The Last Time I Saw Paris Read Online Free PDF Page B

long in the past she couldn’t even recall.
    Sighing, she went back inside, leafed through the Yellow Pages, and called a couple of decking specialists. Neither of them could make it out for at least a week, maybe two. “You’re better off calling a contractor,” the second one told her. “Try Dan Holland;he’s reliable and he might be able to help you out.”
    Dan Holland was not there but a pleasant voice announced that if she left a message he would get back to her. She did that, then went back out and found a corner of the deck that felt secure under her testing bounce, dragged over another chaise, spread her towel, and breathed a sigh of relief as she lay down. Finally.
    She put the phone and a can of Diet Coke and the
Diaries
on the small table beside her, pulled a shady straw hat over her ponytail, and stared out to sea. She wondered when Bill would call.
If
Bill would call. If he was thinking about her. . .
    The long day drifted slowly toward evening. She and Dex walked the beach. The dog swam and she threw an old green tennis ball for him. She walked so far her calves began to ache and they turned back, ambling wearily home.
    Tracking sand into the house, she went into the kitchen, gave the dog a bowl of water, and rubbed him off with an old towel. He rolled appreciatively on his back, then padded after her onto the deck, carefully avoiding the splintery hole.
    It was almost five o’clock. A squadron of pelicans drifted overhead, riding the wind, immobile as a piece of sculpture, and the shrieks of gray-and-white gulls pierced the stillness. She leaned on the deck rail with the wind tugging at her hair, listening to the roar of the ocean and watching the spray bursting over the rocks. Waiting for the phone to ring.
    But it was the doorbell that rang.
    When she answered it, Lara gazed, stunned, at the young man smiling at her. He was tall and lean, his skin was tanned the color of light maple syrup, and a shock of smooth, sun-streaked, light brown hair fellinto his deep-blue eyes. She could see the line of the veins on his strong neck and the tiny pulse beating at the base of his throat, where fine golden hairs curled above the neck of his white T-shirt.
    A breathless silence hung between them. Lara was suddenly aware of the too-small red bathing suit and those too-amply-displayed curves and the incongruous diamond necklace, and she wanted to run back inside, throw a big shirt over her pale nakedness. Then he said, “Hi, I’m Dan Holland. You called about your deck. I was out this way so I thought I might as well drop in, see if there’s anything I can do.”
    â€œOh. The deck. Of course.” Lara collected her suddenly scattered wits, asked him in, and showed him the hole in the deck. While he looked at it, she ran upstairs and put on a shirt. When she came back down, Dan Holland was kneeling by the hole, jabbing at the wood with a screwdriver. He walked around, bouncing on the boards, testing their springiness.
    â€œI’ll have to check underneath, if that’s okay,” he said politely.
    Lara watched as he ran down the wooden beach steps. She liked the way he moved, his easy stride. He was a man comfortable in his body; there was an air of solid confidence about him. She could tell he knew what he was doing and felt instinctively that she could trust him to do a good job.
    He came back up the steps and said regretfully, in his slow drawl, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Ms. Lewis, but quite a number of the timbers are rotten. My guess is it’s been a few years since they were touched. A couple of the big support beams underneath will have to be replaced, plus there’s patches of dry rot. It doesn’t seem to have spread around the side yet, maybe because it’s more sheltered around there, outof the spray and wind. Anyhow, ma’am, that’s the bad news, I’m afraid.”
    He smiled as he said it, crinkling his blue