“They’re not scheduled until the afternoon, and we’ll be close since Gel and Lauren rented a place in Hampton Bays. We can have fun tomorrow night, and then when the open house is over on Saturday, we can get our party on again.”

“I don’t know, Mar.” My sister loves to get her drink on, especially when she’s with Gel and Lauren.

“Oh, come on. We can have a girl’s night out. We’ll go to a fun bar on the beach. You can wear one of my dresses and hook up with some hot guy named Trent, who buys you drinks instead of making you pay for your own like Terry.”

I don’t actually like it when guys buy my drinks. It’s as if they think because they spent ten dollars on me, it automatically means they can get handsy. “You know how I feel about the bar scene.”

“You need to let loose, and we haven’t seen Gel and Lauren in forever. Plus, we can troll the beach for potential properties. I was talking to another agent yesterday and there might be a couple of places coming up for sale, something about people being concerned about zoning laws or whatever. Consider it a multipurpose work-vacation.”

She has a point. Staying on the beach has some definite advantages. Not the least of which is the opportunity to canvas desirable properties and their owners.

“It’s supposed to be a gorgeous weekend. We can work on our tans. Check out hot guys playing beach volleyball.”

Always with the volleyball players. “Okay. Fine. But no getting superhammered tomorrow night. We need to be functional for the open house on Saturday. Based on the market, this property should go for over asking and that check I cut for the Tesla paint job won’t hurt so much.”

Marley’s tongue peeks out and her eyes light up. “Has he texted you again?”

“No. And I can’t imagine he will after tonight.” I should be thankful, not disappointed. I grab my empty ice cream container and head for the kitchen. “What time will Gel and Lauren get to the beach?”

“Gel said noon and we can meet them there any time after that. I already have the address and everything.”

We’ve been working our butts off lately, and it would be nice to enjoy the beach and not just show the view to other people.

* * *

The following day, Marley’s ready to hit the beach at 12:01, having already packed my bag for me first thing this morning. I check the contents and toss in some jeans, a T-shirt, and extra underwear.

We take the Acura—I’m driving because I don’t trust Marley for obvious reasons. She keeps changing the radio station, blasting music, and singing off-key; she also doesn’t know any of the lyrics.

I turn it down so I can speak without yelling. “Have you heard from Gel and Lauren? Are they at the beach house already?”

“Gel texted while you were in the shower and said they were leaving soon.”

“Should you check in with them? It would be kind of weird for us to show up before them.”

“Sure. I can do that.” Marley shimmies to the music as we make the short trip from our duplex off the beach to the rental.

“Hey! How’s it going? We’re on our way and superexcited to see you,” Marley says into the phone. There’s a pause, and then she turns the music all the way down. “Oh no. That’s not good. Is Noodles going to be okay?”

“What’s going on?” I turn right onto the street that leads not only to some of the oldest beachfront properties, but also the Mission Mansion. It’s farther down the beach, and in one of the more exclusive areas, but the sprawling eight-thousand-square-foot mansion is hard to miss since it’s the biggest home in the immediate area.

Marley holds up a finger, uh-huhing and mmming a bunch of times before she says, “Okay, keep in touch.” She ends the call as I pull into the driveway of a gorgeous beach house, a big, bold, black 69 fixed to the front door. I shift the car into park and wait for her to explain what’s going on.

“They’re not going to be here until tomorrow at the earliest,” she says.

“What happened?”

“Noodles ate a pound of butter.”

“Oh God.” Noodles is Gel’s labradoodle. She’s the sweetest dog, but she eats everything. Including socks. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Yeah, but she has wicked diarrhea, so they have to stay put until she’s done destroying their lawn. They said they’ll check back with us tomorrow, but they might not be here until Sunday, depending.”

I’m surprised at my disappointment. Not just because I don’t get to see Gel and Lauren, but also because I’d been looking forward to a weekend on the beach. I put the car in reverse.

“What’re you doing?”

“Going home.”

“Park the damn car, Rian.”

I take my foot off the gas and hit the brake. “We can’t stay if Gel and Lauren aren’t here.”

“We sure can! We have the code. She’s forwarding the email from the rental company. As far as anyone knows, we’re Gel and Lauren.”

I consider this for a moment. Possibly so many moments that Marley feels she needs additional justification.

“They rented the place for the weekend. Why let it go to waste because their dog ate a pound of butter? Gel said she wants us to enjoy it if they can’t. It’s too late to cancel and they can’t get their deposit back.”

She has a point. I shift back into park and Marley lets out a whoop of excitement. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

I cut the engine and step out into in the warm sunshine. We’re having such great weather for May, and I’m looking forward to spending some time on the beach soaking up the sun—with my laptop, but still.

The two-story clapboard house is a sight to behold and the craftsmanship is stunning. Marley keys in the code while I lug our bags up the front walk. The interior is as breathtaking as the exterior.

While the outside retains that classic Hamptons style, the interior is modern and fresh. Granite countertops and a massive open floor plan including a wall of windows facing the beach make this a desirable piece of property.

Marley lets out a low whistle. “Can you even imagine how much we’d get for this if we could convince the owner to sell?”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.” There must be some kind of brochure around here somewhere with their information.

I leave our bags at the entrance and cross through the massive kitchen, stopping at a wrapped basket that contains two bottles of wine—one white and one red, as well as antipasto and crackers. Whoever rents this place out pays very close attention to the fine details. There’s even a bowl of fruit and a list of all the amenities nearby. It seems like whoever the owner is, they go the extra mile to make the renters feel comfortable.

I hold up the personalized, handwritten note wishing Gel, Lauren, and Noodles a pleasant stay. “I wonder if we’ll meet the owner or if he or she has someone who manages this place for them.”

A set of sliding doors lead to a gorgeous cedar deck that smells new, a fabulous hot tub set to the right. This place is amazing. I’m so glad Marley convinced me to stay, because this is so much better than a weekend in our duplex, driving back and forth to the beach for open houses.

The crash of waves on the beach, kids laughing, and the low strains of music coming from somewhere close by are suddenly drowned out by the sound of a lawn mower revving to life. A few seconds later the mower appears from under the deck. Then the person pushing it comes into view.