SugarCOAT

29. Point-of-View 🥄

We didn't make anymore stops, and I wasn't complaining. We listened to music the rest of the way to Yellow Sand Beach. It was amazing how many songs we knew together. Not one song on A.B.'s playlist was a song that I didn't like.

A.B. parked the truck in front of a small house that was slightly lifted off the ground. It was a beach house for sure. The sand was right there. Just behind it, I could see the ocean. "I've never been to a beach house before."

"I'll give you a tour when we get inside." A.B. got out the truck and grabbed his bags.

Before he could open my door, I was standing in front of the truck with my bags in hand.

"I got that." A.B. took my bags from me.

"Why thank you, my good sir." I spoke in a random accent that I'm sure wasn't accurate.

He imitated me. "Why you are very welcome, my lady." We both laughed.

I followed A.B. to the front door, hidden under a small wooden porch. He unlocked and opened the door, allowing me to walk inside first. I could see straight into the backyard or the beach-yard through the sliding glass doors. "That's a beautiful view."

A.B. turned on the light.

"Oh, wow!" I looked around. "Everything is... right here." I realized that we were in a, umm... living room, kitchen type of space. What are those called? 

"It's a loft. The bathroom across the living area. The bedroom is upstairs. It doesn't have a door for the purpose of that view."

It's a small interior, but we're only here for a few hours.

A.B. placed our bags in a large loveseat that was facing the large sliding glass doors. There was a sofa against the only wall that was free of a door. The décor wasn't anything fancy. The colors were dark brown and brown and... an off white or was it that a light tan? Anyway, it works.

Several questions began to flood my head. I didn't know which one to start with. Is this where A.B. lived before he came back to East Grove? What kind of business meets at the beach?

"I don't know about you? But your mom's beef stew and cornbread sounds good right-about-now." A.B. placed the bag of food that my mom made for us on the kitchen counter.

"Yes, it does." I took off my sweater and placed it on our bags. I walked over to the kitchen to wash my hands.

A.B. turned the knob and the water poured down in the sink. I wet my hands a bit before taking them away from the water. He grabbed the soap container and put a small amount in the palm my hand.

"Thank you." I began to lather the soap.

I watched A.B. do the same. It was kinda funny, because we were shoulder-to-shoulder, washing our hands the same way. Lather, scrub the palms, in-between the fingers, don't forget the wrists, and the back of the hands.

I put my hands under the water and watched the soap bubbles vanish. Next to the sink was a roll of paper towels. I grabbed one and dried my hands off. As A.B. rinsed his hands, I opened the bag of food, removing the lid from both plastic containers. 

A.B. grabbed two glass bowls from the cabinet and sat one next to each container. "They're clean. The housekeeper comes two, sometimes, three times a month to dust and clean."

"Housekeeper?" There goes my first question.

"Yeah. My mom thought it would be a good idea since no one comes here much." A.B. grabbed a spoon and used it to empty the stew from the plastic containers into the glass bowls. 

"Did you used to live here?" I asked him.

"No, but I've stayed here a few times. The longest I ever stayed was for a week, I think. Not having internet got old."