to the page as he took them all in. The Everetts. Every one of them.
“That’s my mom.” He took a moment to stare at Viola, his finger going to the image of her face. Viola looked proud and exhausted, her huge family surrounding her in one of their rare group portraits. Her hair was short for Viola in the photo, shoulder-length, but clearly beautiful, clearly the same as Olivia’s.
“You look just like her,” he said quietly, and with a start Olivia realized that he really meant it. That she was approaching the age Viola had died - not closely, but quicker than she’d ever believed she would. “She’s beautiful.”
Olivia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Thom looked like another man with Viola on his arm. The happiness that had leaked from him, only now returning, was in full force. It shone out from his face, his pores, and it was reflected in the family around him.
Harlan waited, so she told him about her mom, about the way she’d taught Olivia to read her classics, to look for hidden meaning in ancient words. When she teared up a little, Harlan pulled her into his chest and they looked together, his hand tracing after hers, page after page of the life and the family she’d once had. She pointed out George, explained that he was at school, and he nodded, having heard about him through Thom.
“And him?” he asked, his thumb brushing over Travis, age eleven. He’d just cut all his hair into a mohawk in defiance of school picture day, and looked fiercely prou
d of himself even with the lopsided plume half-cocked atop his head.
“Travis,” she said, and that said it all. She’d told him about them all before, but it was different to see their faces, to show him how many people had once had the same features as her. It was sobering for Harlan, she could tell, but he just let her talk, only asking questions every page or so until they’d gone through the entire album.
“I wish you could have met them,” she said finally, still holding the album, unwilling to put it down.
“I wish I had too,” he assured her, stroking her hair. She nuzzled into his chest, taking comfort from his warmth and his presence. He smelled like beer and soap and Harlan and - home, she thought. Not like her old home, but just… like Harlan. And yet her senses all told her he was her new safe space, the roots of her happiness, the place she always wanted to come back to.
I think I might love him, she realized, before he turned the scrapbook back over and asked to go through it again. She opened it one more time, staring at him a little as he flipped through the pages, memorizing her family. She thought she might want him to be a part of that family now. Felt like maybe he already was. She wanted to be his, too, feeling almost guilty for having had such a perfect family for the time she had had them. He’d never had them at all. But he has me, she thought, smiling and snuggling back into his chest.
When George and Laurel banged the door open on their way into the apartment, each already half-dressed, they made their escape back to Harlan’s. The whole ride back, tucked into his back, flying through the hills, all she could think was I do. I love him. I love him so much. It was more than she’d ever felt before, but easily recognizable. Her heart felt full, her chest felt tight, and she felt almost like she could soar through the canyons without the motorcycle beneath them.