Alex and I met Barb and Ben, the four of us lagging behind the others on a Monterey bird walk. “Anne and Alex, Barb and Ben, Birding Team AA and Birding Team BB,” as Alex phrased it. The ranger’s expertise was impressive, I suppose, but her bird jokes made the event fun for us not-ornithologists.

Why does a stork stand on one leg? If he lifts it, he’ll fall over.

The four of us walked, me beside Ben, and Alex beside Barb, AB and BA, in my husband’s parlance. Ben and I had jobs in personnel, me more into workplace discrimination, him, leadership development. Our spouses worked in finance. It’s fun to bird-walk with someone who knows what you do.

After the ranger’s call for environmental stewardship, the four of us decided to go for coffee. “We found this little place over by the bike rentals. You’ll love it, Anne, how they do the lattes.” Barb’s suggestion.

From that came a rendezvous where the guys could keep an eye on the playoffs. Our table a corner one — Ben and me getting the benches along the wall — was why the two of us touched knees.

And from that came a restaurant where we girls could wear something nice. “Totally casual, you know, but I packed pearls, just in case. You did, too, Anne? What fun!” The place was so great that we kissed both guys afterward.

More fundamentally in common was not having kids. Barb and I had this conversation early, as girls can read each other. Same as our results, Barb’s and Ben’s exams found nothing out of whack, just maybe the propensity of sperm and egg to miss their rendezvous.

When I joked to Barb -- it best not to let it get you down -- “At least no hassle about contraceptives,” she came back with, “which has its own advantages.” Girl-talk.

When the four of us parted ways, agreeing that meeting each other had been great, Alex kissed Barb goodbye, and Ben, me. I’d probably not have noticed how close she’d been to my husband’s mouth if her husband hadn’t been the same with me.

The travel feature on Todos Santos said the place was less booked after Christmas, a small plus for those of us without kids. Foreign, but they take dollars. Very safe.

“Let’s see if Barb and Ben are interested,” I told Alex. “Split a condo, maybe.”

Barb got back right away. They’d love to. We’d have a ball. Kick back. Maybe try a bird walk, us being old hands at it. Work on our tans. Our husbands’ turn to choose dinner, grill up some local catch. Our turn, a place with strolling mariachis.

In reuniting, everybody kissed. Well, not between the guys, of course, and not with our spouses. Alex’s kiss was so sweet that I pushed up against him to make it longer. The other two seemed equally pleased. We girls pick up on this sort of thing.

Condos being close quarters, I could later hear the thumping from the other room and I supposed they heard the same from ours.

Next morning, figuring I’m up before the others, I go to make coffee. Not that I’m not dressed, but it’s one of Alex’s tees, and how am I to know that Ben’s already in the kitchen? As for a morning kiss; it’s what you do when you’re living with somebody A new kitchen’s always a challenge, me squeezing against his back in search of the filters. They’re behind the toaster.

A bonus to our looking left by a previous guest: in the back of the top shelf, an almost-full box of chocolate-covered nuts. I said they might be spoiled, but Ben thought not and tried one to see. Perfectly good, so I ate one as well.

What’s plugged in where requires some switching, as I don’t want to brew our coffee on top of the microwave. I can’t be sure where his eyes are when I bend over to change the plugs, but so what? We’re housemates.

Midway in all of it, Barb appears, like me, not dressed to go out. “And look who just woke up,” she laughs when my husband at last presents himself, kissing him good morning, her hand behind his head.

“How ‘bout helping me peel some fruit,” Barb asks him, and then to all of us, “Kitchen Teams AB and BA, how we’ll do it.”

Made sense to me. If everything were AA and BB, it wouldn’t be much of a vacation.

You can look at her, Alex, I’d like to say, him trying to appear not to be looking at Barb’s sway. If we just noticed the one we saw at home, we’d hardly notice anything.

Todos Santos is reputed for its sea turtles. They mate in the water and the mommas return to the shore to lay their eggs. If you’re lucky, you can watch the newborns crack out. We each have our husband behind us when we start watching a baby head for the sea, but by the time it finds the water, who we’re watching with has changed.

From there we do our own bird walk, Ben and me, the reunited Birding Team AB in the lead, BA somewhere behind. To not startle a pair of crows flapping their wings at each other, Ben holds my shoulders to keep me motionless.

When Team BA catches up, they’ve seen a pair of pelicans do the same, and done likewise.

Leather goods being a bargain, and me needing a purse, Ben, a belt, off the two of us go. As I help him put on his purchase, they probably think me to be his wife, tucking the free end into a loop. It feels chic to exit the shop, a snazzy bag on one arm, my other arm on his.

Catching me eying at a camisole in a postage-stamp-sized shop, Ben says I should try it on. As the place lacks a dressing room, I try it on the back and he’s the curtain, facing away. Not sure that he does that, but it’s fun.

“You look great,” as he pays without asking me.

I’d not so often pull myself against his arm if it weren’t for the sidewalk. I know he doesn’t mind, by how he holds his arm as we inspect statuary in which we’ve no interest.

When we meet up with the others, Barb on Alex much as I’m on Ben. “Ben’s quite the shopper, isn’t he?” notes Barb. “Alex helped me buy these shorts. Place like this, anybody could see us trying things on if it weren’t for our guys.”

We all agree it would be fun to hit that bar with the oldies band. To make the outing seem more exotic, we girls wear red lipstick and a rose in our hair.

“Wooly Bully,” according to Ben, was actually a US hit by a Mexican band.

As for “Besame Mucho,” “Clear the way for Dancing Team AA with four left feet,” I warn Barb and Ben in mid-floor, to which Barb responds, “Four right ones for BB. AB and BA would balance us better.”

Two lefts now dancing with two rights don’t resolve the footwork, but the song makes us dance close -- every girl knows what that means -- and of course at the end we have to do a besame mucho. As Ben’s makes me feel sexy, I practice my Spanish R sound where you flick your tongue.

Come time to leave, I offer Ben the remainder of my margarita, a smudge of red on the glass, and Barb has Alex finish her Sex on the Beach.

Before heading to our rooms, we share another besame mucho. Barb backed against the wall by Alex, and me against the doorframe by Ben. It’s like in a Latin romance.

The thumpings afterward are more than those of the night before.

I park myself under an umbrella and open an Amish romance, the cover, a virtuous-looking girl in a white bonnet. An Amish woman surely hadn’t written the thing, but no matter.

“Good book?” It’s Ben, sitting himself beside me.

“It’s about the Amish. They do better at farming than my brother with his John Deere.”

“Lots of kids to help,” the type of remark that I find generally thoughtless, but less so from one also in Alex’s and my situation.

“They out-produce us -- well, of course, us, but I mean all of us -- because if there’s some medical problem, the wife can up her chances by sleeping with someone else. Against their rules, of course, but what they do,”

“Is this in that book?”

“You’ve got to read between the lines. Everybody knows, but it’s a closed community. I read another one where her husband’s sister is married to her brother and the four of them go to Florida by bus. It just said when the stars came out, they threw care to the wind, except it also said that when leaving, they had to sort out whose bonnet ended up in which room.”