Page 24 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

"The primary closet is finished, the bathrooms are stocked, your bed has fresh linens, and dinner menus are on the counter."

"Dinner menus?"

Zaire rubbed his neck.

"I may have canceled the chef for tonight."

"You did?"

"I figured our first night deserved something less scheduled."

"What are you thinking?"

He took out his phone.

"Thai."

I made a face.

"No."

"Sushi."

"No."

"Mexican?"

"Closer."

He kept looking through the options.

"Wings?"

I grinned.

"Now you're speaking my language.”

About twenty minutes later, we sat barefoot in the family room. The coffee table was covered with takeout: hot lemon-pepper wings, loaded fries, and a basket of fried pickles. I drank sweet tea, and Zaire had a beer.

The TV was on in the background, but neither of us was really watching.

"So," he asked between bites. "How'd the neighborhood tour go?"

I found myself smiling.

"I actually like them."

"I knew you would."

"They're funny."

"They seem nosey."

"They admitted that."

He laughed.

"I told you this place was different."