Sherri felt very adult handing eighty-nine dollars to the hotel attendant when she booked two nights in the stately Hotel Galvez. After she’d tired of the touristy shops and looking at the brightly painted Victorian houses on the strand, she sat by the pool in her new polka-dot string bikini reading fashion magazines. She was grateful to be away from Sam, content to listen to the waves gently roll into the sandy beach off in the distance. When she looked up, she saw a tall man standing at the end of the diving board, arms stretched out. He had long, wavy blond hair. He was broad-shouldered, his waist tapered, the golden skin on his back free of the moles and wiry hair she’d seen all over Sam. He might have been a statue of a swimmer until he jackknifed his leg and sprang high into the air, landing in the water without a splash. Sherri ran to the edge of the pool and waited for him to emerge. When he did, she clapped for him. “Hey, that was perfect! Just perfect! Will you do it again?”

He did. Afterward, they got to talking about the cold winters in Wisconsin and places to go in the area. He was the most handsome man Sherri had ever spoken to. He had a husky, low voice and aloof manner. She was charmed by his blue eyes, and the cleft in his chin she wished she could reach out and touch. He was about to return for another dive when Sherri said, “Guess what I am.”

“What do you mean?” He didn’t strike her as the kind of person who liked to play guessing games.

“I’m a Bunny. A Playboy Bunny.”

His demeanor changed. “They have Bunnies in Wisconsin?” She saw a flash of disbelief—was it because of the unlikely place for the resort, or because he thought she didn’t look like a Bunny? His skepticism mellowed into satisfaction. He seemed oddly pleased with himself, as if he’d accomplished a difficult task. When the waitress walked past in her white blouse and navy-blue skirt, he stopped her and ordered two Long Island iced teas. He told Sherri that his name was Mitch Spaulding, and he was from a place called Calabasas. When Sherri asked him where that was, he said it was near Malibu, a place she only knew about because of her Barbie.

“Los Angeles?” She’d never thought of LA as a city where people actually grew up and settled—imagine being from there, instead of a small town with a VFW Lodge and an old-timey bandstand in the square! His long legs hung off the edge of the lounge chair next to hers.

“And what do you do for a job?” she asked.