“I think the 'occasional shark attacks' just did it for me,” he chuckled. “I'm a devoted and confirmed coward. I had to dive with a shark in a picture once. It was supposedly trained and sedated. I opted to use a stuntman for everything except the love scenes. I was trained and sedated for those myself.” She laughed at what he said.

“I'm not very brave either,” she confessed with a shy look, and he instantly disagreed.

“Are you serious? I think you're extremely brave. About important things. You've flown in the face of tradition with your family, you've bucked the system. In fact, you've walked away, and done it with courage and grace. No matter how much pressure they've put on you, you've done what's right for you, and what you believe. You loved a man and lost him, and you're not lying here whining— you've gone on. You've stayed here. You live alone in a funny little community. You're not afraid to live alone, or be alone. You've created a job that works for you, even if those you love insult you for it. All of that takes courage. It takes a lot of courage, Coco, to be different. And you do it all with dignity and poise. I'm full of admiration for you.” They were lovely things to say, and she appreciated his recognizing who she was, without telling her everything she was doing wrong. Instead he was validating the decisions she had made and the life she had chosen. She smiled warmly at him after what he said.

“Thank you. I admire you too, Leslie. You're not afraid to admit it when you're wrong, or made a mistake. You're amazingly humble given who you are, what you've accomplished, and the world you live in. You could be a real jerk with all of that, and you aren't. You've managed to stay real in spite of it.”

“My family would disown me if I didn't,” he said honestly. “Maybe that's what keeps me true to myself. I have to face them, and myself at some point. It's very nice being a movie star, and having people fall all over themselves to give you what you want. But at the end of the day, you're still only a human being, a good one, or a bad one. It's embarrassing in my business to see people act like fools, and a lot of people do. I don't have a lot of patience with it. And most of the time, when I look at myself, I see all the things I do wrong, not the ones I do right. Maybe in that sense,” he said, looking at her seriously, “being extremely insecure on a long-term basis is a good thing.” They both laughed at what he said. “I'm impressed that you don't seem insecure.”

“I am. I'm just very stubborn.” She sighed then. “I'm always trying to figure out who I am, and what I want to do. I know how I got here, and why. I just can't seem to figure out where I want to go from here. Or maybe in the long run this will be what I want. I haven't decided yet.”

“It'll come to you. At least this way you have a lot of options. All doors are open to you.”

“I like the ones I've opened so far. I'm just not sure which ones I want to open next.”

“We all feel that way at times. Everyone else looks as though they have the answers. They're just faking it. They don't know any more than we do. Or they've kept their worlds very small. It's easier for them that way. If you're willing to look out in the world, it's a lot more exciting, but sometimes it's scary as hell.” He seemed very humble as he said it, and not afraid to show her his fears and uncertainties as well.

“You're right,” she agreed. “It is scary. What about you? What are you going to do now? Find an apartment and go back to L.A.?” And start all over again, looking for a new woman? She didn't ask the question, but it was on both their minds. She wondered how many times you could start again, meeting people, singling one out, giving fate a chance, moving forward, and then ultimately being disappointed and ending it again. At some point that had to get old. Even after two wonderful years with Ian, she was having trouble getting up the courage to try again. She wondered if it was harder for her because everything with him had been so right. But if you wound up with the wrong woman every time, how many times could you start again? She could only imagine how many failed romances Leslie Baxter had had. At forty-one, starting over had to seem like a very, very old game to him. It was precisely what he was thinking when she asked.

“I'll find something temporary, I guess. I get my house back in six months, and I start a picture in four. I'm going on location in Venice for that. The tenant will be out of my house by the time I get back. I could stay at a hotel now, but there isn't a lot of privacy there. And it would be a lot easier for Miss Psycho Ex to get to me in a hotel, if she even cares two weeks from now. My guess is that she'll find someone else to torture fairly fast. She's not one to be without a man for long. As far as all that goes”—he answered the question she hadn't asked but he had understood—“I'm more inclined to wait for a while. I need a bit of a break after all that. It was something of a shock, to have misjudged someone so totally and been so wrong.” Unconsciously, he rubbed his bruised cheek as he spoke. He had left his cell phone at the house in the city, in order to avoid her text messages for a while. Leslie never wanted to speak to her again, although he knew that eventually, in their world, their paths would inevitably cross. He wasn't looking forward to that. “I don't need romance in my life. Not for a while anyway. I'm beginning to think I want the real thing, or nothing at all. This passing fancy stuff, for a while, is a lot of work, and always turns into a mess. It's fun for about five minutes, and then you spend a hell of a lot of time cleaning it up. Rather like the maple syrup disaster when we met.” She smiled at what he said. “Cleaning up after a bad romance is like that, but not nearly as much fun. And a lot harder to clean up.” His ex-girlfriend had already told him that she was going to destroy everything he had left at her house. The text message after that had said she had. Nothing he had left there couldn't be replaced, but it was still a giant nuisance and a hell of an affront. He laughed then at his next thought. “I suppose I'm homeless, then. That's a novel experience for me. I don't usually live with women, and certainly not at their place. I was a bit too overconfident about this. She played an awfully good game at first. It turns out that she's a much better actress than I thought. She should be up for an Oscar for our first three months. It's a hell of a lesson to learn at forty-one. I guess one can be a fool at any age.”

