“With us,” Afton replied brightly.
“No thanks, I like my space,” I grumbled.
“Sorry, I mentioned it,” Afton said, before taking a sip of her coffee.
“It’s just that,” I began, ripping the edges of my napkin. “What if I get married and my husband doesn’t have a place in the city? I think it might be nice to have the family home option—it’s a lovely place for holiday gatherings.”
Nicholas shook his head, draping his arm over the back of the booth. “And when exactly was the last time you were there?”
I’d stayed there for a few days when I returned from Italy, but I didn’t tell anyone. I spent the first few days lying in my mom’s bed ordering takeout, watching episodes of 13 Reasons Why and Frontier. When I felt the urge to do more than be a slug, I went through Mom’s closet trying on her vintage Halston and Dior couture gowns.
As the week progressed, I spent time ripping my father’s face out of several photographs while listening to Beach Boys records and drinking red wine from our mother’s private collection. When Trudy, my mom’s longtime personal secretary stopped by to let the cleaning crew in, she found me face down on the sofa in nothing but my underwear. Mortified didn’t even begin to describe my state of mind. That’s when I cleaned up, packed up, and called Afton.
“Before I took up residence in Afton’s guest house,” I replied. “I dropped in, and happened to see Trudy.”
There was a long silence, and then our server re-appeared refilling coffee mugs and water glasses.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “About that, you staying in my wife’s . . . our guest house. Have you found a permanent place of residence yet?”
Afton’s eyes went wide. It was the kind of expression that told me they’d discussed the subject, but at the same time, she wasn’t ready to call attention to the matter.
“Nicholas,” Afton nudged his arm. “Harlow can stay as long as she wants.”
I slapped my hands to the table. “Actually, Afton, your husband brings up a good point. I should be getting a place of my own. In fact, there are several open houses this afternoon for properties I’m particularly interested.” I slid out of the booth and dropped twenty dollars onto the table. “For my part of the tip, I hate being a mooch. And I’m not selling Mom’s place, but I’ll buy you out, since you’re so very eager to unload that property.”
“Harlow, wait, come back,” Afton called after me.
Waving her off, I walked out of Nancy’s with my head held high. On the inside though, I felt as if someone had taken my heart, tossed it into a blender and pressed crush.
THE LAST WEEKEND OF summer, and instead of being out hitting the final party circuit, here I sat like a chump camped out in front of my television in my grey sweatpants. This all seemed vaguely familiar.
Alone. Alone. Alone.
This time the reason for my loneliness, it was all my own doing. Pain flooded my heart, and the ache was excruciating. I missed Harlow.
There was a loud buzzing noise coming from somewhere inside the house. I had no idea where my phone was, because I hadn’t seen it since last night.
Grabbing a bottle of Jameson, I climbed the stairs. It was day . . . one . . . five thousand without Harlow. Shuffling towards the shower, I saluted my bed with the middle finger along the way. I hadn’t slept in it in days. Not when I’d come to the sobering reality that she wasn’t coming back here, possibly forever. Everything lingered with her scent—honey and peaches.
“Grady, you need to let her go.”
“She’s hurting and she needs time to think.”
Ella’s words echoed over and over in my head. Thinking back to that night so many times, it haunted me, but I thought being honest with Harlow was the best thing. I knew it was a risk telling her that I never wanted to get married again. I didn’t anticipate her reaction, and I should have, that was my mistake. The matter should have been handled differently.
Had I led her on? The possibility was real and I had to live with that and maybe live without her.
I never wanted to hurt her, ever.
“Mr. Grady,” Thora said, from the kitchen. “It’s Friday, payday.”
I pressed my palms to my eyes. “What?”
“Friday, payday.”
“Oh, okay.” I stood up from the couch. “You didn’t wash my sheets, did you?”
She shook her head, and continued putting my groceries in the refrigerator.
After I retrieved the envelope marked with her name from my safe, I walked back into the kitchen. “Thanks for taking such good care of me, Thora,” I said, handing her the money.
