A summer evening alone with Tommy LeBelle means it’s time to pop in that old VHS copy of Point Break. Images pierce the lemon-zest static: breaking waves of peach and melon, beeswax surfboards, and savory saline breezes. Vanilla flickering fireflies, the distant sound of a lawnmower, acacia-carved bracelets, and honey-dipped temptation whenever he leans close. You usually wouldn’t make the first move, but no one’s home, the almond-flower air is intoxicating—and if Reaves, Swayze, and the boys can soar from the open hatch of a dual-propeller plane, so can you.