“I'm sorry it worked out that way” she said sympathetically. She felt sorry for him. She had never had an experience like that. And she hoped she never would. In his Hollywood life, given who he was and the target he was inevitably, it was more commonplace. She remembered how many times her father told them stories of high drama among his clients, broken romances, assaults, people ripping each other off, cheating on each other openly or secretly, attempted suicides. It was all part of the life she didn't want and had fled, although bad things happened to people in the real world too, but not as publicly, and not as often. It was part of the territory for someone like Leslie Baxter. Movie star romances were usually short-lived, ephemeral, went up in a public display of fireworks, and ended in a mess. She didn't envy him. And even if he brought it on himself with the women he chose, it had to be discouraging for him. From the sound of it, he could have wound up with a lot worse than a bruised cheek.

“I'm sorry too,” Leslie said quietly, “sorry I was such a fool. And I'm sorry you lost your guy. You look happy in the photographs with him.”

“I was. But sometimes even good things come to an end. Fate.” It was a healthy way to look at it, and Leslie admired her for that too. There was nothing he didn't admire in her so far. She was an amazing woman, and he was glad he had sought refuge at Jane's. He might never have met her otherwise, particularly as she was the self-declared black sheep of the family, and Jane had barely spoken of her over the years. She was far more interested in herself. In Leslie's eyes, Coco was like a small, white peaceful dove in a family of hawks and eagles. He could only imagine how hard it must have been growing up in their midst. But Coco seemed to have come out of it unscathed. She wasn't bitter to have been set down in the midst of them, just surprised. And ultimately, she had flown away. She still had ties to them, but the threads that bound her to them seemed to be getting thinner every day. It was the impression Coco gave, not incorrectly, although she had nonetheless gotten tangled up in house-sitting for Jane. And Leslie was extremely glad she had, otherwise they might never have met.

They lay on the deck in the sun for most of the afternoon, and only spoke once in a while. Leslie slept and Coco finished reading a book. They made sandwiches from what she had left in the fridge and packed up the rest to take to the city with them, so it didn't go to waste. And after they locked up the house, she drove him to the public beach at Stinson, so he could see the spectacular stretch of smooth white sand. It went for miles, with smooth sand and shells spread out near the water's edge. There were birds wading in the surf, seagulls flying overhead, and small interesting rocks that Coco picked up and slipped in her pocket as she always did. They walked the length of the beach, sat at the point and looked at the ocean coming into the lagoon, and saw Bolinas just ahead of them across the narrow inlet, and then they walked back to the van, with the dogs running far ahead and then coming back to them. Twice, horses galloped past, and there were very few people on the beach. Leslie was surprised when Coco told him it was always that way. Only on rare days of intense heat did people bother to come to this beach. Most of the time there were only a handful of people on it, spread out over several miles. It was the perfect getaway and Leslie felt as though he had had a week's vacation as they drove back along the cliff again. The sun was just setting, and it had been an extraordinary day.

“I heartily approve,” he said as she handled the hairpin turns expertly again, this time on the outer edge of the cliff, which impressed him even more. She even managed to avoid the potholes and many places where the road was in bad shape, which kept most people from coming there. It was spectacular, but far from an easy drive.

“What do you approve of?” Coco asked. The dogs were sound asleep in the back, utterly worn out from their long run on the beach, particularly when they chased after the horses. Sallie had tried desperately to herd them, but they had gotten away. She had had to content herself with chasing birds, while Jack lumbered after her. He was so tired he could hardly walk by the time they left, and he was snoring loudly now. It made a soft, steady purr from the back of the van.

“I approve of your living here,” Leslie said comfortably. “In case you need to hear that from someone. In fact, I envy you.” She smiled at what he said. It was nice to hear.

“Thank you.” She liked knowing that he saw the beauty of it, and the value of the life she lived. He didn't think she was a hippie or a freak, and he didn't think her home was a dump. He had experienced it like a warm embrace, and loved seeing that piece of her. All the pieces of her fit seamlessly. She was just totally different from Jane, which was too difficult for her family to accept. They all fit into a single mold, Coco didn't, and she seemed far better to him for that.

They drove through Mill Valley quietly, and onto the Golden Gate Bridge in Sunday night traffic. She got off the ramp after the bridge into Pacific Heights, and asked him if he wanted to stop somewhere to pick up food. He really didn't. He was totally sated from the good feelings of the day, and relaxed after their long walk on the beach. He had even dozed in the car on the way home, as Coco drove in silence. In spite of who he was, which no longer impressed her as it did when she first met him, and the shock of seeing him in her sister's kitchen, they were totally at ease with each other. She was surprised at how comfortable she was being with him, and he had noticed the same thing and commented on it during their walk on the beach. He said that it was rare for him, and he usually protected himself from strangers. But she was no longer a stranger. They were already friends, even after two days.

“How about if I make you an omelette? I'm rather good at those, if I do say so myself. You could make one of your lovely California salads,” he said hopefully, and she laughed.