Within Reach by Barbara Delinsky Page B

he did promise to call every few days.
    For the first time his departure didn’t bother her. He was going home. She felt she was home. This place was hers as no other house she had ever lived in had been. In part it was because the responsibility of its care rested on her shoulders, in part because here she was fully responsible for herself. There was no maid to cook or clean or make the bed, no handyman/chauffeur to open and close windows, to bring deck chairs in from the rain, to lock up at night. She did everything herself, when and how she wanted, and she loved it. She felt confident and capable and thoroughly self-satisfied. She felt free.
    The first thing she did after Blake left was to drive into town to buy food, then to stop at a local shop and pick up several pairs of jeans and some T-shirts. There was a certain perverse pleasure in wearing Kennebunkport plastered across her chest; she had never done anything as…as plebeian before, but then, she’d never wanted to be a part of the crowd before. The chic shops she patronized in Boston and New York would never have dreamed of carrying either the knockabout sandals or no-name sneakers she bought, a fact that made these items all the more valuable to her. Moreover, she totally enjoyed the salespeople who helped her and spent a startling amount of time talking with them, such that it was nearly dark when she finally returned to the house.
    Too dark to seek Michael out. And on a Saturday night, not right. After all, the man might not be married or otherwise attached, but he still had to date. He was human. Very male. Certainly sought after by women.
    Hence, it was midday Sunday when she finally felt it fair to intrude upon his weekend. Donning one of her new T-shirts, the sneakers and a pair of the jeans she had spent the previous night washing and drying three times, she set out across the beach. She had never seen his house. It was time she did.
    Set at the end of a winding road in a way hers was not, the house was perched above the rocks and was sheltered by numerous clumps of pitch pines that kept it hidden from view until well after she passed the familiar boulders. A stairway of stone, guarded by a weathered handrail, had been etched from the rocks and led to the deck. There wasn’t a back door, only a screen where the glass slider had been opened. Given the brightness of the day, she couldn’t see inside.
    She started across the deck, then, unsure for the first time, moistened her lips and wondered if she was being too forward. Previously Michael had done the approaching and it had been on the beach, a casual enough place for an encounter with a friend.
    Then she caught herself. He was a friend, and had he been a she , Danica doubted she would feel any of the hesitancy she did now. It was just going to take some getting used to—this close friendship with a man—she told herself.
    Bolstered by that understanding and by the sheer excitement of seeing him again, she approached the screen, shaded her eyes from the outside glare with one hand and peered inside.
    “Michael?” she called softly. She heard voices, but it was too late to turn back. “Michael?” Slightly louder. She still couldn’t see a thing.
    Then she did. The man himself. Approaching the screen, sliding it back, surprise and pleasure lighting his face.
    “Danica!”
    She smiled, feeling as pleased as he looked. “I just, uh, just wanted to say hello.”
    He took a caressive hold of her shoulder. “You’re back.”
    She couldn’t help but laugh. “Looks that way.”
    “That’s great,” he said softly, taking in her features before slowly lowering his gaze and arching a brow in amusement. “You’ve been shopping.”
    “Uh-huh.” She glanced down. “What do you think? Will I fit in?”
    “You would fit in anywhere. God, you look great!” The sound came from deep in his throat, a near growl that made her believe every word contained therein.
    “So do you.”
    He was wearing a