by Nancy Warren
Nick stopped at every beachside town, and a few inland places that were still near the coast, stopping to show her photo around, ask if anyone had seen her. There was one guy in San Clemente who thought he’d seen her on the pier, but he wasn’t sure.
He doubted she’d crossed the border into Mexico, but there was still a lot of waterfront real estate to check out.
When he reached Carlsbad it was lunchtime. He picked up fish tacos and an ice tea and took the food to the beach. He figured he’d take a short break then start showing her photo around town.
He settled back, idly watching the surfers. He spotted her almost immediately. He couldn’t have said why. The line of her body, the turn of her head, the way she held her arms. He had no idea but his gut lurched and he knew the woman in his line of sight was Kate.
He fished his binoculars out of his pack and confirmed that the woman skimming waves with the same confidence the pelicans skimmed the air currents was, in fact, Kate. And damn, she was good. She crouched and turned this way and that, staying with the wave when he thought it would dump her. He could see her feet moving up and down on the board like a gymnast’s on a balance beam.
He watched until the waves quieted and she called it a day.
He was far enough away that she wouldn’t recognize him, and sure enough, she headed straight across the sand to the stairway that led up to the road without even glancing in his direction. He gave her a couple of minutes, then followed.
She hefted the board into a surf shop. Spent ten minutes inside, then came out in a pair of jeans that hung low on her hips and a tight shirt. She had flip-flops on her feet. Her hair was short.
He ducked down to pat a dog. She headed away from the store on foot and he followed her, knowing that if she turned around, he was made. She didn’t turn. She headed into an older triplex not half a block from the beach.
Once he knew where she was staying, he jogged back to his car, drove to one of the vacation rental places he’d passed and booked himself a condo for a week. He chose the one that had the best view of the surfing beach and also provided a partial view of her street.
He’d found her. She was safe. More than safe, she appeared fit and happy.
So, he’d discovered she was fine. He could leave.
But he knew he wouldn’t leave.
Not before he’d seen her. A better man would leave her alone. She’d made it very clear she wanted some space.
As he unpacked his case he accepted that he wasn’t a better man.
