Every night of the previous week she’d spent coating the interior of the cottage with white paint—it had taken three coats to cover the previous tenant’s color scheme.

Late Saturday afternoon, after she’d moved all the furniture into place, she was sore and exhausted, but not too tired to make a Target run, picking out towels and bed linens, including a white and coral seashell-patterned quilt for her new bedroom, along with a shower curtain and a set of white cotton curtains for her bedroom window.

Right before sunset, when she could work no longer, Drue shed her shoes at the edge of the dune, then picked her way through the sea oats, following the well-worn footpath until she reached the fringe of deep green Australian pines. It was nearly eight, but the sand was still warm. She sank down into the shade of the towering trees, leaned back on her elbows and stretched out her aching legs.

The sun was only inches from the horizon, the sky glowing in fiery reds and oranges. A slight breeze rippled the fronds of the sea oats. The Gulf was calm tonight and the turquoise surface of the water rolled in lazy layers onto the shore.

Looking down the beach she saw plenty of people prolonging their day by the water. Kids splashed in the surf, family groups unloaded picnics from coolers and couples strolled along the sand, stopping to embrace or take selfies.

She was struck by how many of those couples were same-sex, mostly men. Sunset Beach had definitely changed over the years, and it wasn’t just the appearance of mega-mansions.

Athletes were out too now, speed walking, running, riding bikes, lured back to the beach by the moderating temperatures. As she watched, a tall, particularly buff male specimen wearing only neon green shorts, whom she’d noticed several times in the previous week, made another sprint past. He stopped at the water’s edge, bent double, hands on his waist. Even from here she could see his bare torso slick with sweat. He had the muscled calves and lean, toned physique of a runner, and his hair was cropped so close he looked nearly bald.

He straightened and turned, staring in her direction. She gave a curt nod and looked away, not wanting him to think she was ogling him. Although she was.

Drue sipped from the bottle of beer Brice had left her in the refrigerator, and savored her hard-won sense of accomplishment.

Back at the cottage, she stayed up ’til one, making up the bed, hanging the drapes and styling the bathroom. Then, she’d propped the box fan in the window and fell into a dead sleep.

She allowed herself the supreme luxury of a lazy Sunday morning, marked only by a trip to Publix to buy groceries. Now that she had a real kitchen, she’d vowed, no more convenience store sub sandwiches or roller dogs.