“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 approaching 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.
I pulled up to the Hutton House. After stepping out, I handed my keys off to the valet who traded me for a basket with a few special items—bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a cashmere blanket.
“What are we doing here?” Harlow asked, stepping out of the car, the sound of gravel crunching under her high heels. She looked beautiful in a blue strapless dress, the warm breeze tousling her auburn strands.
I came around the front of my Range Rover, taking her hand in mine. “Do you remember, about a year ago, on a night particularly reminiscent of this one, you and I took a rowboat out for a spin?”
She sighed, looking up at the sky. “Yes, I think I remember.”
“Call me sentimental, because I wanted to take my lady for a moonlight boat ride.”
“How romantic of you.”
We walked across the newly cut grass to the beach where she balanced her hand on my shoulder to take off her heels. I helped her into the boat. Once she was settled, I handed her the basket.
I rowed a good distance, but close enough to the shore where we could still see the flood lights from Hutton House. In one . . . two . . . three . . . soft blue lights flashed in the distance and that was the cue I’d given myself. I pulled the ring box from my pocket—the same color as the lights wrapped in a white ribbon.
“Holy crap,” Harlow whispered, as I placed the box in her hands.
“Harlow Trembley, is it okay if I ask you to be my wife?”
Wrapping her hands around the box she stared at it for a long moment. Her hands shook as she lifted the lid with her thumbs. Tears slid down her cheeks. My hands framed her face, swiping the tears away.
“But, I thought you didn’t want to get married?”
“Loving you is the easiest thing that I’ve ever done and at the end of the day you’re the person I cannot live without. Loving someone, truly loving them, means you work day in and day out making that person happy. I love you and you make me happy, that’s what you’ve done for me and it’s important to me that you’re happy.”
Seconds turned into minutes and my throat felt as dry as sandpaper. Finally, Harlow looked up at me, one shaking hand covering her mouth.
“Sweetheart,” I said, pulling the canary diamond from the box. Yellow, the same color of pineapples—the fruit she adored. Call me cheesy, but I knew that Harlow would appreciate the sentiment.
“Will you marry me?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“No.” I repeated.
Fuck. No. She said no. She doesn’t want it. Should I jump overboard now and drown myself in the ocean or get drunk? Better yet, I could drop by the stables and have Elsa kick me in the balls.
“What do you want? Do you want the moon? The Ocean? Anything you want, sweetheart, name it.” Was the panic in my voice obvious?
“Wait this is all wrong . . . ask me again,” she murmured. “The original question, just like you said it the first time—all the words.”
I huffed out a laugh. Without hesitation, I knew exactly what she needed to hear. “Is it okay if I ask you to marry me?”
“More than okay,” she breathed, tears cascading down her cheeks. “My answer is yes.”
My heart jackhammered in my chest as I slid the ring onto her finger.
She smiled, as the pad of her thumb brushed over the center stone. “I can’t wait to marry you, Grady James.”
THE END