Clusterf*ck

by Ash Harlow

  “Pfft.” I waved my hand at him. “Technically, we’re godparents, so we can do what we like. Anyway, they’re educational toys, so Stellar won’t mind.”

  “We’re not Aurora and Orion’s godparents.”

  “Don’t be pedantic. Come on, Oliver, we’re going to miss the ceremony.”

  Thankfully, it was a calm day for our boat trip over to Ahunui. The journey took only twenty minutes at the speed Oliver drove. Other boats were tied to the island’s small jetty, but we had the boat with wheels, so Oliver was able to motor up the sand.

  I tapped him on the shoulder as we left the water. “Watch out for Stella’s birds. They nest around here.”

  “Not at this time of the year, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, right.” I seemed to have nesting and babies on the brain. It was autumn, of course the dotterels wouldn’t be nesting.

  Today Stella and Reuben were having their naming ceremony for the twins, and Oliver and I had been chosen as their guardians. Carrying on their tradition of celestial names for their children, the twins were named after the twin stars in the Gemini constellation — Castor and Pollux, who would be known as Polly.

  Reuben and Orion met us on the beach and walked us over to the recently finished guesthouse.

  “It’s a day for christenings,” he joked. “You’re the first to stay here.”

  “Reuben, it’s amazing.” Nestled into a huge rock, it was small, but with an open-plan design that made it spacious. The rock face made up one wall, and the outer cladding of local rocks made it cave-like on two sides. The other side wall could open completely in fine weather making you feel as though the foreshore was part of the living room.

  We left our bags and Orion led us up to the main house. “We can go this way, but if Mommy sees, she’ll tell us off,” he said, pointing to a steep cliff face. “I think it’s faster that way, and even Aurora can climb it.”

  “Surely not,” I said, my stomach flipping at the thought. I had no idea how parents watched their children doing dangerous things.

  The group at the house was small. Some visiting musicians and Stella’s grandfather, Arthur, who also lived on the island. The babies were asleep together in a hammock and I sneaked over to peer at them while the others talked.

  A lump rose in my throat. They were cuddled into one another, totally peaceful. Words like angelic and cherubic sprung to mind. Oliver came and stood beside me just as the babies stirred.

  “I’ve looked at them too hard and woken them,” I whispered to Oliver.

  His arm slipped around my shoulder. “They’re kind of amazing, aren’t they?”

  One of them—I couldn’t tell them apart—reached out an arm, waved it around and when that batting hand touched its sibling, the fingers wrapped tight around the other’s thumb. The stirring stopped, and they slept quietly again.

  I don’t think I’d ever seen anything so beautiful. Tears rushed to my eyes and I turned my head and wiped them on Oliver’s arm.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. They’re just overwhelmingly cute.”

  The naming ceremony was held outside, officiated by a large, bearded American musician named Mac, who sidelined as a celebrant, but looked more like a biker.

  The twins woke on cue, giving Stella time to feed and change them, then came the moment when Oliver and I were handed the babies to carry outside.

  Castor was handed to Oliver first who held him without the awkwardness you see in so many men when they’re first handed something so precious and small.

  I stole a moment to watch Oliver gaze into the baby’s face. My heart squeezed, more tears threatening as I imagined what it would be like the day he held our own child for the first time.

  Stella came to me with Polly. “This is Darcy, little Pollux. She’ll take care of you, and let you do things when Mommy and Daddy say no. She’s good, and wise, and she’s married to Oliver. Oliver will slay dragons for you and teach you to waterski.”

  She placed the baby in my arms and I lifted her to my face, to smell her, before kissing her forehead.

  “My god, Stella, she’s divine,” I said.

  “Not at 2:00 a.m.,” she replied. “This one’s going to be a party girl. She likes being up at night. Castor is the placid one.”

  We carried them outside, and the ceremony began.

  “Hello, babies,” Mac rumbled.

  Polly blinked at me as if surprised by his voice.

