Page 42 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

I rolled my eyes. He moved closer and put his hands on my waist.

“You moved here less than a week ago, and you already have plans, group chats, morning walks, and women bringing you iced coffee. I think you’re doing fine.”

I looked down at his shirt.

“What if I don’t fit in?”

He lifted my chin.

“Then they can be the ones to adjust.”

I smiled.

“You make everything sound simple.”

“Most things are.”

“No, they aren’t.”

“Fine. Most things are easier when you stop giving everybody else the power to decide who you are.”

My smile faded a little. He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he noticed and just didn’t say anything.

Instead, he kissed my forehead.

“Go let them eat your revenge cake.”

I nudged him away.

“Stop calling it that.”

“You’ll thank me when somebody flips a table.”

“Nobody is flipping a table over pound cake.”

He glanced toward the cooling rack.

“We’ll see.”

By six thirty, the cake was completely cool.

I set it on a white ceramic stand, covered it with a glass dome, and tied a yellow ribbon around the base. In the kitchen lights, it looked almost too perfect.

It looked more like something to show off than something to eat.

I put on a pale green wrap dress, added gold hoop earrings, and fixed my lip gloss twice.

Zaire stood in the bedroom doorway, watching me.

“Get out of your head.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve reapplied the same lip gloss three times.”

“Twice.”

“Either way.”