"I used to live in this house," Bobby Pepper said. He was on the front porch, squinting in the morning sunshine, a baseball cap twisting in his large, callused hands. His blue work shirt was out of his tight blue jeans, but he wore a white T under it. The woman stared at him. His blonde hair was buzz cut. His large, protruding ears made him look like a twelve year old asking for a cookie.
"I'm busy," the woman said. "This is not a good time."
"I understand," Bobby Pepper said. "I'm sorry to have troubled you." He had parked around the side, out of sight. He turned around and started to walk out of her yard. She noted his broad shoulders. He seemed a lean, quick and strong young man. He had a great butt.
"Hold on," she said. "What was that again?"
Bobby turned and studied her for a moment. Her speech was slow and sleepy, which appealed to him. She was a few years past pretty, but still nice looking enough. He could still smell the bourbon and cigarettes on the morning breath that had wafted through the screen door. He shrugged.
"No big deal, ma'am. Sorry if I woke you up." And he faced away again, heading for his truck.
"How long ago was that?" the woman called. He heard her trying to clear her throat. He turned back around and grinned.
"Since I been back?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm twenty eight now," he said. "I was maybe nine or ten when I lived here."
"And you're just driving through?"
"That's right, ma'am. I was just passing through, and thought I'd take a look at her and see how much she's changed. Memories, you know?"
"I see," she said. She was still debating.
"Oh, laws. Where's my manners?" Bobby said.
He walked briskly back to the porch and up the steps. He hurriedly stuck out his hand, smacking it into the screen. They both laughed at his clumsiness. "My name is Pepper," he said. "Bobby Pepper." And then he stood there.
The woman examined him with one eyebrow raised. A slightly seductive smile appeared. "Where you live now," she asked. It was plain she didn't really care. She brushed some hair out of her eyes and waited.
"Los Angeles," Bobby said. "San Fernando Valley, actually. A little piece of it called Tarzana. Got named after Tarzan, actually. By the guy who wrote the books the movies was based on."
She laughed. "No way!
"True," he said. "Only in California, huh?"
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