  He then addressed the gathering. “We gather today to name these babies. To call a thing by name is to give it power, and so today we shall give these babies a gift. We will welcome them into our hearts and lives and bless them with names of their own.”

  The babies’ names were spoken as he anointed their heads with scented oil, then we moved over to a spot where two large holes had been dug.

  A kauri tree was planted in honor of each baby.

  “Mine is the biggest,” Orion declared, pointing to the tree that had been planted in his honor a few years earlier.

  The trees were settled into the prepared holes, along with the babies’ placentas, followed by each guest adding a shovel of dirt. Oliver and I got to cuddle the babies the entire time.

  After the ceremony we ate a dinner of lobster and fish, all of which had been caught by the family. Arthur’s garden provided the vegetables. We ate outside around the fire pit. In the northern sky, the cloud broke apart and Castor and Pollux shone bright in the Gemini constellation.

  “That’s a good omen,” Arthur said.

  “For the babies?” I asked.

  “No, for getting out fishing again tomorrow. Looks as though it will be a fine day.”

  “Are you sure you won’t have a glass of wine?” Stella asked me.

  “No, I’ll stick to water tonight.”

  She bent down by my ear. “You don’t know how happy that makes me,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You haven’t told him yet?”

  I shook my head.

  She winked, pressing a finger to her lips, telling me my secret was safe.

  I was tired, and when Oliver caught me yawning, he came over.

  “Do you want to go to bed?” he asked.

  I nodded. I was tired, and excited, and I wanted him alone.

  ***

  OLIVER

  We turned the soft lighting on in the guesthouse and I pulled Darcy down to lie on the bed with me. “You have no idea what that did to me today, watching you with a baby in your arms.”

  “I think I had the same feeling watching you. Did it scare you, or make you happy?” she asked, stroking my cheek.

  I caught her hand and kissed it. “Something different. Not happy, more like, hopeful.”

  “I see. Do you think you’re ready to be a father.”

  “I kept imagining those babies were ours today.”

  Darcy rolled off the bed and went to her handbag. She climbed back onto the bed and sat cross-legged, facing me. “There’s this thing, you see. Um, no, that’s not how I meant to say it.” She laughed and covered her face with her hands. She was holding a small paper bag.

  “Is that a gift for me?” I asked.

  “No, it’s a gift for both of us.” She pulled a plastic stick out of the bag.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  She nodded, her eyes glistening.

  “You’re…we’re having a baby?”

  “According to the line on that stick, yes, we are. Is that okay?”

  “It’s better, way better. It’s magnificent. I pulled her back down onto the bed with me, pushed up her shirt and kissed her stomach. “Hello, baby,” I said.

  Darcy giggled.

  I crawled up her body and put my hands on her cheeks. “To be honest, I’m so fucking—oops, sorry, baby—I’m so over the moon, I’m lost for words. When did you find out?”

  “This morning, when you were calling for me to hurry.”

  “Why didn’t you te
ll me then?”

  “Because today was special for Castor and Polly, and I didn’t want anything to overshadow that.”

  “That was thoughtful.” I kissed the corner of her mouth. “Are you sick?”

  “No, Oliver, I’m pregnant.”

  I kissed the other corner. “Is the house big enough? Do you want to move—”

  She covered my mouth with her hand. “Stop. We don’t have to do a thing. The house is big enough for ten babies.”

  I pulled her hand away. “Good. Ten babies would be great, wouldn’t it?”

  “Let’s just have one, and see how we manage.”

  “When do you think the baby’s coming?”

  “Not before I do,” she said, tugging my shirt over my head.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” I asked, peeling off her shirt and unhooking her bra.

  “I’m sure.”

  “I love you, Darcy, thank you.”

  “I love you more,” she whispered.

  I crawled off the bed, taking her skirt and panties with me, then I took my time, kissing her from her ankles to her soft belly where our baby grew. We made love, gently, and slowly, with the sea crashing just outside the house, and a lightning storm on the horizon.

