2
The next morning, a gusty breeze lifted Ivy’s natural straw hat, sending it tumbling across the terrace and onto the beach. She cried out and started after it.
“Got it,” Bennett called out, racing from behind. He scooped it up and brought it back to her. “Good morning,” he said in a slightly gravelly voice. He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Looking for this?”
“Thanks,” she said, catching her breath. “I just bought this one, too.”
She’d lost her last hat to the ocean when the winds had teased it from her head and tossed it to a wave, which stole it out to sea like a newly prized possession. At least the straw would break down, unlike the plastic that careless visitors left on the beach. Like many Summer Beach locals, she often carried a bag to pick up and dispose of discarded wrappers,
