My brother is 10 years older than me and last year he retired and moved into a retirement park in Central Florida. He raved about the place and wanted all of us (4 siblings) to come and visit. This past December the snow in Montana had me depressed so I decided to make the trip to visit my brother Vince. Vince is 55 and I just turned 45. I own 9 franchised pizza and salad locations, have a great management team and can let them run themselves with little overseeing. I’m also a financial advisor and retirement specialist who helps people plan their money and post-working future. November-December are normally a time when it is slow for me and I spend much of those 2 months running checks and balances on the franchises to be sure all is on the level. I said they can run themselves, but it doesn’t mean I don’t keep an eye on things to be sure there’s no hanky-panky going on.

So off to Florida to see where my brother lived. It was a nice community and, although I expected a trailer park, it was much more. From the outside it was apparent they were manufactured homes, and nothing like converted trailers. It was quite nice.

While there, each morning I would get up and walk the streets of the park for an hour, usually 6:30 to 7:30 before Vince got up. One full trip, up and down each street and back to Vince’s took an hour and by the odometer on the rental car I had, it was a tick over 4 miles. It made for a great walk to get my day started.

I passed other folks taking their walks each day and most nodded a hello or said a quick “good morning” as we met. Some even stopped and asked if I was a new resident, and some asked what my “business was” in the park, it WAS a private community. Everyone seemed to know my brother and once I stated that fact, our resemblance made it obvious I belonged.

One particular lady I passed always flashed me a great smile and said a determined “Good Morning, have a great day” to me each day. She was attractive and wore designer outfits intended for just such sort of exercise or walking. I always thought to myself that despite her age, she was attractive, pretty in her way, and carried herself with a confidence that let you know she was a strong woman.

I asked Vince who she might be, describing her to him, and he had no idea, but if I were to point her out, he could probably identify her. I wasn’t looking to meet her or anything, she was just that attractive, I wanted to point her out to him. After a few days of meeting Vince’s friends, when I met them walking we exchanged pleasantries. On my 5th morning there while stopping and talking with a couple who lived across from Vince, I asked who the “attractive” woman was. They also had seen her and thought, like me, what a classy lady she was, but had no idea who she was.

It was on day 7 I passed this lady and changed my route to, sort of, follow her to see which address she went home to. I had no real reason to know anything about her, except, no one seemed to know who she was, yet she stood out to anyone who encountered her. She was a voracious walker, it seemed she was out before me, and as I kept close to her, changing streets and redoubling back, she went way past my usual 8:30 ending time. Finally, I saw her go up a walk and enter one of the homes on the block just behind Vince’s home. I looked her up in the local directory and found her name to be Bea Barton. Her name, Bea, (probably Beatrice) was one of those old names you hadn’t heard in years, like Gladys, Gertrude, Hortense etc, that told you without seeing them, they were aged.

The next day, my 8th of the 10 I planned, I once again passed the woman, Bea, and she greeted me as always with a good morning and after a few more steps she said, loud enough for me to hear, “after following me home, I thought you might ring my bell”.

I stopped and said “I’m sorry?” It was not an apologetic response, I just wanted to know, clearly what she said.

She smiled confidently and said “after following me home, I thought you might ring my bell”.

I flushed red and apologized, explaining I just wanted to know who she was as no one else seemed to know.

“I keep to myself, if it’s anyone business. Men who ring my bell know my name.”

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to offend or insult you.”

“Oh, you did neither. I expected you to push the door buzzer, and then maybe ring my bell.” She said as she turned and began to walk as usual.

It took me a moment to absorb what she said. A young woman making a come-on like that would have registered instantly with me and I would be in hot pursuit. But she hardly seemed the type. I didn’t move for 10 or 15 seconds and when I turned back to see if she waited for a reaction, she was a half block away. I continued my walk knowing we would meet again as she criss-crossed the streets, and I did them in line. Fifteen minutes later I was walking up a street and she turned the corner to come right past me.

Something about her intrigued me. She was so, ... classy is the word I decided on. I certainly had no interest in “eldersex”. I liked nubile bodies in my bed, and I usually dated women younger than me. If I had what you would call a “girlfriend” it was Claire back home in Montana. She was more like a friend with benefits. She was 33, divorced, no kids, and had told me many times she could make us exclusive if I were to make the commitment. At the moment, we were happy with the way things were, and she didn’t beat me over the head with a commitment stick. I knew she wouldn’t wait forever, but I still felt there were other waters to sail.

As Bea (she still hadn’t introduced herself) approached she smiled confidently and said, “I’m heading home if you would like to stop by for ... coffee.” She never slowed down her pace, she just kept walking.

I finished that block and headed toward her street, still unsure of either her, or my, intentions.

I walk up her drive and went to the side door and pressed the welcome button to hear a distinct buzzer, not a bell. That, to me, clarified what she meant earlier.

She answered her door in the clothes she walked in, saying only, “I’m so glad you stopped, my name is Bea. Yours is?”

“I’m Nick,” I said. “My brother Vince lives here.”

“I’m familiar with Vince, never met him, but know who he is. I see him at shareholder meetings. Please come sit for coffee, even though I have none made.” She said showing me a little nook with 2 short pews on either side. We sat opposite each other and she began to tell me her story. She had been married for a few years, it didn’t work out, but did well in the divorce, she had given up a fashion career to marry, she had lived in Florida for 24 years, 10 of those where we sat. “I lead a quiet life here, enjoy walking, taking day trips to see shows, and an occasional trip to New York or Boston for a play. I do have hobbies, though.” She was saying but at the word “hobbies” her socked foot settled high inside my thigh.