  I’m so thankful for Darcy. Thankful for the baby we’re growing and the life we have together.

  “I still crave you every day, Darcy,” I said, pushing into her wet, welcoming heat.

  Her hips rose to meet me. “And, I’m still addicted to you, Oliver. Forever.”

  ~0~

  Want to know how Stella and Reuben met? Keep reading…

  STELLAR LOVE

  © 2016 Ash Harlow

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  READERS NOTE:

  This story is set in New Zealand and uses British spelling for some common words. Therefore, ass becomes arse, and you’ll find an occasional extra ‘u’, ‘l’, and ‘ise’ throughout the story. Don’t be alarmed!

  In accordance with the rules of te reo Māori (Māori language), the plural suffix –s has not been added when a Māori word is used in a plural context.

  INTRODUCTION

  You know who I am…Reuben Creed.

  Yeah, that Reuben Creed.

  Rock star. A solo artist, because I don’t depend on anyone.

  Burned out after six-months on the road, I’m sick of the groupies, the publicists, the media, the scene.

  They say no man’s an island. I call bullshit.

  I’ve found solace on a secluded island, off the coast of a small country at the bottom of the world. Off-grid, raw, primitive perfection. Nobody in LA knows where I am and that’s exactly what I crave—peace and solitude.

  Almost.

  The island has a caretaker. Stella. Just twenty-four, with eyes as blue and wild as the ocean. A mouth that’s quick to smile and tease, and a body and heart that inspire me to start writing songs again.

  Songs about Stella.

  She’s a million worlds away from the fans who hound me, and I should have kept my hands off her, but here on the island we’re safe. No-one can touch us, nobody knows I’m here.

  Until one photo, one slip-up and suddenly my ugly world collides with Stella’s peaceful refuge. There’s only one way to protect her. I’ll have to sacrifice every last thing I’ve found here in paradise.

  Including Stella.

  1 ~ REUBEN

  That sound.

  Thwock.

  It pulls a memory from childhood that I push away. I hear it again, then again.

  Thwock. Pause. Thwock. Pause. Thwock. Rhythmic, rural.

  Maybe it’s some weird mammal they have in this country. I edge my way around the side of the shed in the direction of the sound, and come to a halt. There’s a girl, a woman—a fucking goddess—digging in my garden. I’m about to ask her what she’s doing, if she’s lost, because I’ve been alone on this island for ten days.

  At least, I think I have.

  She’s turning over the soil. In with the spade, a little help to deepen the cut with the weight of her foot, then she flips it over. Moves one step forward, repeating the process. Her body’s lean and lithe, and she makes light work of whatever task it is she’s set herself.

  There’d been mention of a caretaker. I’d imagined a crusty old guy, with clothes like a second skin and a crumpled hat. In fact, the agency who rented me this place assured me the caretaker was an old guy and that he would leave me alone. It was part of the appeal. Solitude. Two grumpy bastards. Me and the old one who’s never heard of Reuben Creed. Except the old guy took ill before I arrived, and I presumed I’d have the place to myself.

  My heart races as I go through a list of possibilities as to who she is and why she’s here, each idea more alarming than the previous one. I’m tossing up whether to phone the agent and find out what’s going on, or take matters in my own hands and tell her to get the hell off the island.

  If she’s a fan, she’s shaping up to be the craziest one to date.

  I’ve had them hiding behind bushes in the garden, but never found one landscaping before.

  “Can I help you?” I call out, because even I know that continuing to watch her without saying anything is borderline creepy. My words are an opening line rather than an offer to pick up a spade and dig alongside her.

  “I’m good,” she replies without even looking my way, as if we know each other and she’s giving me the brush-off.

  “You’re trespassing.”

  “I’m the caretaker.”

