I'm exploring a little bit of a new series to be published by Secret Cravings in 2014 called The Monday Night Dinner Club - or some such -- in this week's picture prompt. We're in one of my favorite places on Earth, Fire Island. 


Bess Hastings stooped to pick up the abandoned sandals. Rory’s always forgetting things. An absent-minded writer. Bess smiled as she stood by the steps, staring at the sea. Fire Island was one of her favorite places on Earth. 
 The cottage in Fair Harbor she inherited from her parents only had two bedrooms but it was big enough to house Bess and her three best friends, members of the Monday Dinner Club.

The breeze from the ocean cooled her enough so that heat from the hot July sun wasn't unbearable. The crashing waves soothed her, but not enough to remove Wyatt Jamison from her thoughts. He’s a famous New York newscaster. What would he want with a plump baker? Plump? Maybe chubby is more like it. 
Still the image of him locked out of his Manhattan apartment across the hall from her remained.There he stood, all six-foot one-inch of him, dark almost black hair, still wet from the shower. 
A fluffy white terry robe belted around his waist. Bare feet and legs indicated he wasn’t wearing anything else. She shivered. Gray eyes implored her help, so she let him use her phone and wait in her apartment until someone came to unlock his door. Usually loquacious, Bess could hardly speak, responding to his questions with one-word answers.

“Hey, Bess! Bring my shoes,” Rory called. Jolted

from her reverie, Bess wandered down the wooden 

path to join the group. The sight of her three friends 

stretched out on towels on the sand brought warmth 

to her heart. Miranda, Sandy and Rory. What would I 

do without them? Forget Wyatt Jamison. He’s out of 

my league. Quickly engulfed in the chatter of the 

women, Bess filed the sexy newsman in the never-

to-be-dated department, then plopped down next to 

her pals.
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