Free Nothing More Beautiful by Lorelai LaBelle Page A

knowing what
else to do.
    “So, do you have a place to stay?”
    “For Hood to Coast?” I asked, for
clarification. She nodded. “Um—I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
    She turned and made eye contact. “Because I
have a place in Cannon Beach, and you can stay there, if you
want.”
    I scrunched my face, suspicious. “But I just
met you.” There was no masking my incredulity.
    She was beaming, her stainless white teeth
sparkling under the bright gym lights. “I’m one of those people, I
guess. Generous. Or I try to be. And you seem like a nice person,
so if you want the place for that weekend, it’s yours. I rarely go
there, anyway.”
    “That is very generous,” I conceded,
at a loss for words. “I’ll have to talk to my friend who’s running
the show, but that sounds
wonderful . . . thanks—uh, Emma.”
    “No problem. And you can call me Em if you
want,” she said in an energetic voice. “Remind me when you’re done,
and I’ll put your number in my phone and call you later with the
details.”
    “Okay, sure.” And just like that, it seemed
I’d made a new friend. As we talked, something began nagging me,
and I realized it was her age. “If you don’t mind me asking,” I
started, pausing in a moment of hesitation. “Well, it’s just you
look so young—”
    “And you want to know how I own a beach
house?” She raised her eyebrows. After I shrugged, she continued,
“The house belonged to my great aunt, who I was close with all my
life until she passed away. My uncles live back East, and she
rarely saw my cousins, and I guess she thought I should have it
over my parents, so she gave it to me.”
    I didn’t quite know how to respond, so I
made an apologetic nod and said, “Sorry about your aunt.”
    “Don’t be. She was old and lonely, and it
was her time. Anyway, that’s how I ended up with a beach house at
24.” So she was a year younger than me. I had placed her at 21.
“Have you ever watched the show Dexter?” she asked after a minute
or two.
    “It’s in my Netflix queue, but no, I
haven’t.”
    “You should,” she said. “It’s great. Though
I like the books better, it’s still worth watching. I’m on the last
season and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
    “Well, maybe I’ll watch it when I get
home.”
    She nodded vigorously. “Hey,” she drew my
attention again. “What do you think of him?” She pointed with her
eyes at the benches at the front and I noticed Vince lying on his
back with two dumbbells over his head.
    I went pink, sweating even more. I dabbed my
face with the towel.
    “Pretty hot , huh?” Emma said,
noticing my reaction. “I’ve been eyeing him for weeks, since the
place opened. He’s always here with that big guy”—she nodded at
Vince’s bearded friend—“but I’m pretty sure he’s not gay. Ooh,
wouldn’t you like to lock him in your bedroom for a few hours,
right? I’d say he’s an eleven.”
    I had seldom rated men the way I knew men
rated women, not just because I found the scale offensive, but also
because I never really had anyone to do it with, since Danielle
couldn’t care less about a man’s attractiveness, and she only liked
making vulgar sexual comments about men because it goaded my
sensitivity on the subject.
    I gazed at Vince, my heart pounding, kicked
into overdrive as though I’d started sprinting. I didn’t want to
let on that I agreed with Emma, denying the urges that emerged in
his presence. “Being generous, I’d say he’s an eight.”
    “An eight?” she roared. “Seriously? Do you
need glasses? He’s definitely an objective ten.”
    I glanced down at the machine’s countdown,
wondering what time it was, searching for an excuse to leave. “I
have to get going,” I said, checking my phone. I slipped off the
elliptical in a hurry but managed to keep my balance.
    She peered down at me. “So soon?”
    “Yeah, I didn’t realize what time it was.” I
gathered up my sweater, coat, and scarf