Free Sooner or Later by Elizabeth Adler Page B

one else to marvel at the sunset. No one else to share the sound of the surf crashing, to sniff the clean salt air and say how great it felt after New York’s traffic fumes and L.A.’s smog. No one but him to admire the romantic moon riding high in a flawless, star-filled sky and the silver path it cast across the water, all the way to the horizon.
    Moonlight and silence had not featured much in his life. He was restless, missing his job, the action, the big city.
    It was not meant to be a substitute, but he decided that tomorrow, first thing, he would go to the local animal shelter and get himself a dog.

         13
    I T WAS ONE IN THE MORNING BEFORE E LLIE GOT HOME. Her back ached and her feet ached and there were tight little ripples of tension in her neck.
    Kicking off her shoes, she thought wistfully of Dan Cassidy’s invitation. Dinner out? The idea was laughable.
She
was the one who organized and served dinners.
She
ate hers in the cafe kitchen, not in smart restaurants.
    Besides, she was afraid of getting involved. Too much was at stake. Everything she had and could borrow was invested in Ellie’s Place, and that meant her whole life, her
future.
She was determined to prove herself, though to whom, she hadn’t yet figured out. And most of all, she had to make enough money to take care of her grandmother.
    Her little house was cozy and welcoming. There was a poky little entry hall with a small sitting room to the left, furnished with a few antiques from Journey’s End. A pair of silver candlesticks stood on the beat-up-looking pine mantel with a couple of framed photographs of Miss Lottie and Maria, and, of course, Bruno. A pretty Venetianmirror hung over the mantel, and an antique French giltwood console with a large faience urn of jungle-red tulips stood against one wall. There was a glass-topped coffee table piled with books, a bronze silk-skirted side table holding a nineteenth-century lamp with an amber shade, and half a dozen old paintings scattered across the walls. With a comfortable old cream linen-covered sofa, a couple of chairs and small tables, the tiny room was crammed to the hilt. Not another thing could be squeezed into it.
    On the other side of the hall, the walls of the dining area were painted her favorite forest green, with the earthquake cracks showing white plaster in the corners. There was a round travertine marble table and half a dozen old wheelback chairs, a fake ficus tree in a terracotta pot, and more paintings.
    An archway led into the little white-tiled kitchen, which was immaculate, mostly because she never used it, except to fix a cup of tea.
    Stairs led steeply up to the one large bedroom and bath. Comfortable, lived-in, this was her place. The canopied bed had been her parents’, only then it had been draped in Indian shawls and bright spangled sari fabrics in gold and orange and purple. Now it was more chaste in creamy gauze, and piled with pillows. She’d tossed several beautiful Persian rugs, one on top of the other until they overlapped, in a pleasing mosaic of soft color and pattern. The night tables were inlaid Italian marble and the lamps were simple urns with biscuit-color shades.
    There was an antique pine dresser with a silver tray on top containing her makeup, a bottle of Eau d’Issey—her favorite perfume—and a photo of her parents; and the comfortable pink chenille robe she’d had since she was seventeen and couldn’t bear to part with, was tossed over the striped chaise near the window.
    It was simple, pleasing, and it was all her.
    She took a shower, pulled on an old Lakers T-shirt and a pair of white sweat socks and sat in front of the mirror, patting cream into her face and inspecting it for wrinkles. Then she brushed her long hair, wishing it didn’t curl, and wondering how she might look with a straight bob.
    Wandering to the window, she stared out at her tiny glimpse of ocean reflected under a high-riding moon, imagining a date with Dan