Last week I told you about feeling like a Bond girl at the Sheraton’s vintage pyramid hotel, with its ruby red carpets and gold-trimmed chairs. A few of you said you wanted to see what I was talking about.
So here it is—the beach where I pretend to be mysterious and important while drinking pink things with umbrellas. Judge for yourself whether the Bond girl fantasy holds up in broad daylight.
Want more? Paid subscribers get exclusive Moon Witch short stories (with audio versions), Twila’s spells and poetry, craft essays on writing love scenes that don’t make you cringe, and Night Letters—where I’m more honest about the hard stuff.
It’s worth it. I promise.
