“Hey!” a man’s soft voice called from the beach. She walked over and saw Corey, her new friend. He’d changed into walking shorts and a white tee and was holding a package in his hand. “I brought you something. But I can come back another time if I’m disturbing you.”

“No, no,” Drue replied. “Come on up. I was just getting ready to turn off the lights and head to bed.”

His footsteps shook the weathered deck boards. When he grew closer, she saw he was holding a roll of some kind of tape.

“This is K-tape,” he said. “Kinesiology tape. We use it in the clinic to stabilize joints. I’ve always got rolls of it in my car and at the condo. Tools of the trade. I thought, if you want, I could show you how to tape your knee. The knee brace would be better, but I get that it’s hot and unwieldy.”

“Oh yeah,” Drue said, gesturing for him to come into the house. “I’ve used K-tape before, when I banged up my shoulder.” She slapped her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“If you’d gone to a therapist, they would have suggested it,” Corey said. He pointed to the kitchen chair she’d just vacated. “Want to sit down and I’ll show you how it’s done?”

He knelt on the floor before her. His fingers were long and tapered and cool on her skin as he smoothed the tape in strips around her ruined knee. She wondered if this was his way of coming on to her. And what she would do if he actually was coming on to her.

But the moment passed. He stood and smiled. “And that’s how it’s done.” He produced a business card from the pocket of his navy shorts. “Here. I put my cell phone number on it. Seriously now, call me if you want to take me up on my offer for a bike ride or to go swimming. You need to start working that knee right away.”

She picked up the roll of tape and walked him out onto the dunes, watching him disappear in the moonlight.

16

After an uneventful Monday, on Tuesday Drue rushed into the bullpen at exactly 9:55 A.M. She donned her sweater and headset and sat at her desk for a minute, trying to catch her breath.

Her phone dinged. An incoming text from Ben, whose cubicle was right next to hers.

Car trouble again?

She looked over the divider. He was on the phone, listening but not typing, and looked up at her.

She nodded, sat back down and replied.

Literally driving me crazy. Every other day, OJ refuses to start. I had to LYFT to work.

“Hey.” Ben stood looking over the divider, his headset around his neck. “Want me to take a look? I’m pretty good with cars.”