“Mr. Grady, it is a pleasure to work for you,” she said, tucking the envelope into her bag. “You know, love is a tricky business,” she continued. “But if you cannot live without her, you need to tell her how much she means to you. You are young and in love, be happy.” She slapped her palm to my face. “Go get your lady.”
The task of getting my shit together and Harlow back into my life was a daunting one. Getting Daniel Craig to agree to two more Bond films was far easier. Since that night, I made several attempts to call, text, and message her via Instagram, none of which were returned. I had run out of options.
In between work and polo practice, I checked her favorite places hoping to accidently run into her. The North Harbour Coffee Shop was becoming my second home, but Harlow seemed to be avoiding it like the plague. I drove by Afton’s place every day, but I never turned into the driveway.
“James, quit being a pussy and go talk to her,” Alex shouted, his voice vibrating through my Bluetooth speakers.
“I’m pretty sure that your wife advised me to give Harlow some space.”
“Do you love her?”
“Your wife? Of course, I love Ella, it’s only a matter of time before she leaves your sorry ass for me,” I joked. Apparently, I had no filter today. I could almost hear the sound of Alex ordering a tactical team to my exact location, kidnapping me and bringing me to some secret compound, and inducing various forms of psychological torture. He’s probably cleaning his gun as we speak.
“I’m going to give you a pass on that little joke, James, because I know that you’re in a fucked-up head space and not completely in control of your mental faculties.”
“Got it.”
“So, the question on the table—do you love Harlow?”
“Yes,” I replied, as my hand glided over the steering wheel. I turned into my driveway and then punched the button to lift my garage door.
“Then that is all that matters. The rest will work itself out.”
I slid out of the driver’s seat, disconnecting the Bluetooth from my car. “I don’t know,” I said, blowing out a harsh breath. “She wants to get married and I can’t see myself going down that road again. Harlow doesn’t want to waste her time with someone who is never going to give her what she needs. I can’t say I blame her.” I tossed my keys on the counter and sifted through my mail. An invite to the 3rd Annual Elizabeth Atkinson Foundation for the Arts Celebration caught my eye.
“James, I’m going to impart some wisdom,” he declared. “Just because it didn’t work with Heather doesn’t mean a marriage won’t work with someone else.”
Unconvinced, I stared at the invitation mentally flipping through memories of my ex-wife and our failed marriage. Moments of clarity smacked me hard. I walked towards the window in my living room and stared out at the ocean waves. Heather cheated on me. I honored the vows we took and gave her everything she wanted. There was nothing I could have done to stop her from cheating.
“Love, hell, even marriage—it’s not about who you see yourself with—it’s about who you can’t see yourself living without.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’ve heard that somewhere before.”
But was it enough? Was I enough for Harlow without the official vows of marriage?
“Go get your lady,” he advised. “Don’t overcomplicate the matter
. Life’s too short. If there’s a sliver of hope that you’re open to the possibility of marriage, you need to consider it. Don’t lie or manipulate the situation to get her back and don’t tell her want she wants to hear. Say what you mean, and mean what you say.”
“How did you know that Ella was the one?”
“There wasn’t one moment that hit me and said, ‘Alex she’s the one don’t let her go.’ It was a series of moments. When I’m weak, she’s strong. Hell, even when I’m not weak, she’s strong. When I looked at my life and Ella wasn’t there, it was like I couldn’t breathe. She’s my light, and I’m a better man when I’m with her.”
I refrained from making a smartass comment. There was a real possibility that Alex had a set of wires with my name on them—charged and ready to shoot ten thousand volts of electricity into my body. For his own amusement, he’d probably attach them to directly my balls.
“That sounds about right,” I agreed.
“Next time you want to have a heart to heart, James, let’s do it over beers. Don’t call me like I’m one of your fashionista gal pals.”
“Noted.”
I ended the call, turning my attention back to my very empty house. The emptiness that I once craved no longer made sense. Don’t get me wrong, solitude had its benefits, but isolation was another story altogether.
