Free Live to Tell by Wendy Corsi Staub Page B

catchphrases like that.
    “I just think it’s interesting”—she stoops to pick up a damp beach towel—“that some people go to such lengths to find the perfect partner, and other people who are perfect for each other just kind of stumble across each other. Like we did. Is this yours, or did it come with the house?”
    He blinks.
    Oh, the towel.
    He peers at it. “I’m not sure. Just leave it here.”
    She nods agreeably and tosses it aside.
    Lauren would have asked him how he could not be sure whether something belongs to him, and how he could so carelessly discard something that might be his without at least taking a closer look.
    But then, Lauren would know whether the towel was his or not, because she always keeps— kept —track of things like that.
    Not just household items, but his clothes, too. With his wife— ex-wife —around, he never would have managed to show up at a beach house for a week with only one pair of swim trunks because he had no idea what he’d done with the others and didn’t have time to hunt them down. Lauren would have packed his bag along with hers and the kids’, a few days in advance, the way she always did when they were going somewhere.
    Sometimes, he misses that.
    Misses her .
    Sometimes.
    But there’s Beth, self-assured and sexy in a short, flirty coral-colored sundress and a beaded ankle bracelet, bare skin golden brown from their week at the beach, blond hair long and loose. Even her feet are pretty—tanned, toenails polished to match the dress.
    He can’t help but compare her to Lauren, the sunscreen queen, who freaked out a few years ago when the doctor removed a tiny precancerous speck from her shoulder. It wasn’t even the dangerous kind of skin cancer, but she’s doused herself and the kids in sunblock ever since.
    “We can take another long walk on the beach tonight,” Beth tells him, “and maybe one more in the morning, before the ferry.”
    “That would have to be pretty early. We’re a long way from the dock and we’re on the 6:30 ferry.”
    Beth sighs. “I don’t want to go back to the real world. I don’t want to get back out there with my résumé. Nobody’s even thinking about hiring until September.”
    She was, until she got laid off last spring, a graphic designer at a prominent fashion magazine. That drew him to her—the blend of corporate and creative. She would ride the train in suits and heels that were sexy yet businesslike, not easy to pull off. He noticed her long before they ever met; admired her looks in a detached, married-man sort of way. It never occurred to him that he could have her, that he even wanted her. Not until that restless, magical December night, when out of nowhere, forbidden need came roaring to the surface.
    Had he even realized, before then, that he was frustrated or unsatisfied by his life?
    Does it matter?
    Once he understood that he wanted Beth, could have her— had to have her—there was no turning back.
    Now, he puts his arms around her from behind and buries his face in her neck. She smells like shampoo and soap and suntan lotion. Not the protective, dermatologist-recommended, triple-digit-SPF kind. No, she smells like coconut oil, a scent that evokes the tropics and bikinis and wanton sex.
    “I don’t want to go back, either.”
    “So let’s stay.”
    “Another night?” Nick lifts his head in surprise. “ Can you?”
    If she can, he can maybe call in sick to work. No, wait, they have to vacate the rental house for someone else. But maybe there’s an inn, or—
    “Not another night. Forever. Let’s just run away.”
    He laughs and goes back to nuzzling her neck. “I thought you were serious.”
    “I was, for a split second.” She sighs and turns to face him. “Why does life have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t we have met twenty years ago, when we were free?”
    “We’re free now,” he reminds her. “Your divorce is final, and mine will be—”
    “We’re not really free. We have to