Free The Good Enough Husband by Sylvie Fox

Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking, what you need out of life.”
    Hannah resisted the urge to hurl the phone into the ocean. Something told her there wasn’t an Apple shop around the corner. The last thing she needed was to be stranded up here in a town of five people without a phone. She put the phone back to her ear. Michael was still talking.
    She interrupted him. “Michael.” He wasn’t listening. “Hear me out!” Finally, silence came from his end of the line. “Today is the last Saturday in September. Give me ten days. I’m going to turn off my phone now. I’ll call you when I’m ready to get on the road for the trip back.”
    “What if there’s an emergency?”
    “Call 911.”
    “I’m serious, Hannah.”
    “So am I. In what emergency scenario would I be helpful?” She couldn’t shoot a gun, give CPR, nor fight a fire.
    “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point. Promise me you’ll check your phone every night in case I or someone else needs to get in contact with you.”
    That was a fair compromise. “I’ll do that, Michael.”
    “Please know that I love you, Hannah. I always have, and I always will.”
    “You too, Michael.” She pressed ‘end call.’ The words had a lways felt uncomfortable. But she did love him in her own way. He was like the brother she’d never had. He’d been a friend when she needed one. But he was not Ben.

     
    5
    Ben Cooper stood naked in his bedroom. A draft from the open door pebbled his small nipples, and raised the gooseflesh on his skin. On the floor next to him were the torn t-shirt and cutoffs he’d worn that morning when he’d looked at a neighbor’s horse, and worked on the sandy patch of dirt he called a yard. Caring for the horse had taken his mind off Hannah. This horse was fairly domesticated, but he’d learned in his many years of practice never to take his eyes off an animal—especially one that large. A moment of inattention and a shoed-horse hoof could kick him in the balls. He was on the fence about having children, but wanted to decide for himself.
    Smooth black microfiber boxer briefs whispered against his skin as he pulled them in place. In spite of the adult looking u nderwear, he still felt as nervous as a thirteen-year-old going to his first middle school dance. He shook his whole body like a wet dog, trying to get rid of his nervousness. What should he wear? What would Hannah want to photograph him in? He looked at the paltry selection in his large walk in closet. He had two suits, still in their dry cleaner bags, and a few dress shirts, mostly for family occasions. The ten pairs of pants hanging from the otherwise empty rods did nothing to fill the small bedroom the previous owner had turned into a closet. His few pairs of shoes would have made Imelda Marcos feel like she was in a prison camp. Even the ten or twenty long sleeved shirts, that Ben preferred, were dwarfed in the large room, only occupying two of the many shelves. In the end, he picked clothes that weren’t remarkably different from what he wore yesterday or what he would wear tomorrow.
    Ben walked the mile from his house to hers. The damp, chilly air was what he needed to cool his libido. Even in his leather jac ket, he shivered a little as the chill fog rolled in from the water. Fall had definitely arrived here in the Lost Coast. The scrubland leading to the water had greened a little, casting off its dry, brown summer look. The redwoods, spruces, and pines stood tall along the mountains. Their craggy peaks would soon be covered in snow.
    Hannah met Ben at the door, black nylon Tamrac bag slung carelessly over her shoulder. She was as dressed down as he’d ever seen her in the few days of their acquaintance. Except for large silver hoop earrings, she didn’t wear a lick of jewelry. She had on old jeans, worn at the knees and butt, a gray sweatshirt that co vered everything. Her fingers poked out through a thumb and finger holes in the cuff. Even her sneakers looked