  I don’t care that she still hasn’t looked up, and this has nothing to do with sexism or her capabilities, but I’m not having a woman like her as the caretaker. Anyway, my suspicions aren’t eased, because I’ve had fans do some fairly mental stuff to try to get access to me. I wouldn’t put it past any of them to have discovered I’m currently on Ahunui Island, in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere New Zealand.

  They’ve probably paid off the letting agent or something to get themselves onto my patch of paradise.

  I return to the house. If I knew where I’d put the key I’d lock the door, because she might be small, but she has a spade and she seems to know how to use it. I find the burner phone I picked up when I arrived in the country, and curse. It’s a piece of shit, and I’ll have to go outside and wander about to get a signal.

  At last I find the right spot, which of course happens to be about twenty feet from my gardener, or caretaker, or whatever the hell she is.

  Margot, the agent, answers on the second ring, but I’m slow to respond to her voice. Garden-girl is bent over in front of me in the tiniest pair of cut-offs, and I can’t draw my eyes away from two perfect globes of ass peeking out beneath the frayed hem. I have to clear my throat to speak, and two minutes later I’m off the phone wondering if I should find new accommodation.

  Garden-girl, I’m informed, is the owner’s granddaughter, and the temporary caretaker.

  I look back to the garden, and the sexy caretaker thrusts her spade into the ground and heads towards me, grimy hand outstretched.

  “Stella Newbold,” she says, then wipes her hand on her butt before re-presenting it to me.

  She’s aptly named—new, bold, and definitely stellar.

  I take her hand and hold it—scratch that, I engulf it, and I can’t turn my mind away from the filthy thoughts I’m having. I’m staring into eyes that are as deep and blue as the ocean beyond. Her smile drops, but her eyes don’t.

  My beard’s long, it’s part of my disguise, and I guess I’m scowling, but I’m too conflicted to locate my manners.

  “Reuben,” I say, as she tugs her hand out of my grip.

  It feels like a week passes as we silently size each other up.

  “Well, Reuben, it’s been nice talking to you, but I can’t stand around all day, passing the time. I want to get this garden planted. You gotta understand…” She glances around her. “Because we’re on an island, popping over to the store to buy some salad to go with your steak is a pain in the ass.”


  Her accent is cute, and I relax slightly. She’s not some fan who’s tracked me down from America, and if she’s a local fan, she gets maximum points for not requesting a selfie or asking me to sign her tits with a Sharpie, which, to be honest, I probably wouldn’t deny her.

  Feeling a little more generous, I offer again to help. It’s genuine this time, but I’m blown off.

  “Caretaker’s job,” she calls out.

  I return to the house and stare at her through the kitchen window. She pauses every ten minutes or so and lifts her shirt, wiping the perspiration from her face. I catch a glimpse of a smooth stomach that I can’t tear my eyes away from. She’s agile and strong, and even digging a garden, she exudes a natural grace.

  It’s spring here, and the day is still and hot. I’ve already learned that the weather forecasts are basically useless, particularly on this island. We’re five miles offshore from the mainland, and we can be shrouded in mist when you can tell the mainland is enjoying the sun. The opposite is also true.

  When I check an hour later, she’s got some ancient tiller thing out of the shed. It looks like a museum piece, but it still works as she pushes it, making long straight rows in the vegetable bed. She uses all the tools with competence, cleaning and oiling them when she’s finished.

  Yep, I’ve pretty much stared at her through the window all morning.

  It’s as annoying as fuck having her here, because I can’t keep my eyes off her. I also can’t continue to lurk in the house, watching her work, so I head back out and offer her coffee.

  Before she accepts, she looks up at the sun as if she’s telling the time.

  “It’s going to storm, so I want to finish the planting.”

  Mostly, the sky is blue. “Looks okay to me,” I say. Like, what the hell would I know?

  Stella waves her hand in a northeast direction. “Those wispy clouds are the precursor to a front. I’m guessing we’ll see rain in about twenty-four hours.”

  The oracle has spoken. Christ, she’s probably some sort of witch.

  2 ~ STELLA