Page 8 of Lemon Pound Cake Club

“This one was already ready,” he said with a wink. I reached for it, but he held it out of reach. I narrowed my eyes. He smiled and wrapped his free arm around my waist, pulling me close.

“How did you sleep last night?”

“Better than I expected,” I replied.

“Sounds good to me.” He kissed my forehead and looked around the kitchen. Even half asleep, he seemed content. Zaire loved houses. For him, it wasn’t just about selling them. He cared about how they were built and what they could become. He liked seeing one family leave and another move in to make the place their own.

To him, houses meant new beginnings. I still wasn’t sure what they meant to me.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, what?”

“First morning in our new place. How does it feel?” I looked out the glass doors again at the fence that separated us from neighbors I hadn’t met yet.

“Quiet.”

“You say that as if you don’t trust it.”

“That I’m still deciding.”

He handed my coffee back.

“We can go back to the city noise whenever you miss it,” he said with a smile.

“I didn’t say I missed it.”

“You didn’t say you liked this either.” I took another sip of coffee.

“I like the kitchen.”

He grinned.

“I knew that island would get you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I rolled my eyes at him.

“You’re already mentally in your head decorating all this.”

“I’m mentally trying to figure out why we own thirty-seven boxes labeled kitchen.”

“Because you refuse to throw anything away.”

“No, I threw away plenty.”

“You moved an unopened waffle maker we haven’t used since we got married.”

“It was a wedding gift from people we don’t speak to.”

“That doesn’t make it less of a gift.” He laughed and leaned on the island.

We stood together for a few minutes in the middle of the mess, drinking our coffee and taking it all in.

Someone knocked on the front door. Zaire glanced toward the foyer.

“That was fast.” He looked at me, curious.

“What was?”