7. Harlow

CHAPTER 7

HARLOW

T he conversation about Teddy’s butt is going in the archives and not for future reference because it won’t do me any good thinking about his backside, his strong and capable hands, or his lips . . .

I’ll pretend the butt conversation didn’t happen and move on.

The Spa radise Massage & Wellness Center is on the second floor of one of the quaint buildings in town. The glass on the door is a bit grubby, and a sign scrawled in pen lists the hours. The faint smell of what can only be described as cafeteria food wafts toward us when Teddy opens the door and gestures for me to enter. A cat with one ear dashes out.

Teddy arches an eyebrow as if questioning the cleanliness and safety of the spa and says, “Actually, I’ll go first.”

Of course, this leaves me following him up the stairs with a great view of his butt. I mean his boots. They’re well made. Is that Italian leather?

I occupy myself with questions about whether Italian leather is different from other leather. If they have special laces? Soles? Are there little cobbler boot elves making these things?

They’re just so good.

When we reach the landing, a dirty door mat and a sad potted plant greet us along with another handwritten sign that says Knock tacked beside a beaded curtain.

Teddy and I exchange a wary look.

“Should we have a safe word?” he whispers.

Before we come up with one, an older woman with bangles, a shawl, and a couple of beads and feathers in her hair waves us in. A second woman, younger, and with light blonde dreadlocks and maybe a tattoo on her cheek—or it could be a sticker—wears a cropped top and low-rise baggy sweatpants. Her movement could best be described as slinking as she enters the smoky room from a rear stairwell.

The incense burning on a rickety table makes me cough. Tapestries hang haphazardly on the wall and a pile of carpets fill a corner along with a stack of yoga mats. In the middle of the space are two massage tables covered in a hodgepodge of linens. I hope they’re clean.

“Not exactly a relaxing oasis,” I mutter.

“Seems eclectic,” Teddy says, ever the optimist.

“Hi, we’re here for the cou—massage.” I almost say couples and brace myself for the two women to think we’re together.

“Yes,” the older woman replies in accented English. “You’re couple for massage?”

“No, we’re best friends,” I clarify.

Teddy introduces us to them, his hand lightly tapping my lower back. A little shiver runs through me even though it’s stuffy up here.

The older woman shakes her head with disgust. In a thick accent, she says, “Rubbish bin. Men and women don’t make friends. Love story only.”

Teddy and I both chuckle awkwardly.

The younger woman wears an impish smirk and points at Teddy. “Ted, I am Enchantra. You are mine.”

My jaw tightens before I realize she means he’s her client.

The older woman tips her head toward me and says, “Halena, I am Elvaira.”

“My name is Harlow,” I correct.

“Yes, Hedi.”

Teddy says, “It’s Harlow.”

“Okay, Hilva.”

My eyes get squinty because I’m not sure I’m hearing them right, but maybe there is a language barrier.

“Get undressed.” The younger woman shoves a towel in my hand and then slides one into Teddy’s. Her gaze travels from his head to his toes, slurping up every inch.

A growl comes from somewhere in the room. Must be the one-eared cat.

I spot a folding screen leaning against the wall and point. Teddy helps me set it up, and we take turns behind it. I’ve never had a massage, so I’m not sure how undressed I’m supposed to get. I contemplate asking, but thankfully, Jill insisted I bring a bikini—not that I’d ever swim or go in a body of water, but just in case the spa had tanning services. I have my doubts.

Wrapping the paisley printed towel around me—it’s thin and hardly reaches my thighs—I emerge from behind the privacy of the screen.

Teddy glances at me, eyes darting around every which way. The incense must be causing an allergy flare. He ducks behind the screen and appears moments later in nothing but the tartan towel, which he holds at his waist. If it were in a clothing catalog, it would best be described as garb for a barbarian. The towel is part loincloth and part kilt.

I almost laugh, but hold back because underneath is Teddy’s bare backside. How am I going to survive this?

