She found herself laughing at him, laughing at her, and quite forgot that she wasn’t wearing a bra and that her boobs grazed the bottom of her rib cage beneath her baggy pajama top. She had a sudden urge to twirl her hair around her fingers, and a strange stirring in her briefs reminded her that she hadn’t had sex in a very long time. And, more to the point, that she would like to remedy that as soon as possible. And why shouldn’t I? she thought. I’m forty-four, not dead!

Paul motioned down toward the ground and raised his eyebrows. Annie gave him a double thumbs-up and wondered if she’d always been this uncool. As Paul began to dismount the ladder, Annie dashed into the bedroom and hurriedly put on her bra. She scooted into the bathroom and performed the quickest of tooth brushes and squidged a blob of toothpaste onto her tongue for extra freshness; she didn’t want to frighten him off with morning breath.

Several unboltings later, Annie wrenched open the front door and felt the fresh morning air burn her minty tongue and whistle through the gap in her pajama top. Paul the window cleaner leaned casually against the mailbox post. He wore a white T-shirt—wet down the front—and old straight-cut stone-washed jeans. His hair was a mess, a tangled windswept mass of blond and gray with coarse stubble to match. Annie expected him to snap open a can of Diet Coke any second. He broke into a wicked grin when he saw her.

“Hello!” he said. He walked over to the steps and leaned against the handrail, one foot resting on the bottom step. When he wasn’t scaling ladders, leaning seemed to be his thing. It was difficult to descend the steps with any kind of sex appeal while wearing hedgehog slippers and a pink fluffy dressing gown with cat ears on the hood, but Annie gave it her best shot.

“Hello,” she said, hoping she didn’t have a toothpaste mustache.

“Mari found her brave victim, then,” said Paul.

“Victim?” asked Annie.

“Have you ever spent a winter on a beachfront?” Paul asked.

“No,” admitted Annie. “But how bad can it be?”

“Spoken like a true townie,” said Paul. “It can get pretty wild!”

“I think I can handle it,” said Annie. Oh my God! I’m flirting!

“I’m sure you can,” said Paul. “Is it just you?”

Forward! she thought.

“Yes,” said Annie. “Just me.”

Paul grinned. If a star sparkle had tinged off his teeth at that moment Annie would not have been surprised.

“Good,” he said. “I’m Paul.”

“I know,” said Annie. “Mari told me you come every third Monday. To clean the windows, I mean.”

Paul laughed, a deep gravelly laugh, and Annie began to feel very hot inside her animal-themed nightwear. She wasn’t sure if it was the flirting or the menopause.