She placed both of her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding me?”
I laughed and handed her one of the mochas.
Lori shook her head. “After being completely stuffed from Italian food and tiramisu, we’re having a mocha. I can’t believe you. Are you buttering me up so I’ll bring you one in the morning?”
“Me? Nahhh. I wouldneverdo that.” I took a sip and gestured down the street toward the water. “This just means we need to walk even more.”
“About twenty miles.”
We continued down Girard Avenue, stopping near Boomer Beach in front of La Jolla Cove Bridge Club to watch the sea lions swim. It was a gorgeous day, and this was one of my favorite things to do when I got off the radio. Being anywhere down by the water made me feel alive, the energy and sound of the waves crashing, the smell of the ocean, the pelicans flying overhead.
There was nothing like it in the world.
Little did Lori know that I lived very close to where we were standing.
She took the last sip of her mocha and tossed the cup in the recycle bin. “Do you live around here?”
Lori was obviously a mind reader.
I nodded, also tossing my empty cup in the recycle bin. “Just a few minutes from here, actually, within walking distance.”
La Jolla was an upscale village where some of the oceanfront homes were worth over twenty million dollars. I didn’t want Lori to get the wrong idea or give her the impression that I owned something like that because I lived in a modest place.
“It’s just a little two-bedroom, two-bath home, barely twelve-hundred square feet, but I love it.”
“I live in La Jolla as well. I have a one-bedroom condo over on Pearl Street, also small.”
I smiled. “Yet another thing we have in common. When will this madness end?” I pulled out my phone and pointed to the sea lions over by the rocks. “Let’s take a selfie.”
She stared at me.
“What? It’s for social media. We’re going to have to start posting things daily, you know.”
She glanced down at the rocks. “How close do you want to get?” I gestured to the tourists, some of the sea lions ten feet away from them, even though there were signs that warned against getting too close.
“Come on. Quit thinking so much.”
Lori followed me to the barrier that separated the path from the rocks below. It was only two feet high at the most and easy to step over, but I went first and then held out my hand for her.
She glanced at it.
“I don’t have cooties. Take it.”
Lori laughed. “Who uses that word anymore? You told me you’re forty years old.”
“I am and I will probably turn forty-one before you decide to take my hand.”
Another man stepped over the barrier in front of us and watched his wife struggle to get over the barrier, not bothering to offer her his hand to help her over the barrier.
The woman frowned. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”
We watched them walk away, discussing his lack of romanticism, then I turned back to Lori. “For the record, I’m not trying to be romantic.” I held out my hand closer. “Are you coming or what?”
She finally took my hand and stepped over the barrier. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Much of the sandstone was completely flat, although there was a slight incline as we made our way down toward the water. It was wet, so we took our time.
