Page 41 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

I shook my head and reached for the lemon slices I’d set out on a paper towel. That lemon tree in the backyard really came in handy.

Most of the afternoon, I tried to act like I wasn’t nervous. It was only a neighborhood gathering with a few women and some food. Still, my stomach tightened every time I checked the clock.

I changed clothes more than once. I even thought about buying a cake instead of baking one. Then I opened the old recipe tin from the office box and found the card tucked in the back.

The edges were worn from years of use. One corner was darkened by a faint grease stain. The handwriting curled across the page in faded blue ink.

Three sticks of butter.

Six eggs.

Fresh lemon juice.

Never bottled.

I didn’t need the card. I knew the recipe by heart. Some things stick with you, even after you stop making them.

Zaire leaned against the island and watched me arrange the lemon slices over the glaze.

“You sure you’re not trying to impress them?”

“I’m trying not to embarrass myself.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes.”

He nodded toward the cake.

“Not with that.”

I adjusted one of the slices.

“It’s their thing. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

“You weren’t invited to compete.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I looked at him, and he smiled. This time, it wasn’t a teasing smile.

“I know you’ve been walking around here all day like you’re preparing for an exam.”

“I just want them to like me.”

I said it before I could stop myself. His face softened.

“They already do, Maci.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know most of these people.”

“No you don’t.”

“I sell houses to these people.”