by Anthology
“I’ll call and let you know where we are,” I said, moving to stand beside Richard. “Maybe it’ll be easier to handle all of this if we’re apart. Give us some room to breathe and think.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re leaving me for him?”
“No.” I put my hand on my husband’s arm. “I’m leaving you for me.”
***
I had no plan, no schedule, no spreadsheet. My face was bare of makeup, there was a rip in my jeans, and I had a candy bar tucked in the glove compartment. I rolled down the window and let the wind mess up my hair. The tightness in my spine eased.
I would solve this. I had lost control, yes, in ways I still couldn’t fathom, but I had given free rein for the first time ever to my impulses and desires. This was the fallout, as messy and difficult as it was. Now I had to figure out the rest of it alone.
“Where are we going?” Noah asked from the backseat.
No. Not alone.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, glancing at my children in the rearview mirror.
The sight of them—Emma with her long brown hair, Noah with his dark eyes and serious expression—filled me with a burst of concentrated sunlight. My children were the reason I needed to live, breathe, and be strong.
“Where do you want to go?” I asked.
Noah and Emma looked at each other, as if I’d never asked them that question before. Probably I hadn’t.
“The beach?” Emma suggested.
“Good idea.”
Again they exchanged surprised glances.
“Wherever we end up,” I continued, “how about we stop at McDonald’s on the way?”
They let out simultaneous cheers and fist pumps. With a smile, I pressed the accelerator and drove forward into the rest of our lives.
EPILOGUE
A year later
The breeze smelled like salt and sun. I walked down Ocean Avenue, navigating the clusters of pedestrians out enjoying the warm afternoon. Summertime brought loads of tourists and visitors to Carmel, the seaside community tucked like a jewel along the rocky California coastline. Art galleries, restaurants, shops, and cafés lined the village, with secret passageways and courtyards tucked away for discovery.
I stopped at a coffee-house to purchase two take-out cappuccinos before continuing to the art gallery where I worked. The gallery owner was frowning at the computer.
“Down again,” she muttered. “I need to call tech support. Can you take over here for a few minutes, Madeline?”
“Sure.” I handed her one of the coffees and walked behind the counter.
Several visitors wandered around the gallery, and I answered their questions about the landscape paintings of Steinbeck Country that were displayed on the walls. A message pinged on my phone. Since Noah and Emma were taking an art class at the community center, I pulled out my phone to see if the message had to do with them.
We were doing so well here, the three of us. Counseling had helped us all, though I paid far more attention now to signs of potential issues and didn’t underestimate my children. Noah and Emma were excelling in school, and we loved living in this little town with its ivy-covered stone buildings, foggy mornings, and sun-drenched afternoons.
This summer, in addition to art class, Noah and Emma had gone to a marine camp, and we spent our weekends hiking and exploring. I was taking a photography class and carried my camera everywhere we went. I had no shortage of subject matter in my children and the immense beauty of the California coast.
I brought up the email on my phone. A newsletter from the Monterey Bay Aquarium popped onto the screen. I’d been meaning to take the children there since we’d settled in Carmel eight months ago, after my divorce from Richard was finalized. Monterey was just a few miles north, but we’d been so busy with school and navigating our new life here that we hadn’t yet had a chance to visit.
I scrolled through the newsletter, which listed a new jellyfish exhibition and a number of children’s programs. There was also an announcement about the aquarium’s new executive director, one “Mr. Benjamin Hunter, who brings to this strategic leadership position a wealth of operational skills and innovative program policies…”
Ben. A wild tenderness filled my heart as I gazed at the accompanying picture—a professional portrait of him smiling at the camera.
My beautiful ocean boy.
I read through the newsletter announcement, then logged on to the aquarium website and found his business email address. My hands shook as I started to write him a message, but then I stopped and discarded it.
I hadn’t seen or communicated with him in the year since he’d left Sweetwater and I’d started divorce proceedings. For all I knew, he had a girlfriend or was even married.
Then again, maybe I could handle that. My love for him was still a bright, blue flame right in the center of my heart, but I’d also done so much on my own over the past year. I’d grown and changed in ways I never imagined I would, all because Ben Hunter had once asked me for a sugar cookie.
I brought up a new message and typed.
Ben,
I saw the announcement in the Aquarium newsletter. Congratulations. I can’t imagine a more perfect fit for you. I’m planning to bring Noah and Emma to the aquarium on Friday. If you’ll be there, we would love to say hello.
—Madeline
A response came a few minutes later:
I’d love that too. Text as soon as you get here. —Ben
On Friday morning, I woke early, too excited and nervous to sleep. I went outside to tend the little garden behind the cottage I’d purchased after Noah, Emma, and I decided we wanted to live in Carmel. Surrounded by trees, the stone cottage with wood-beamed ceilings was several blocks from town. The interior was old and needed quite a bit of work, which was how I’d been able to afford the house, but I was looking forward to making plans and creating something new.
