Summer Beach Reads 5-Book Bundle: Beachcombers, Heat Wave, Moon Shell Beach, Summer House, Summer Breeze by Nancy Thayer Page A

bike. She changed into her bathing suit, slipped a tee shirt over it and slid her feet into flip-flops, and filled a bag with a bottle of water, a towel, a paperback novel, and sunblock. As she sauntered down the sidewalk back toward town and the bike shops, she realized she was relaxed in a way she hadn’t been for years. She kept thinking of that turquoise bead Sheila wore. She wanted one just like that.
    She rented a bike at Young’s Bicycle Shop, hopped on, and headed toward the beach. She hadn’t been on a bike in years, but after a few wobbly moments, she found herself pedaling with ease, and feeling surprisingly graceful and pleased with herself.
    At the Jetties, she locked her bike in the parking lot and carried her beach bag along as she clomped down the boardwalk to the sand. The afternoon was brilliant, the sun dazzling on the water, the beach crowded with swimmers and sun lovers. She spread out her towel, anchored it with her beach bag, and strolled toward the water.
    During her college days she and Christie had swam here, and Marina remembered now how the beach at the Jetties was broad and shallow. She waded far out and swam, stiffly at first, and then surrendering to the slow-rocking waves. She’d forgotten how impossible it was to think while swimming—the ocean engaged all her senses. She floated for a long time, kicking her feet, loving the warm sun on her face.
    Wading back up to the beach, she felt luxuriously tired andrelaxed. She gathered up her things and biked back to the cottage. She showered and dressed, pleased to see that she’d gotten a little tan, a nice little glow. This was a good day! She’d done some volunteer work, made a friend, learned about the island, and had a refreshing swim.
    She tucked her paperback into her purse, and set off walking into town. She would find a bench in the library garden and read until six or so, when she’d have a drink and dinner on the patio at the Boarding House, and then she’d stroll around town until the play began.
    She was happy, she realized. She was here, and alive, and happy. And that was a lot to be grateful for.

13

Lily
    Thursday night, Lily sat in the back row of the theater, scribbling as fast as she could, listing the names of all the people she’d just seen at the gallery opening on Old South Wharf. She’d clicked quite a few photos with her digital camera, and she thought most of them would be usable. The problem was, some of the people she knew from seeing them at other parties or openings, and they assumed Lily knew their names, so she hadn’t double-checked for fear of insulting them. Now she jotted down reminders of who they might be and where in the past six weeks she might have seen them.
    People were filing into the little makeshift auditorium here in the basement of the Methodist church. The seats were banked, and she always sat in the corner in the back, where she could see everyone. She disliked being solo at any event, although she did enjoy the looks people shot her as she sat engrossed with her tablet and pen. Maybe they imagined she was from a city newspaper.
    Something caught her eye. She saw
that woman
, the renter, walk in. She was slender, delicate, and terribly chic in a long-sleeved black tee, pencil-legged black pants, and high black heels. Her straight blond hair was held with a simple clip at the back of her neck. That was a great look, sophisticated without fuss, easily elegant. Surely the woman was too stylish, too severe, for her father. He was a margarita at a clambake. This woman looked like a martini at the opera.
    And what am I? Lily wondered, sneering down at her flowered peach sundress with its ruffled skirt. I’m a hopeless Shirley Temple, she decided, a too-sweet drink garnished with sucky little pieces of fruit. She’d worn this dress in high school, for heaven’s sake. But she knew it would be hot in the theater, and her wardrobe was so limited, she had to recycle everything. Plus, she’d be