With my pad and pen, I wandered out to the pool, hitting a few of the lounges at the sides to nab used beach towels left behind, on my way to the pool house.

With the towels flung over my arm, I juggled the pad and pen and knocked.

“It’s Lyla!” I called. “Not to disturb, but I’m going to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”

“English muffins and orange marmalade!” Shawn shouted.

I heard the murmur of a woman’s voice.

“And cantaloupe!” he finished.

I grinned, shouted back, “Gotcha,” wrote that down and retraced my steps.

I hit the mudroom, started a load of beach towels in the washer and then went out the side door and up the steps to Dave’s place.

I repeated the rigmarole and got, “Do we have beer?”

“Yes.”

“Do we have more beer after we finish that beer?”

I was laughing when I yelled, “On the list!”

“Love ya, China!”

“Back at cha, Davey!”

On the way back to the main house, I nearly collided with Tommy who was in running clothes.

“Doing a grocery store run,” I told him.

“Somethin’ to grill tonight, babe. Doesn’t matter what. And grab a coupla cartons of Marlboro. Think everyone’s about out. Yeah?”

I nodded. “Have a good run.”

He kissed my cheek and took off.

I went back into the house.

Tim was off surfing, no doubt. He’d taken a lesson a week ago, and from that day on, every morning before dawn, so un-rock-‘n’-roll, he was on his way to the beach.

Jesse had been shacked up with a girl the last few days and the door to his room was open, so I knew he was probably still with her.

Even so, Shawn and his woman would emerge, Dave too, Tim and Tommy would get back.

So, I tossed the dregs of the pot of coffee I made for myself and started more brewing before I wandered down the hall to the master.

I opened the door, and since there were no real curtains, just white sheers, and it was nearly ten o’clock in the morning, the sun was streaming in the four sets of French windows that dotted the space.

And Preacher’s long, tan limbs were tangled in white sheets, with most of them exposed, plus all of his back.

I was rethinking my plans of going to the grocery store as he pushed up to an elbow and trained his eyes on me.

“You need anything from the store, honey?” I asked.

“Come ’ere,” he rumbled.

Okay.

The store could totally wait.

I went there, rounding the platform to his side, and since he was facing the middle of the bed, he rolled.

He then lunged, caught my wrist and pulled me into bed with him, rolling again, on me.

“Dave needs beer,” I said as his mouth landed on my neck.

“Don’t care.”

“DuShawn needs muffins.”