Page 34 of Out of the Shadow

“Wait here and I’ll get our towels.”

“No.” I shake my head and look up at him. “No. I need to be here. It’s a beautiful place, filled with good memories.” A tear rolls down my cheek. “And sad ones, too. But, they’re all a part of life. Of my life.”

His arms flex and he strokes my back. “All right. If you want to stay, we’ll stay. We can leave at any time.”

I nod, my forehead rubbing against his chest. Not for the first time, I register his scent—it’s crisp and clean and smells like woodsy sunshine. Just like how you’d expect this globe-trotter to smell. Which is so at odds with his lonely upbringing. Another torrent of tears wrenches from me, but this time I’m not sure if I’m crying for me or for King. I pull away from his half-naked body with a start.

We sit facing each other for a heartbeat. King stands and offers me his hand, which I take. It’s warm and large and calloused. I rub my finger over one of them. “Are these from working out?”

He nods and throws away his leftovers. I pick up my drink and we walk back through the sand to our chairs.

The sand and the waves and the seagulls all conspire to drag me back to the past again. To my wedding. And to Dante’s memorial. I think I’m doing a pretty good job of holding both memories at bay until King says, “I’d love to hear about your wedding. If you want to share.”

I kiss the inside of my wrist where Dante’s name smiles up at me. Our wedding was a happy event, and after more than a decade, I’d like to revisit it. So I do.

“It was a day much like today, right after we graduated from high school. I wore a long white dress that fluttered in the wind, with a wreath of flowers on my head. He wore a grey suit with a white button-down shirt. Everyone was barefoot. We stayed late with a bonfire on the beach. Dante was still feeling pretty good then.”

“Sounds idyllic.”

“It was. It was perfect.”

“I’m happy you have such a wonderful memory.”

“Thanks.” I nod, and a deep sadness washes over me. It had been one of Dante’s last good days. His disease had started to take over soon afterward, and the medicine ravaged the rest of his body.

Because I need to change the subject, I ask, “How about you? Have you ever been married?”

He chuckles. “God, no. No way.”

“Because you haven’t found the right woman?”

“Because I’m not looking.”

His tone of voice tells me the subject is closed. I suppose if I’d had such an unhappy upbringing, I’d be leery of marriage as well. Given his distaste for the institution and my unwillingness to move on from my soul mate, I guess we’re the perfect dysfunctional pair.

“Me neither.”

We reach the chairs, and both of us sit. My gaze falls on King’s feet, which are playing in the sand. The movements are rhythmic and comforting. After a while, he clears his throat. “So, did you read over the notes that Kaitlyn gave us today?”

His question plucks me out of the haze of sadness threatening to envelop me. “Actually, no, I didn’t.” I pick up my bag. “I have them in here somewhere.”

“No need to look for them. Here’s my copy.”

He hands me his notes. “Thanks.” I skim over them. “Sounds pretty straightforward.”

“This will be my first real client meeting.”

The cocky attitude he usually wears like a flag is nowhere to be found, but the cynical side of me suggests he’s using me to win the show’s bonus. Testing the waters, I reply, “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“In the books, it said that I’m supposed to let the client do all the talking and guide them through what they want in a home. Like how many bedrooms they want and whether they want a fireplace or a pool, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds right to me.” I can’t stop myself from sharing some of my knowledge. “It’s also helpful to find out what they do for a living and where they want to live. Demographics as well as the nuts and bolts.”

He nods. “Like with Abbey.”

I smile—my first real smile since we pulled up to this beach. “Exactly.” We spend the rest of the afternoon talking real estate. It’s enjoyable, and it keeps my mind out of the past.

When we’re packing up, King asks, “So the husband ruse is à laRemington Steele?”

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