“TELL ME ABOUT THE pineapples.”
“Is this code for something sexual?” Harlow asked, nuzzling her face into the crook of my shoulder.
“No, it’s about your affection for the fruit, which I hear that the government made some of them pink.”
“Yeah, they’re totally cute.”
“You’re totally cute.” My fingers skimmed over the curve of her hip, drifting up her ribcage. Cupping her breast, my thumb traced her nipple, coaxing it to attention.
She hummed in response, scratching her nails up and down my abs. “It’s a silly childhood story.”
Smiling, I kissed the top of her head. I liked knowing that part or parts of her childhood held some happiness for her. Everything I’d learned about Harlow’s past held pain and sadness.
“Silly childhood stories are my favorite. Remind me to tell you about the time I peed on the kitchen floor in front of my mother and her friends.”
Her face twisted up. “Was this recently?”
“Yes, it was just last month as matter of fact.” I waggled my brows. “No, I was seven, and that night I was dazed and confused. I made the mistake of walking into the kitchen instead of the bathroom. Without missing a beat, I dropped my Underoos and pissed all over the wood floor.”
Her hands covered her face as she giggled. “Oh my God, was your mom mortified?”
“It was hard to tell. I remember the laughter bringing me out of my daze. When I finished, my mother handed me a roll of paper towels and told me to clean it up.”
She shifted her position in bed to look at me. “My story is a different kind of silly.”
My lips traced the smooth expanse of her shoulder. She twisted out of my hold, rolling up to lean against the headboard, which was still intact despite my best efforts to make good on my earlier promise. It was probably better that way I wasn’t in the mood for any home repairs.
She shoved a hand through her auburn strands, sweeping them around her shoulder. “In sixth grade, I hit a growth spurt. I was the tallest girl in my class and I was taller than most of the boys too. Having hair the color of a tomato didn’t help matters, the teasing was relentless. My classmates made fun of me and called me names—Giant, sometimes Jolly Red Giant, Stretch, Chewy, and Big Bird. You can guess where I’m going with this. It made me feel more awkward than I already did.” She released a long sigh. “I came home in tears one afternoon after finding out my best friend, Marie, had made a scrapbook with my face plastered on a giraffe’s body, a brontosaurus, an anaconda, even Chewy from Star Wars.”
Harlow glanced over her shoulder. “Somehow Marie found out about the movie The Fifty Foot Woman, and glued my face to her body. Bright pink and yellow fliers were taped up in the girls’ bathroom and all over the hallways.”
I searched my brain and my vocabulary wanting to say something more than just “sorry.” I wasn’t subjected to any teasing in school that I could recall. However, in college, I took my punches when people found out I was modeling. That was nothing compared to what Harlow went through. Teasing at a young age, especially during the awkward and formidable years, can stick with you and carry into your adult life.
Harlow slid down and rolled onto her side, her hazel eyes boring into mine. “After I shared everything with my mom, she told me to embrace my height. She said, ‘Harlow, be a pineapple—stand tall, and pretend that you’re wearing a crown. No matter what, always be sweet.’ Then she babbled on about having a prickly skin, but unlike the pineapple my spikes didn’t show but I would need it to survive in the world.” She laughed and rolled the pineapple charm between her fingers. “The advice stuck with me and the rest is history.”
My hands tangled in her hair, and I pulled her face to mine. “I think what your mom was saying, is that you are fierce on the outside and sweet on the inside.”
She leaned in, kissing me softly. “I think you’re right.”
“Stick with me, sweetheart, you’ll find out that I’m right about a lot of things.”
As it turned out, Harlow stuck with me that weekend and the next and by mid-July the two of us had slid into a comfortable routine. There were Saturday morning trips to the farmers’ market, afternoons on the boat, Sunday brunches for two and daily workouts. She cheered me on at my polo matches and I had become the official taste tester for new Cocktails and Couture recipes.
Over the last few weeks we slowly checked off places on her “Good Eats” list. We had her coffee place locked in—North Harbour Coffee Shop’s salted caramel iced coffee had erased memories of her time in Italy. Although, she said it felt sacrilegious to dare even admit. Pastries, specifically double chocolate muffins from The Bake Shoppe, were her new obsession, and we were still on the hunt for the perfect cheesecake. Most Friday nights consisted of meals with an assortment of fried foods and then going back to my place to binge watch Vampire Diaries and her new favorite, Riverdale.
Not once did we search the gossip sites for our names, although, Zanita and Haven both sent texts with headlines of interest.
Heather Young believes in Morning Sex and Yoga—breakfast of champions.
Grady James and Harlow Trembley Dating: New Couple PDA Farmers’ Market Date.
Harry Brackman and England Fall Short of World Cup Victory—No More Ex-cuses.
Heather Young Wants Grady James Back from Harlow Trembley.
Harry Brackman Spotted in London Night Club with Unidentified Blonde.
We hadn’t officially discussed our arrangement or revisited the original terms. Whatever this was, felt like an actual honest relationship. A relationship free of Hollywood drama, it felt so fucking awesome. Except that we were both celebrities and the shadows of Hollywood were never far behind. I couldn’t help but wonder what was lurking around those dark shadows for Harlow and me.
What social media drama would pop up? Would a crazy fan threaten her life? Would someone hack our phones and find something sacred to the two of us and make it public knowledge?
Exposed.
Ironically, those in between moments the ones the cameras or onlookers didn’t capture were my favorite. Stolen kisses and hand grazes. The whispered compliments, alternated with dirty promises we’d fulfill in the bedroom or nearest unoccupied space.
Droplets of water rained over my chest. “What are you thinking so hard about?” Harlow asked, running her finger over my lips and chin.
I smiled over at her from my position on the giant pink flamingo raft that we were drifting around on the ocean waves. “Honestly, I was thinking about us.”
She propped her chin onto my chest. “Us, I like the sound of that.”
“What do you think about the possibility of a real us?”
“I’m going to need you to elaborate.” Her palm smoothed over my shoulder and down my chest. “Because this feels real.”
“Okay, how about we toss the arrangement and you and I date for real?”
A slow smile spread across her lips. “That’s cute.”
“Why is that cute?”
“It’s cute, the way you asked me to be your girlfriend, just now.”
I leaned into her, kissing her effectively sealing the deal. “Well, I’m glad we had this talk.”