Joining a book club seemed like a great way to get to know more people and if she was going to make a life for herself here, she ought to be involved in the community. Maybe a book club was a small step compared to some of the other things she could be doing, but a small step felt the most manageable.
What did one wear to a book club? It was hours away, but with her wardrobe pared down, she liked to put her outfits together early to give herself time to think. It also gave her time in case something needed to be steamed.
She had a walk-in closet, her one sticking point when she’d chosen her floor plan, but it was still overstuffed.
She selected a pair of crisp white ankle pants, a paisley turquoise button-down that she’d wear with the sleeves rolled, and white Hermes sandals. She’d add a white Hermes belt with a gold buckle and some understated gold jewelry.
She stepped back. Did it need a scarf? Maybe if she did a low ponytail, she’d tie it with a scarf. Or she could wear the scarf instead of the belt. That was always a nice detail. She was probably overthinking it, but once people found out who she was—or rather, who she’d been—they scrutinized her outfit. She’d seen it happen.
Beau whined.
He was either unhappy her evening plans didn’t include him, or he had to go out. Most likely the latter. “Come on.” She went around the bed to the door that led out to the back porch.
He scampered after her, a sure sign thatoutwas the answer. They went through the screened porch and into the backyard.
Because the housing lots were staggered, the yard behind hers wasn’t one yard, but two halves of the neighbors’ properties. The areas were separated by low white poly fences, the only kind allowed, and they had gates to let the yard men through.
In the back and to the left of her was a woman she’d seen enough to wave at but didn’t know. To the right was a cranky old man she didn’t know and didn’t want to know. He was usually on his back porch, scowling out at the water.
No clue who he was or why he was always in such a bad mood. Pretty hard to live in a place like this with all the palm trees, blue sky, and gorgeous Gulf views andstillmaintain a perpetual bad mood but somehow, he managed to do it.
She hadn’t lived here that long, obviously, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing a visitor at his place. Just him. Not even a pet.
As she was staring at his porch, he came out from the house, a plate in one hand. He sat in his chair, plate on his lap.
She looked away before he caught her staring. The woman one house over was watering the pots on her back deck. She waved and Blaise waved back. Beau had to be done by now. She looked around and couldn’t find him. Had he gone into the side yard?
She walked around to the left. No Beau. She turned to walk to the right and saw the gate between her yard and Mr. Grumpy’s was open.
Beau was in Mr. Grumpy’s yard. Squatting.
Oh, crap. Literally.
“Beau, no,” Blaise yelled as she went after him, poop bag in hand.
Mr. Grumpy was already coming out of his screened porch. “Let the dog poop in peace. So long as you clean it up, I don’t care.”
She stopped a few steps into his yard, shocked by his words. She’d expected to be yelled at or at least reprimanded for letting her dog out of her yard. Of course, she hadn’t let Beau out. Someone had left the gate open. “Sorry to disrupt your lunch.” She held up the bag in her hand. “I’ll clean it up.”
Still standing by his screen door, he looked at her, then looked past her. “You ought to check that latch.”
She glanced back. “Right. I will. Thank you, Mr…”
“Earl Tanner. Everyone calls me Brick.”
She had no idea why that might be. “Nice to meet you, Brick. I’m Blaise.”
Beau kicked his back legs through the grass, having done what he’d come to do.
Brick snorted. “Everyone knows who you are.”
Oddly embarrassed at being recognized, she crouched and cleaned up what Beau had left behind, then got herself and Beauback into her yard. She closed the gate, only to find that the latch was hanging loose, thanks to a missing screw.
She frowned. She’d have to call maintenance. It was a simple thing to fix, but she didn’t have a screw to replace it with and she doubted she’d find it in the grass.
She dropped the bag in the trash bin and took Beau inside. She washed his feet in the bathroom sink, then went back into the bedroom. She doubted Brick could see her, but she could see him. Sitting on his porch. Eating his sandwich. Scowling.
He wasn’t a bad-looking man even with the scowl. Maybe it wasn’t exactly a scowl. He was rugged in that sort of squinty, Clint Eastwood kind of way. Face lined by sun and experience. He wore his steel-gray hair short, nearly shaved on the sides.