After Noah and Emma woke, we had bagels and cream cheese for breakfast before piling into the car so we could get to the aquarium right when it opened. I texted Ben as we waited in the line to purchase tickets.
Two minutes later, I looked up to find him coming toward us from the main hall of the museum. If I’d thought my reaction to him would be different, I was proven immediately wrong as my heart did a crazy, twirling spin, and a thousand warm, bright colors filled my entire being.
He was even more handsome than I remembered—so tall and strong in his navy suit and tie, his dark blond hair shining under the lights, his stride long and confident.
“Mr. Hunter!” Noah and Emma waved frantically at him.
Ben approached, bending down to speak to them. He gave them both high-fives and asked how they’d been. He remembered that Noah had been into karate and video games, and that Emma had been on a soccer team and was learning to play the violin. He asked about their school, their favorite subjects and TV shows, then promised to give them a personal tour of the aquarium.
He straightened and looked at me, his eyes like a summer sky. Tingles rained down my spine. I hadn’t been able to stop smiling since I’d first set eyes on him again. He reached out to take my hand, his fingers closing warm and strong around mine as he leaned in to brush his lips across my cheek.
“Hi,” he murmured.
“Hi. Thanks for meeting us.”
“Thanks for contacting me.” He turned to Noah and Emma again. “You guys ready to see some otters?”
At their cheers, he led us past the ticket booth and into the main hall of the museum, where life-sized sculptures of orcas, dolphins, and humpback whales hung suspended from the ceiling. We spent the next three hours touring the extraordinary exhibits of sharks, octopi, jellyfish, turtles, and otters. We explored the touch tanks with sting rays and anemones, watched a diver feeding fish in the kelp forest, laughed at the otters, and looked through the outdoor telescopes to see seals and boats on the open ocean.
When Noah and Emma we
re busy operating the underwater cameras at a video exhibition, Ben came to stand by my side.
“Thank you,” I said. “This has been incredible.”
“There’s more,” he replied. “Come back another day, and I’ll give you a behind-the-scenes tour.”
“The kids would love that.”
“And you?”
I shifted my gaze past him to the video consoles. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—I’d noticed that within about two seconds of seeing him again.
His right hand brushed against my left. A flicker of heat travelled clear up my arm. I’d stopped wearing my wedding ring long ago.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice low and threaded with a hint of urgency.
My heart sped up in pace. I kept my eyes on the screen, where a shark swam lazily past the camera.
“I left him last summer,” I confessed. “Our divorce was finalized in October. It wasn’t pleasant, but for the sake of the children, we tried to keep things as amicable as possible and came to an agreement about custody. Noah and Emma live with me and spend every other weekend with their father. We moved to Carmel, so the drive back to Sweetwater isn’t too bad. So far, it’s worked out quite well.”
I turned my head to look at him. He was watching me, his expression inscrutable.
“And you?” I asked.
“I stopped in Crescent Bay on my way to Portland and ended up staying there,” he said. “Spent some time licking my wounds. I worked on a fishing boat for a while, then took a job at a marine reserve. I loved the combination of education and ocean life, so when the aquarium position was posted, I gave it a shot. Figured my administrative skills would be put to good use too.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I said. “I love that you’re working with marine ecology and education. Do you still live in Crescent Bay?”
“I’ll always have the beach house, but for now I’m renting an apartment in Monterey.”
A faint hope nudged at my heart. I tried to ignore it, reminding myself that hope had always been a futile emotion.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Ben asked.
I silently thanked him for giving me an opening to ask the same question. I shook my head. “Are you?”
“Maddie.” Ben curled his hand around mine, his eyes warm. “I can only see you.”
Oh…
I didn’t think my heart could contain the sudden wild emotions filling it to bursting. Ben and I gave each other a couple of goofy grins. The air shimmered with a bright, tangible sense of expectation.
“I know of a great seafood restaurant a few blocks away,” he said. “They have an amazing shrimp scampi. Can I take you and the kids?”
“I’d love that.” I smiled at him. “So much.”
“Are you free tonight?”
I let out my breath slowly. Free. I was free from a horrible, lifeless marriage. Free from schedules and spreadsheets. Free to enjoy salt-laced winds and foggy beaches. Free to plant a garden with my bare hands, to wear sweatpants, and to eat peanut butter right out of the jar. Free to correct my mistakes and work hard to be the mother my children deserved.
And I was free to believe that a lost love could be found again.
“Yes, Ben.” I tightened my hand around his. “I’m free.”
About Nina Lane
New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Nina Lane writes hot, sexy romances and spicy erotica. Originally from California, she holds a PhD in Art History and an MA in Library and Information Studies, which means she loves both research and organization. She also enjoys traveling and thinks St. Petersburg, Russia is a city everyone should visit at least once. Although Nina would go back to college for another degree because she's that much of a bookworm, she now lives the happy life of a full-time writer.