I SIPPED MY CHAMPAGNE and studied the image hanging on the wall. Each of the photographs portrayed a certain degree of vulnerability, but there was hope in the woman’s expression. I knew because that woman was me.
Days after Ronan and Holliday’s wedding, Tinley contacted me and asked me to be a part of her annual charity fundraiser. How could I say no to something that was not only important to funding the arts but also her mother, Elizabeth’s legacy? I couldn’t which was why I staring at four pictures of myself shaded in green and blue hues.
Blue, the color of his eyes and the water he loved so much here in The Harbour. The swirls of aqua and azure blue, held a striking reminder of the Caribbean waters in Sapodilla Bay. The green was loudest—a canopy of palm leaves surrounding the outdoor shower where we shared a profoundly intimate moment.
Moving on, I stepped in front of the black and white photos anchored on the wall in a blocked cluster of four. Breathtaking. Gavin Lacourt knew his way around a woman’s body, photographically speaking—although the Frenchman was a known ladies’ man and the rumor mill was extremely complimentary of his bedroom skills.
“There you are!” Ella’s toned arms wrapped around my shoulders. “Fabulous, isn’t it—a total smash.”
“Ella, you look stunning,” I said, admiring the lace detailing of her cranberry colored gown.
Her hands drifted over her barely there bump. “Aren’t you sweet,” she replied, grasping my hand and then entwining our arms. We stared up at the photos. There we were, naked and on display for the whole world. Gavin had an idea for a collection of photographs featuring Ella, Holliday, and myself. A figure brushed past the two of us, slapping a red “sold” sticker next to Ella’s portrait.
“Well, that’s a blow to my ego,” I joked, taking a sip of champagne.
“My husband purchased it,” she remarked.
“How do you know?” I asked, shaking my head.
“I thought for sure they’d cover the photos up once they were purchased,” Alex said, from behind us.
“Told you he was the buyer.”
“You’re goddamn right I’m the buyer. I don’t need this portrait going in another man’s house where he can jerk off to it every night.”
Ella rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. “Babe, where are you going to hang a nude photo of me? In the guest house?”
“I haven’t decided, yet,” he answered, taking a long drink from the tumbler in his hands. “Maybe, I’ll hang it in my office, better yet our bedroom.”
A young woman breezed past us, marking Holliday’s portrait with the red sticker.
I threw up my hands. “What the hell?”
“Not too worry, love.” Ella nudged me. “I have a feeling the buyer of your portrait is standing right there.”
Following her gaze, my heart thumped out of sync. Grady stood before me in an ink black suit and matching tie. He looked undeniably handsome. Was it possible that he’d become more so, since we’d been apart? His blue eyes held that same smolder that I’d seen many times. I wondered how I’d lived without seeing his beautiful face these past weeks.
Ella squeezed my arm, as she turned on her heel. “Talk to him.”
Grady maneuvered his way towards me, sidestepping patrons with effortless precision. His eyes locked on mine, captivating me.
The overwhelming feeling took hold, tugging my need for him. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, winding its way to my heart pouring weeks’ worth of emotion into it—misery, frustration, desire, and excitement all brewing together making me dizzy.
“Harlow.”
“Grady.”
I stared at her for a long moment, studying every line and curve of her face. If this was the last time I’d ever see her, I needed to catalog it to memory. Harlow was breathtaking in a silver beaded, floor-length gown. When she arrived, I saw . . . felt her immediately. The lights from the gallery seemed to follow her everywhere. Her dress was like liquid metal sliding all around her as she walked from one display of art to the next. All those copper waves shiny and thick, cascaded down her back.
I reached for her, sliding my hand down her arm taking her hand in mine. Touching her, being this close, allowed me to breathe again. I took a slow, deep breath, feeling the air in my lungs. Abandoning all my planned speeches, I went straight for the three words that mattered most.