Unceremoniously, Elvaira orders me onto one of the tables. I’m not sure how to position myself and retain my modesty at the same time. I cannot make eye contact with Teddy because I’m afraid he’ll see how uncomfortable I am. Granted, he’s seen me in a bathing suit, but not lately.

Elvaira takes my shoulders and shoves me facedown. My head falls into the recessed hole in the table, and I cough again as she wafts incense toward me. Teddy’s table is only a couple of feet away and it shifts with a squeak as he gets into position.

Tinkly, soothing spa music plays faintly in the background. Maybe this is one of those exotic massages rather than the standard back rubs I figured we’d get as part of the romantic weekend getaway prize package. I try to channel Teddy’s glass half-full mentality.

Then I feel a draft. Elvaira has removed the towel. I’m lying face down in nothing but my bikini—Jill snuck the scanty one in my bag after I’d agreed to a tankini which is nearly full coverage. My body goes rigid. Does that mean Teddy is mere feet away, also face down and nearly naked, or is he face up and can see my butt ?

Will I have a view of his butt when I have to flip over? Wait, if I’m facing up that means—my brain starts to calculate ways out of this. I could fake a stomachache or headache. But the solution would be to relax, which is what a massage is intended to do.

But . . . butts.

I start to devise a plan when I realize I have no idea where my towel is. I could wrap myself in one of the pieces of fabric underneath me. It could be some kind of pelt. I’m not sure. Before I can make a move, a cold, slimy liquid drizzles onto my back. I yelp a little.

“Oil,” Elvaira barks by way of explanation.

Enchantra says, “You are so tight, Ted. Let me help you relax.”

He exhales and lets out a slight grunt. She must be rubbing his back. I decide to be a good participant and go along with it. Perhaps this is normal.

“How long you’ve been married?” Enchantra asks.

“Oh, we’re not married,” I say.

“We’re best friends,” Teddy adds. “Met when we were kids. Ended up going to the same college. Our lives have tracked ever since.”

“My daughter is single,” Elvaira says.

I take this to mean Enchantra is currently on the market.

A long silence follows as Elvaira scrubs my back like she would scour a burned frying pan. Then she says, “Men and women not friends without becoming more.”

Teddy counters, “Harlow and I put that theory in the penalty box, thank you very much.”

“Yeah. We’re just friends,” I say, then wonder why I hate the idea of Enchantra’s hands all over him .

The two women start chatting, guttural in a foreign language.

Teddy whispers, “Did you get the goo?”

Elvaira slaps something onto my back. “Just now. Before it was oil.”

“Oh, oh,” Teddy says, voice stilted. “She’s massaging my butt.”

“Is this normal?” I whisper through the head hole.

He answers, “It’s only weird if we make it weird.”

Taking a breath as Elvaira kneads my thighs like dough, I tell myself if she dares touch my butt, I’m putting a stop to this. Thankfully, she shifts to my calves.

A shadow crosses the patch of sunlight from the street-facing windows.

“I think she’s sending a text,” I whisper.

Teddy’s table squeaks and he makes a rough exhale.

“No, I think she’s walking on my back.”

Elvaira is at least twice my size, if not larger. If she sets foot on me, I will take matters into my own hands, much like I did when I flew up here. Things will be smashed, I promise.

All of a sudden, the relaxing music changes abruptly to a disco jungle beat.

“It’s officially weird,” I say.

I realize Elvaira isn’t in my proximity. The scent of cigarettes replaces the incense.

“I think they’re on a smoke break,” Teddy whispers.

Taking preemptive measures and rolling myself up like a burrito in the linens much like how Teddy did to me last night, I bolt upright.

He’s already on his feet, holding out my towel in one hand and has his palm over his eyes with the other. “Promise, I didn’t look.”

A teeny tiny crushing sensation pushes against my chest, but that’s ridiculous. Teddy is being respectful, and we’re just friends. He said it himself. Why would he be interested in peeking?