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Wanderlust
Roni Loren
CHAPTER 1
Southern gentility be damned. Nice was getting her nowhere. Aubrey Bordelon put her hands on her hips and attempted an I-mean-business face. “Look, I’m not here to get laid.”
The slab of beef serving as security guard raised his eyebrows and smirked. “I’m sorry to hear that, darlin’, but you’re still not getting in.”
He leaned his shoulder against the grimy frame of the door, blocking her view of backstage. She dipped her hand into her purse and felt around, pulling out her business card and holding it out to him. “I’m supposed to interview the band. I’m from the NOLA Vibe.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that.” He ignored her card and flipped the clipboard in his hand so it was facing her. She couldn’t read most of the names in the dim light of the alley, but she knew hers wouldn’t be there. “Problem is: you’re not on the list.”
“We’ve been over that.” She’d already explained in what she had hoped was a professional, polite tone that she was there as a replacement reporter, that the original guy was in the hospital.
“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to come up with a more creative reason to get back here. Half the people in this line claim that they’re supposed to be on the list but were mysteriously left off. So unless you have a magic wand in your purse to make your name appear, you’re outta luck.”
She resisted the urge to throw something at his shiny head.
“Excuse me,” interrupted a perky voice. Aubrey turned to look at the blonde standing behind her. The girl pinned the bouncer with a sultry gaze.
“I am here to get laid. Does that make a difference?” She tilted her head to the side and somehow implied a wink without actually winking.
The guard gave the groupie an appreciative once over and grinned. Aubrey rolled her eyes. Of course. Apparently, wearing an outfit consisting entirely of leather strips and dental floss was the way to make nice with Mr. Clean.
“Look, doll, I’d love to let you in. But like I told Lois Lane over here, if your name isn’t on the list, my hands are tied. The boys don’t entertain company before a show. Come back after the concert and maybe I can get you in. They relax the rules a little then.”
The girl put a manicured hand on the guy’s chest. “I’ll hold you to that, sweet thing.”
Ugh. The night had turned into the girl with the skimpiest outfit wins. Aubrey huffed and turned to walk away before she was tempted to say something even more unprofessional than she already had.
She didn’t know if it was the smothering heat of the New Orleans summer evening, the putrid smell of the club’s dumpster, or the fact that her plans had been shot to hell, but she was feeling downright combative. She shouldn’t be here. She wanted to get that promotion to head food writer she’d been working so hard toward, but this was more than she’d signed up for.
She should be eating things with crabmeat and cream sauces at Pierre’s, the new restaurant she’d intended to review for her column. Not at some rock concert covering a band she knew hardly anything about. A band she couldn’t even get close to because her boss, Jordana, hadn’t bothered to notify security that someone was replacing Nick. But if Aubrey wanted a bigger job, she had to be willing to jump into any of the magazine’s departments when needed. At least that’s what Jordana had told her when she’d laid this last minute assignment on her.
Aubrey pulled her phone from her purse, firing off a text message to her boss, warning her that this big story may not happen if she couldn’t get to the freaking band. But before she hit send, her pointy-toed boot caught an uneven piece of cobblestone, sending her body pitching forward and her phone flying. Choice words flew past her lips as her left palm landed flat in a puddle of what she prayed was water, barely preventing a total face plant on
the sidewalk. Her phone clattered to the ground a few feet away.
“Oh my god, are you all right?” A click-clack of heels sounded off to her left.
She glanced up to find the blonde peering down at her with concern and offering a hand, which made her feel like a jerk for having deemed her Rock Star Barbie in her head already. Aubrey took her hand and got to her feet. “Yeah, I’m fine, just not paying attention. Thanks.”
“No problem. Heels and NOLA sidewalks have put me on my ass before.” The girl made sure Aubrey was securely on her feet before letting her go and bending down to pick up her phone. She handed it to Aubrey. “Though, those boots are totally worth the risk. Super cute.”
“Thanks, but clearly the wrong choice for storming away from idiotic bouncers.” She checked her phone to make sure the screen hadn’t cracked then dropped it in her purse and wiped her wet hands on her jeans. She discreetly sniffed her palm. Beer. Gross. Better than urine, but not by much. She dug a bottle of her ever-present anti-bacterial gel from her bag and squirted some on her hand.
The girl smiled and tucked a bleached lock of hair behind her ear. “Oh, don’t sweat baldy. He’s just enjoying his power trip. We still have a good shot at getting in later. Wanderlust is known for letting a lot of girls in after the show.”
Aubrey smirked as they headed toward the club again. “I think I may be overdressed.” And under-stacked.
The girl looked from her own leather outfit to Aubrey’s simple jeans and black V-neck. “Well, maybe a little, but you never know. I’ve heard the bass player is really into brunettes, so he may go for you. Or have you seen the guys in Darkfall? I saw them perform in a club last year. Ohmigod, their drummer is hot. And members of the opening band are usually easier to get to because everyone is going after the headliners.”