“I love you.” My shoulders sagged with relief as the words poured out of me. “I don’t know what the future holds, but the one thing that I do know and it’s with great certainty—is that I love you. There’s this huge important thing that you want, and I can’t promise it to you today or tomorrow or a hundred tomorrows from now,” I continued, my hands sliding into her hair. “I love you. That I can promise you. And I never lie, so you know my words are true.”
She gazed at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Okay,” she breathed.
“Okay,” I repeated, as my heart beat a bruising rhythm against my ribs.
“I love you, Grady,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I promise to listen to all your fun and historical facts. I can’t promise that I won’t roll my eyes from time to time. I promise to cheer you on in everything that you do. I promise to . . .” Her voice broke into a sob. “I can’t think of anything more at this moment, but I will, I promise.”
I laughed, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “It’s okay, we can revise and revisit anytime you want.”
Closing the gap between us, I tipped her mouth to mine. Desperate for her, I sealed my mouth over hers. I kissed her, sliding my tongue against hers. I claimed her mouth. Harlow was mine for as long as she would have me.
I needed her, needed to feel her skin. I needed her beneath me, hearing her say how much she loved me. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“I do,” she whispered against my lips.
I set the palm of hand to the small of her back as we walked towards the door.
“Almost forgot, wait one second,” I said, as we passed by front table. After I made my donation, I turned Harlow back towards her photograph. Wrapping my arms around her waist from behind, we watched as they posted the sold sticker. “That’s going on the wall in my office,” I whispered, kissing just below ear.
“A wise choice, you made a very good investment, Mr. James.”
“Yes, I did,” I agreed, pulling her out the door.
“IT’S FRIDAY NIGHT. REMIND me again why we’re going out?” Harlow asked, scrolling through the calendar on her phone. “I don’t have anything on the schedule for tonight.”
With Harlow preoccupied with Met Gala and Cannes fashion business, it gave me plenty of time to plan this evening. Summer was fast ap
proaching and before the crowds descended bringing the excess of Manhattan here to rest behind the neatly groomed hedges of our seaside town, the time was now.
We reveled in the comfort of drinking wine on the deck, boat rides at dusk, and quiet dinners with friends. Our ultimate bragging right: “Oh, we never go out.” We were firmly in The Harbour Hermit Camp by choice, of course and we’re not alone. We decided our personal motto this summer will be, avoid Route 27 altogether on weekends. We never go out, ever.
I’d be lying if I said that we didn’t attempt an evening out occasionally. Rum Bar, Castle Hill Beach House, and the occasional yacht brunch were needed. With new restaurants popping up and food trucks in abundance, we seemed to find new fried foods and desserts to try all the time. I mean we weren’t complete recluses. That would be crazy.
Speaking of crazy, Harlow’s website has grown exponentially. Recently, she was asked to work with a popular fashion brand—a collaboration for a new line of lingerie and swimwear. She purchased her dream home, the one with the aqua tile in the kitchen.
As for my career, solid and going strong. The pilot I shot last year was picked up by HBO. Filming would begin this summer, and I would be splitting my time between The Harbour and Los Angeles. I sold my loft in Manhattan. As much as I loved it, the better investment was Harlow’s Mom’s penthouse. It had taken a while for Harlow to really get over Afton and Nicholas’ elopement, but we spent Thanksgiving in the city with Nicholas, Afton, and Tiffany. Christmas in Fenwick with my mom and sister, and then drove up to northern Vermont where Harlow and I convinced the new owners of the apple orchard that once belonged to her grandparents to let us walk the property in the snow. They thought we were insane, maybe we were. A snowstorm kept us in Vermont a little longer than expected, but we made the most of our stay snuggled up in a cozy inn.
Harlow and I adopted Elsa, because it was time for her to retire from the sport. Alex and Ella welcomed a new baby right after the New Year and in the middle of a snowstorm. Trying to get Ella to the hospital was a feat only Alex could pull off. I guess eight inches was just a light dusting compared to the several feet of snow the Great Lakes dumped on Grosse Point when he was growing up.
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