Tourism in Los Angeles
"You're sure you don't want a hat?" Violet squinted from under the brim of hers as Peggy slipped on her sunglasses.
"I didn't need one for two months in North Africa," she started, but stopped herself. It never came off well, unless among her own boys. Violet was already looking uncertain, and uncomfortable, to bring up the war again. It was done with, and nobody wanted to think about it much. Peggy smiled. "That's a bit of a fib. But I tan rather well. That 'English rose' nonsense was never for me."
"Well!" Violet smiled, with such enthusiasm that Peggy could see why Sousa would like her so much, her straightforward joy and sweetness without backstory. "You're going to love Venice Beach! The boardwalk is pretty shabby, but in a really fun way, you know?"
Peggy's heart constricted only a little at the word; Coney Island fluttered at the back of her head, before she exhaled and let it pass. "Smashing," she said, and tugged open the door of the sedan.