The three women laughed as the blonde HOA president pulled the gate open.
The homeowner stared.
Then he placed the skimmer against the wall.
"Excuse me."
The blonde woman looked up.
Her grin widened.
"Oh, there you are."
He approached the gate.
"What are you doing?"
She adjusted her tote bag.
"Community inspection."
The homeowner looked at her swimsuit.
Then at the two women carrying towels and drinks.
"A community inspection?"
She nodded confidently.
"Exactly."
He glanced toward the maintenance notice.
"Of my private swimming pool?"
The blonde woman's expression hardened slightly.
"Don't start."
He stopped several feet away.
"You're inside my property without permission."
She laughed.
"Oh, sweetheart, we're not doing this again."
Then she pushed the gate completely open.
Her friends followed.
The woman in turquoise immediately stepped toward the water, admiring the blue mosaic tiles around the edge.
The brunette looked toward the expensive loungers beneath the patio.
"Wow," she said, laughing. "This is much nicer than the clubhouse pool."
The HOA president smiled proudly.
"Told you."
The homeowner felt his chest tighten.
"Nobody invited you here."
The blonde woman turned.
She placed her tote bag on one of his lounge chairs as though she had been using it for years.
"Relax."
He stared.
She continued.
"We're checking the condition of a recreational facility affecting the community."
He looked toward the pool.
Then back at her.
"This isn't a community facility."
She rolled her eyes.
"Here we go."
The homeowner took a slow breath.
He was forty-one years old, Black American, tall and powerfully built, with deep-brown skin, short neatly faded black hair, a carefully trimmed beard, and the solid athletic physique of a man who still spent time swimming, running, and working with his hands.
He earned his living as a water-systems engineer.