I say, “You can look. I’m ensconced.”

I’m not sure if it’s my word choice or the situation, but Teddy bursts into laughter.

“That was going to be the safe word,” I say, recalling a funny conversation we had while studying for an English Lit exam back in college. I didn’t mean to be funny though.

I tuck behind the screen and get dressed. By the time I’m done, Teddy is fully clothed—a locker room pro. He tosses a few dollar bills on the massage table, then takes my hand and we rush out of there.

Once on the street, we keep running, keeping up with our laughter until we reach the corner where we stop.

Amusement dances in Teddy’s eyes. “That was?—”

“Interesting,” I say, catching my breath.

As if suppressing a smile, he bites his lip.

He points down the cross street and we continue at a more leisurely pace, passing a church, a toy store offering a sale on all yellow, orange, and red items for autumn, and a little breakfast bistro with a romantic outdoor eating area topped with a vine-covered trellis and a sandwich board advertising the crepe of the day—banana and Nutella, my favorite.

Despite the massages that were neither tranquil nor quality, I do feel a bit more relaxed. It could be that I’m free of Chad-Phoenix, Penn, and my job. Or it could be that I’m with Teddy.

“I love quaint little towns like this. Sorry about how I was acting earlier. You know me, always giving people mood whiplash.”

Teddy drops his hand onto my shoulder, and says, “You know me, I’m good at being a best friend. The best. The best best friend. World’s best.”

“I should get you a mug,” I say wryly.

“I’m the mug-getter. I’d prefer a trophy.” Teddy winks.

Next stop Falling for Books, the cutest little bookstore. It’s the kind of place with stuffed wooden shelves, hidden nooks for finding bookish gems, and scented with that particular smell of crisp paper that makes me want nothing more than to curl up with a warm drink and a good read on a brisk day. Surrounded by words and stories that are not my own, I file away what Teddy said about us being just friends. I tell myself I was annoyed at Enchantra’s hands all over him because she wore a lot of rings and probably had blisters or something—maybe even warts. I care about the health of my best friend’s skin. He has hockey games to win!

As for me, I’m better off being single. Having just a best friend. But when my thoughts slip past the gatekeepers in my mouth, the words are inside out. “Why have just a best friend when you could have so much more?”

Teddy goes still in front of a Halloween zombie book display—there’s even a moldy-looking rubber hand near a bowl of complimentary candy corn. I’m not thinking about Enchantra, you are!

Scrambling because my comment about having just a best friend sounds like I was suggesting something between Teddy and me, I say, “I mean couples. They always say they’re best friends, so when you get married?—”

He shakes his head looking uncharacteristically gloomy. “Someday you’ll find your forever, and I’ll be left on the sidelines watching, having to give up my crown as King Best Friend.”

I sputter. “Me? Married?”

“Each guy you date brings you closer to the one you’ll want to be your future.” Teddy flips through an autumn gardens guide.

My throat is dry and my pulse didn’t get the message that we’re no longer running from Elvaira and Enchantra. “I thought you didn’t believe in marriage?”

“I don’t trust it, but that doesn’t mean you won’t get married to someone.”

“Pfft. Who’d put up with me?”

“Someone who loves you just the way you are.” Teddy catches my gaze and then quickly looks away.

“We both know I’d make a terribly grumpy wife.”

“Unless you make Dream Boat laugh.”

I do so at Teddy’s term for my future spouse. Dream Boat with a great butt. I slap my hand to my mouth, praying those words didn’t escape.

He must not notice because he continues, “He’d appreciate your sense of humor and sarcasm. Your ability to be yourself without hiding behind a fake and polite smile.”

My heart squeezes. “Speaking of weddings, while we’re here I should buy a gift for Mindy and Drew. Did you receive the invitation to their wedding yet?”

The little bell on the door to the shop jingles as a customer exits .

“And then there were two . . .” Teddy trails off.

