Each private beach was marked by a little gate and a sign with the owner's name. The gate required a key, but was easily hop-able--more of a formality than attempt to keep anyone out. At least for Frodo. After all, he was the one being caged in.
Still, he'd encountered very few trespassers, and usually boys up to no good. They tended to bolt at first sight, before Frodo even got the key out of his pocket.
His eyes narrowed on the blonde head in the water as he passed through the gate and crossed the sand. It was a warm, windy day, and the height on the waves was good for surfing--not that he did that much these days. He could hardly remember the last time he'd brought his board.
Frodo plopped his heavy belongings onto the sand in a heap and began to separate them one at a time. The blanket came first. Then the chair. And then he paused for a while, lifting his hands to his hips, and waiting for the girl to reach the shore.