We enter Dockside to a burst of cheers and shouts, congratulating me on the show. Fuck, I really hadn’t considered this. I’d been so wrapped up in Harlow, I’d forgotten for a second that no one here would ever look at me the same. Leading her to the bar, I pretend I don’t see every fucking head turn as she walks by.

The questions everyone wants to ask come from the bartender, Nick, who graduated a year before me in high school, went to Harvard, and returned here because he couldn’t find a more beautiful place in the world to live. “Finn, who’s the guest?”

“I’m Harlow,” she answers before I get the chance.

“You Finn’s long-lost sister?” says Kenyon at the end of the bar. “Please say yes.”

Harlow winces with a playful apology. “I’m the mail-order bride. He told me he has a castle. Does he have a castle?”

“Sorry, kid,” Kenyon says, laughing. “Just a fancy television show and a lot of groupies.”

“Groupies?” Harlow asks, looking at me.

I order two beers and a basket of peanuts. “Come on.” I guide her to two empty seats at the quieter end of the bar.

She sits down and turns to face me. “You have groupies already?”

“Kenyon is a shit stirrer.”

“Because there were groupies?”

Laughing, I tell her, “There were some girls down at the docks today when the announcement came out.”

“You mean the girls who are over there playing darts and staring at you?” She lifts her chin and looks across the bar.

I tilt my beer to my lips, surreptitiously looking at where she’s indicating. There are a half dozen college-aged girls staring directly at us. “Yeah. That’s them.”

“Pretty sure they read between the lines on that Variety article.” She lifts her beer and drains half of it. “Bet this bar is about to get a lot more business. Bet every place in this town is about to get more business. And I bet those girls are all over Twitter talking about you being here.”

I hadn’t considered any of this, that by doing the show we might be helping more than just ourselves. But I can’t really focus on any of that with the way she’s looking at me. I take another sip of beer, studying her. “You jealous?”

She laughs. “Nope. You just blew your wad inside me in under two minutes, about an hour ago. I think I have you locked down pretty tight.”

“Gross. I fucking love you.”

Harlow leans on the bar, gazing up at me. “Let’s go get matching tattoos.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Mermaids or skulls. Your choice.”

“Mermaids?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Think of all the great conversation starters about your huge trident.”

I rub my jaw, staring at her perfect fucking lips. The only marks on her skin will be from me. “I don’t think so.”