Page 4 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

"They are. We were all surprised when we heard you'd be moving into the neighborhood this time instead of selling another house here."

I looked at Zaire. He gave me the same smile he always did when someone mentioned work.

"We figured it was time to stop helping everybody else find their dream home."

"And you certainly picked a good one." Camille turned toward the house behind me. "This one has always been one of my favorites."

Always. The way she said it made my stomach twist.

She wasn’t looking at the porch, but past it, as if she saw something I couldn’t. Or maybe I was just imagining it.

Sometimes, trauma made even normal moments feel suspicious.

"I think you're going to love living here," she continued. "The family who lived here before you loved entertaining. This house has always had a lot of life in it."

I squeezed Zaire’s hand just enough for him to notice. He brushed his thumb over my knuckles, and we didn’t say anything. He didn’t know everything, but he understood enough.

"I hope we can do it justice," I said. Camille smiled again.

"I'm sure you will."

One of the movers walked up the driveway carrying a large, framed mirror.

"Mrs. Graham, where do you want this?" I turned toward him.

"Just inside the front door is fine."

He nodded and carried the mirror inside. When I glanced back, I noticed Camille watching me. She didn’t seem rude, just curious.

"You have one of those faces that looks familiar."

We stood in silence for a moment before I smiled.

"I get that a lot." That was true.

"Well," she said, lifting the cake stand toward me, "every Thursday night, a group of us gets together for wine and lemon pound cake. We call ourselves the Lemon Pound Cake Club."

"I'd love for you to join us next week."

I accepted the cake and tried to keep my hands steady.

"Thank you. I'd love to."

"I have a feeling you're going to fit in beautifully."

Her certainty made my stomach turn. She turned, walked back across the street, and gave a quick wave before going inside her house.

Zaire and I stayed quiet until her front door closed.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly.

I kept watching the house across the street.

After a moment, I finally answered.

"I think..."

I glanced down at the lemon pound cake in my hands, then looked back at Camille’s front door.