Eli found the beach easily. The town center arched around it, with shops and cafés overlooking the sea. A boardwalk meandered through the low sand dunes so the infirm and elderly could stroll along the beach more easily. Native grasses grew in clumps, and a sign at the beginning of the boardwalk indicated that blue penguins nested under the path and could be seen returning to their nests from the water at dusk. The sand, which was tan rather than white, squished beneath his toes. A few toddlers were building sand castles along the shore, and groups of teenagers were basking in the sun or splashing in the shallows. Two windsurfers were gliding across the bay. Eli untied his shoes and left them on the sand as he stepped into the water. It lapped over his feet, cool but not cold, and turquoise in color rather than the blue waters of the beaches back home.

He walked along the edge of the surf to a stall renting out surfboards and requested one. The waves were calm, and gulls were crying overhead. He cruised the waves for an hour and was toweling off when he caught sight of two things: the first, Teri, in a tiny bikini, strolling past a group of ogling, catcalling teenage boys. His fists clenched, and before he knew it, he was yelling, “Jesus Christ! Get hold of yourselves!”

The second was Aria, in a similarly small bikini, showing off an expanse of smooth olive skin. She’d tied her hair in a knot and she was laughing, head thrown back. His gaze moved up long legs that he imagined wrapping around him to a slightly curved stomach with flared hips and a narrow waist and stopped at the halter top, which showed off her fantastic cleavage. He wanted to run his hands over those curves and feel their softness. He gulped, suddenly very glad he was still holding the surfboard in front of him.

What was she thinking? He’d asked her to set a good example for Therese. She needed to cover up. He needed to cover her up. Desperately. Looking around for something to use, Eli saw a towel on the sand and retrieved it. At her side in a few strides, he tossed it over her.

“What the hell?” she demanded, eyes flashing angrily.

Hmm. How to explain this? “You’re setting a bad example,” he said. “That bikini is microscopic.”

“I’m setting a bad example because I’m proud of my body?”

If she had been a dog, her hackles would be raised. Perhaps a different tack was in order. “You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“Have you considered that maybe I like the attention?”

Well, no. He hadn’t.

“Anyway, you’re drawing more attention to me by being so overdramatic.”

It was true. At least a dozen people were listening to their discussion but pretending not to.

“Fine,” he grumped. “Please yourself.”