When I walk out of my bedroom the next morning Janeen comes over to me with a glass of orange juice – what I always started my day with as a kid – but I barely notice as she places it in my hand because I am too busy gawking at the incredible view from the second-story living room of my house.
My house.
“Oh my god,” I murmur, walking over to sliding open the glass door that leads to an expansive back deck. Janeen comes with me, smirking a little, as we both look over the silent ocean that seems to stretch for miles in front of us. “Is this…is this a private beach?” I breathe.
“It’s supposed to be,” Janeen says with a little sigh. “But you can’t really stop people from walking up and down it. Nor would I want to – the beach belongs to everyone, not just Mr. Lippert.”
I give Janeen a lit
