We walked for what felt like forever in our bare feet under the blazing sun. Portions of the property along the beach were privately owned, but people knew and liked me in the community, and simply waved when seeing me trespass with the handsome stud at my side, basically ignoring the two of us.
We talked about numerous topics, of course: favorite places to eat in the city, his life in Boston, and my bookmaking career with Turtle Bay Publishing. Although neither of us were being fresh, we did walk very close. Once or twice our shoulders brushed together, but that was hardly a concern or stood out as shocking. Slowly, we made our way past bungalows eight, eleven, and fourteen.
“Tell me the history of your bungalow,” he said, looking at me as he spoke and walked at my side.
“My father bui
