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She learns what it really means to be a slave...and love.

" He nods. She rubs his back. "Look, Craig, as much as I adore you, if you...well, if you ever feel as if you'd like to reconnect with her, feel free. As much as we care for each other, we both know we have a limited future together. In time, if you want to marry and have kids, you'll need to meet someone who doesn't remember when Reagan was president, when vinyl was king, when the Berlin Wall came down and when the web might refer to something about spiders." She leans over and kisses him. "That said, I'll treasure every minute I'm with you." She kicks off her sandals, snaps open her white shorts and then steps out of them. "I know we just got here, and you're probably hungry, but can you make love to me? I want to feel close to you."

"Your wish is my wish as well as my command."

They play out their mutual passion under the covers, their bodies melded together, their hearts in the right place, at least for now, treasuring every minute as she said. Afterward, they shower and dress, and then have dinner at some steak house a few miles outside Ocean City before returning to their room and making love again.

*****

An overnight rain shower gives way to bright sunshine the next day, as perfect a beach day as one could ask for. "Damn, you look hot in that," Craig gushes, rubbing Coppertone over her back. "Not many women your age should be wearing a bikini, but you're an exception." The last time he'd seen her in a bikini was when she was watering her rose bushes back home.

She had debated whether to wear it or her one-piece. She agrees with Craig: too many middle-age women, shorter women especially (like Alex), push the envelope of aesthetic decorum wearing them. But women built like her, women with firm legs and firm boobs and flat stomachs can get away with it.

"Let me do that," Craig insists, and then proceeds to rub the lotion into the skin of her firm, chunky thighs while she sits on her chaise lounge. "If this was a private beach, I'd, well, I bet you can guess."

Her fingers fluff his blond shag of hair. "Um, yes, I can, and I'll bet you can guess how I'd react, young man." She glances at his six-pack and then squeezes the hard muscles of his quads. I'm with a teen Adonis, the sexiest guy on the beach, and I'm old enough to be his mother. But what the heck."

The day plays out as beach days do, lazing on chaise lounges, reading and listening to music through ear buds between bodysurfing and walks along the beach. In late afternoon, when they return to the Fenwick, Alex showers while Craig throws on flip-flops and gray sweats, then takes the elevator to the lobby. He then enters a side room where guests can use their laptops and get coffee 24/7. He fills two cups at the machine, then turns around and almost drops them. Mouth agape, he blinks to make sure he's seeing right, to make sure it really is his former girlfriend standing before him, the beautiful Heather Chaillet. She's in sandals and wearing a turquoise sun dress over her bikini, beach towel draped over her shoulder. "Heather! I can't believe it! Are you staying here?"

She shakes her head as if she's not sure if she's seeing right either. Her lovely mouth alternates between frowning and smiling; her hazel eyes flicker. "Yes, with my family."
"Your kid brother Todd and your parents."

"Right. You?"

"Um, well, um-"

"You're with that older woman, aren't you?" She tugs at her ponytail and her eyes narrow. "The one you dumped me for."

"Alexandra."

"Oh, now she's got a name. You wouldn't tell me during our drama."

Still holding his cups of fresh brew, he shakes his head. "I'm so sorry I hurt you."

She rolls her eyes. "Right. Well, I hope you're happy. Listen, my folks are waiting upstairs and I'm sure this Alexandra doesn't want cold coffee. I was just about to get some for my mom."

Alex was right-he still feels has feelings for her, stronger that he realized.

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