The water was clean and still bright turquoise under the afternoon sun. He set his towel on a lounge chair and pulled his t-shirt over his head. That was when Natalie saw him. She was standing on the far side of the pool deck holding a glass of white wine talking to two other women. Her blonde hair was pulled back.
She wore a white sundress and gold sandals. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. Her eyes locked onto Bryant, a black man she had never seen before, shirtless in old swim trunks. Standing at the edge of the pool she had always envied and now treated as her own. Her smile disappeared.
She set her wine glass on the table and walked toward him. Her heels clicked against the pool deck. Each step was deliberate. Each step was louder than the last. "Excuse me."
Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. "This is a private event. This pool has been reserved for our community party." Bryant looked at her. "I know.
I live here." Natalie tilted her head. Her eyes traveled from his sandals to his swim trunks to the hole in his t-shirt draped over the chair. She almost laughed. "You live here?"
It wasn't a question. It was a verdict. "Yes, ma'am." "This house belongs to Harold Ashford. I've known him for 3 years."
She crossed her arms. "So, let me ask you again. Who are you?" "I'm the homeowner." Natalie did laugh this time.
A short sharp sound that made three nearby guests turn their heads. "The homeowner, right?" She looked at the women she'd been talking to. "Did you hear that? He says he's the homeowner."
One of the women covered her mouth. The other looked away. Bryant didn't react. He reached for the pool railing and put one foot on the first step. Natalie moved in front of him.
She was close enough that he could smell her perfume. Something floral and expensive. The kind of scent that announced itself before the person wearing it. "I asked you a question." Her voice dropped low.
"You don't just walk into someone's home and use their pool. Not here. Not today." "I'm not walking into someone's home," Bryant's voice was steady. "I'm walking into mine."
Natalie's jaw tightened. She pulled out her phone and held it up. Camera aimed at Bryant's face. The shutter clicked twice. "What are you doing?"
He asked. "Documenting," she typed quickly with her thumbs, then turned the screen so the women behind her could see. "I just posted to the HOA group chat." "Unknown man claiming to be the homeowner, possible trespasser at the Fourth of July party. Stay alert."