The Last Time I Saw Paris by Elizabeth Adler Page B

her head when she was standing in line at the supermarket. She was thinking about him when she was watching the show she had organized for seniors. And she was wondering where he was and what hewas doing while she helped serve them lunch afterward.
    She was thinking about Dan’s strong, hard hands on her rounded body when she soaped herself in the shower and as she inspected herself, naked, in the mirror, searching for flaws he might have noticed. And finding them.
    And then in bed she dreamed of his hard young body on hers, waking hot and fluid with desire, wanting him.
    The San Francisco house closed in on her claustrophobically. Her hand rested on the phone. She knew Dan’s number by heart. With a cry of impatience, she turned away. She threw on a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, and called to Dex. The dog grabbed his blankie and leapt happily into the passenger seat next to her.
    It was already sunset when she drove up the narrow dirt lane that led to Dan Holland’s home, a small weather-bleached wooden A-frame with a neat little garden in front and the roar of the ocean behind.
    Lara stared at the picket fence and the fragrant star jasmine twining enthusiastically around the porch rails, at the iceberg roses and a little pathway edged in sea-shells. Dan was an old-fashioned man, all right.
    She sat in the car, undecided.
Leave it, Lara. Walk away. Let him go, he’s too young, his brother is your son’s age. There’s no future in it.
    But she got out of the car and walked up the little seashell-studded path. An old ship’s bell with a brass chain acted as a doorbell. She pulled it and heard it clang somewhere inside the house. Music drifted out onto the porch along with the scent of jasmine as she waited.
    She tapped on the door, opened it a crack, peeked in, called, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
    A large room soared to the rafters, overlooked by a gallery. There were squashed-looking sofas with dark blue slipcovers and plaid throws, a beat-up wooden coffee table and a large-screen TV, big enough, she guessed, for Dan to watch sports in comfort. A pine table with six chairs, a seagrass rug, a tall white jar with branches of curly willow. Everything was immaculate. As though a woman lived here, Lara thought.
    She walked hesitantly through the French windows and onto a sheltered patio overlooking the ocean. The soft sound of bossa nova guitar music from the outside speakers flowed over her. And then she saw them, framed in an archway leading to the side yard, their backs to her.
    The woman was blond and slender and Dan’s arm was draped affectionately over her shoulders. Even as she looked, he dropped a kiss on her blond hair, and Lara heard him laugh as the woman said something.
    She turned to flee. She shouldn’t be here.… She should never have come.… Now she knew she had not meant anything to him, anyway.… Oh, God, she had to get out of there.
    â€œLara!”
    She was caught. Mortified, she swung around to face them.
    â€œWelcome.” Dan took her hands in his, smiling at her.
    Over his shoulder, Lara’s eyes met the woman’s. She was strong and glowing with health, and looked as though she spent a lot of time outdoors. And she was about Lara’s age.
    â€œLet me introduce you to my aunt Jess,” Dan was saying. “My mother’s youngest sister, and the woman who keeps this place in shape for me.”
    Aunt Jess shook her hand, taking her in. “He could never manage on his own.”
    â€œLara’s a friend.” Dan seemed relaxed, easy. “She has a house down the coast from Carmel.”
    â€œThat’s nice.” Aunt Jess smiled. “It’s a beautiful part of the country to live in.”
    â€œYes. Thank you. It is.” Lara was lost for words. Dan was still holding on to her hands and she knew his aunt was well aware of it.
    â€œWell, I’ll be on my way,” Aunt Jess said briskly. “I’ve