Does he mean us? When we were chatting last night, we talked about who in our high school and college friend groups are still single. Only us. But maybe he meant there are now only two customers in the bookstore.

Teddy gathers a few books in his arms and a couple of gift-type items. I’m not sure if they’re for him or the newlyweds-to-be.

“Who do you think will be next?” he asks.

“To get married? It’ll be you, Lover Boy. Totally you.” The words catch and then dangle between us.

He nods, but the dullness in his eyes doesn’t match his smile. “Yeah. Me for sure.”

I recall he and Mindy dated for a little while in college. Maybe he’s still pining after her and laments Drew sealed the deal.

We’re both quiet as we pay for our items. I purchase the soon-to-be-married couple a keepsake book for their wedding and first year of marriage with special memory prompts and spots for photos. It’ll pair nicely with the picnic basket set from their registry.

Teddy purchases a print of Maple Falls, a book about doing a daring thing every day, a Choose Your Own Adventure-style travel guide, The Uncommon History of Hockey , a coffee tumbler, a word game puzzle book, and a variety of bookmarks for all the books.

He’s a shopper . . . and a Dream Boat. Whoever he marries will be so lucky.

Then he adds a Falling for Books branded tote to carry it all. We chat with Emmy, the clerk behind the counter. Or I should say Teddy does. He’s not flirting, and neither is she. More like this town insists that all its residents and visitors act friendly instead of engaging in minimal, bland, and anonymous exchanges between strangers like in the city. We learn that she’s Dan, the team captain’s, sister.

She hands us a flyer. “Maple Fest starts next weekend.”

Above a smiling maple leaf, a word bubble lists an assortment of activities including a parade, pumpkin carving contest and nighttime display, dogs in costume, maple fudge, popcorn, fried dough, maple apple cider, maple cotton candy, and more maple—all the maple. There will also be a corn maze, haunted house, hayrides, and hot-air balloon rides on Sunday.

I lift my shoulder, feeling a little heavy. Could it be the oil and the goo from Spa radise? “Looks fun. I’ll be gone. How long do you think you’ll be here?” I ask Teddy.

It wouldn’t be crazy to come back here at some point, would it? Maybe to catch some of the charity games or the final.

Before Teddy answers, he thanks Emmy who waves goodbye.

As we head outside, he says, “In all honesty, I’ve been shaky about my career. Not sure where things are going.” His voice is low and pensive, which is unusual for my sunshine guy.

Positivity and encouragement aren’t my strong suit, but I hate seeing him so down. “You’re ‘The Bear.’ A record-setting defenseman. Any team would be lucky to have you. Beyond lucky. You’ve worked hard to be an asset. But wherever you go and whatever you end up doing, it’s always important to ask yourself why.”

“Or why not. Sometimes life is about taking risks.” His gaze lingers on me, sending that invisible undercurrent flowing my way .

“So, you’re up for an adventure? Something new?” I ask, afraid he’ll move farther away. As it stands, the drive between Tulsa and Omaha is only six hours.

“Something like that.” Letting out a long breath, he adds, “The charity team is my semi-comeback to see if I’ll be able to handle the regular NHL season.”

I remember him saying he was positioned for it to be his biggest one yet.

“How’s it feel so far?”

“Perfect.” Once more, Teddy captures my gaze. I try to hide behind a cloudy expression. He doesn’t let me avoid his full-blast beam of his just-for-me smile.

Then he says, “Want to go to Mindy and Drew’s wedding together?”

“As friends?—?”

“Or as squishes.”

Oh. My mouth forms an actual O . That rascal. He’s teasing me. I clobber him.

He wraps me in a bear hug and then pulls back slightly. Gazing directly into my eyes, he says, “I rather like your butt too.”

My face warms. Does that mean he looked?

The gleam in Teddy’s eyes answers my question. Yes, he did.

Ripples run through me as my mind grapples with a reasonable explanation, trying to shrug off what this means. But my heart knows.

Maybe it has all along.