Free Within Reach by Barbara Delinsky Page A

finally emerged for dinner, but no sooner had she brewed his coffee than he escaped back into the den, leaving her alone with her tea and her thoughts.
    She lifted the tea bag tag. “Love is the magic that makes one and one far more than two,” she read silently, dropped the tag and wondered what had gone wrong. She and Blake were very definitely two. No more, no less. Two individuals, wanting, it appeared, increasingly different things in life.
    She went to sleep thinking about that, awoke early the next morning thinking of it. Blake lay on his side of the large bed, his back to her, distant even in sleep. She wondered what time it had been when he’d come to bed, wondering if it had even occurred to him that she might be waiting. Not that she had been; by now she was used to being alone. Still, he was a man. Surely he thought of sex once in a while.
    Studying his sleeping form, she reflected on the early days of their marriage. She had been attracted to Blake for his sureness, his social grace, his maturity. Sex had never held a high priority in their relationship, and she had never minded it. She had never seen herself as being a highly passionate person. In that, she and Blake seemed well matched. Still, she couldn’t help wondering whether he found her attractive. He rarely reached out for her, and even then she felt he did so more out of obligation than real need. Even now he looked untouchable.
    The sound of a buzz jolted her from her thoughts. Blake stirred, pushed himself up on an elbow, reached over to turn off the travel alarm Danica hadn’t known he had brought. She had assumed they would sleep late, awaken leisurely, break the pattern that dominated their everyday lives.
    Clearly, she had assumed too much, a point the events of that day drove home. Bounding from the bed, Blake put on his fashionable navy running suit and left the house. She had a big breakfast ready by the time he returned and showered, but he ate only the amount he apportioned himself every other morning of the week, so the bulk of her efforts went down the drain.
    At her gentle request, they drove up the coast toward Boothbay Harbor, stopping along the way to browse in craft shops and galleries, purchasing a ceramic sculpture and several planters for the deck. Blake was agreeable, if otherwise passive. Again she felt he was merely indulging her whim rather than finding enjoyment in the day himself. Again he disappeared into the den when they returned, and again she felt vaguely relieved. She also felt discouraged, though, and, with a quick word to him, headed for the beach.
    Feeling suddenly freer than she had since she arrived, she wandered over sand and pebbles, around fingers of rocks, heading almost by instinct for the boulders she and Michael had shared a month before.
    Michael. His name sparked thoughts of relaxation and fun and excitement. Just thinking about him, she felt better. He was different, so different. And he was her friend.
    “Yeo!”
    She looked up and started to smile, then, without thinking, broke into a jog, coming to a halt not six feet from him. “Michael!”
    He looked as roguish, as bold, as welcoming as ever. He wore an open-necked plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, a pair of jeans that had seen better days, sneakers in a like state, and he was smiling from ear to ear. With his hair lightly mussed and his jaw faintly shadowed, he had to be the most stimulating sight she had seen in days.
    When he opened his arms, she ran forward, tightly clasping his neck while he swung her gently from side to side. He smelled clean and felt strong, and she reveled in his affection.
    Finally, he set her back to study each of her features in turn. “You look great!” he said at last, then swooped down to give her another fast hug. “It’s good to see you, Danica.”
    “And you,” she managed, breathless and flushed. “How are you?”
    “Better now. I saw the car in the driveway last night and was wondering