Chapter Two

The light of the next day did wonders to banish Eliza’s misapprehensions. As though the golden morning rays swept away the shadows. It helped that they had plenty to occupy them as the world was transformed by the rising of the sun.

She and Mason were setting up the detached studio as a shared office. There was plenty of space, and working remotely was one of the primary reasons for abandoning big city living.

They’d been existing paycheck to paycheck in San Diego. Treading water without getting anywhere before something had to give.

And honestly, neither of them would miss the climbing rental prices, crime rates, and horrendous traffic.

“We should position your desk facing south, love.” Mason suggested, slicking back his dark hair. “The spectacular vistas would only distract me.”

He wore faded jeans and a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, given the labor ahead, but looked no less handsome for the rugged garb. Eliza watched him lug boxes and furniture, marveling at his lean musculature and roguish good looks.

A sheen of perspiration already polished his coppery skin; summer in Texas didn’t pull any punches. The day warmed quickly, and she fought the urge to fan herself like a fainting southern belle.

“Have you noticed how the house is laid out to face the water as much as possible?” She asked instead. “Floor-to-ceiling picture windows and glass doors on the south end?”

“Makes sense when you consider the lakeside view.” Mason shrugged, his broad shoulders bunching. “What’s special about the front yard? Nothing out there but a boring lawn, flower gardens, and the street. Smart developers will always capitalize on the natural beauty of the region.”

He should know. As a market analyst, Mason’s job predisposed him to interpreting the world through the lens of someone with something to sell.

As an internet psychic of some repute, Eliza held a different perspective.

She saw everything in a blending of holistic hues. Emotions and possibilities. Never clear. Always undefined. Yet with experience and effort, she could tease a thread from the infinite tangle of existence to glimpse a particle of the grand design.

To Eliza, their new home felt like one piece of a vast, intricate circuit—its purpose unknown. A single tile in a larger mosaic that hadn’t yet revealed its image—but the colors were strange, the patterns irregular, and she couldn’t shake the sense that something ran under it all.

Still, in the daylight, with songbirds in the trees and the scent of fresh-cut grass on the breeze, those thoughts receded. Mason’s optimism was like gravity—anchoring her, steadying her.

“We’re going to make this work,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “We’ve got time. We’ve got each other. We’ve even got central air. This could actually be nice.”

She smiled, genuinely. “It could, couldn’t it?”

Then came the chime of the doorbell.

Eliza blinked, glancing toward the house. “Expecting anyone?”

“Nope.”

They exchanged a look.

“Let’s go meet the neighbors,” Mason said, wiping his palms on his jeans.

“Whoever they may be,” Eliza murmured

.The sound of laughter reached them before they reached the front yard. Mason paused, blinking into the warm Texas sunlight. The narrow strip of lawn in front of their house had been transformed. A long folding table draped in pink gingham cloth stood beneath a white gazebo. On it, crystal pitchers of lemonade glistened with condensation, flanked by platters of tea sandwiches, pies, and pastel-frosted cupcakes.

The residents of Cedar Point Estates had turned out in ****.

Most were women. Beautiful women. Tall and curvy, or petite and prim—each was coiffed to perfection, as if they'd stepped out of a Sears catalog. They wore bright sundresses with cinched waists, wide belts, and peep-toe heels that sank lightly into the turf. Salon styled hair–ironed curls and victory rolls–framed faces locked into radiant, symmetrical smiles.

Very few men dotted the gathering. They stood on the periphery—quiet and neatly pressed, watching the proceedings like distant relatives at a wedding. Loafers polished. Shirts tucked. Hands folded politely. Grinning amicably.

“Well, hi there!” Called one of the women, waving a gloved hand. “Everyone, they’re here!”

The chorus of greetings swelled like a school musical.

Eliza stiffened beside Mason, her fingers twitching before she smoothed them over the front of her dusty Disneyland t-shirt, feeling underdressed. She plastered on a polite smile as her heart climbed into her throat.

Tammy Gresham emerged from the crowd like a debutante at a ball, elegantly attired in a navy vintamour A-line dress that snuggled her classic hourglass figure and tall pumps. She beamed from beneath a wide-brimmed sun hat.

“There they are! Our newest neighbors!” she announced, sweeping towards them with open arms. “Y’all didn’t think we’d let you settle in without a proper welcome, did you?”

Mason laughed, a little nervously. “We weren’t expecting—uh, this.”

“Well, surprise!” Tammy chimed, taking his arm and guiding him towards the crowd. Eliza frowned but tagged along. “Just a little Southern hospitality. We like to keep things warm and sweet around here. Like honey on fresh-baked cornbread.”

The ladies tittered on cue.

A statuesque blonde with candy-apple lipstick handed Mason a glass of lemonade and plucked invisible lint from his shoulder. “You’re even cuter in daylight,” she said with a wink.

“Um, thanks?”

A slender brunette, not much older than Eliza, looped her arm around his and leaned in conspiratorially. “You do anything handy, Mason? We’ve all got plenty of jobs that need a man’s touch.”

“What about these other guys?” He flushed, chuckling as he glanced at Eliza. “They look like a capable bunch.”

The gaggle of ladies giggled and the menfolk guffawed as though Mason had said something amusing.

“Don’t bring us into this!” A burly middle-aged fellow catcalled. “The missus badgers me enough as it is.”

Eliza didn’t laugh. She was scanning the crowd, trying to place the unease coiling in her gut.

The women were too perfect. Too poised. Not a smudge of mascara out of place. Not a crooked tooth among them. Their laughter seemed… timed. Their greetings too rehearsed.

The men, meanwhile, had returned to standing like lamp posts with idle hands and empty stares, nodding occasionally but saying little.

“Don’t you two make the dearest couple?” Tammy purred, slipping an arm around Eliza’s shoulder. Her perfume smelled of night-blooming jasmine.

Eliza pulled away slightly. “This was very thoughtful. But you didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

“Oh, hush now, honey.” Tammy said, her tone light. “You’re family here. Everyone pitches in. We believe in building a tight-knit community, one casserole at a time.”

Eliza's eyes flicked to the tables—indeed, most of the food appeared homemade. Pies with lattice crusts. Deviled eggs sprinkled with paprika. Finger sandwiches arranged like spokes on a wheel. It all seemed too... curated.

Her spider senses were tingling like a five-alarm fire.

“We wanted to help you get settled,” Tammy went on. “It’s important to put down roots. Deep ones. You’ll see—Moorfield grows on you.”

Eliza smiled thinly. “I bet it does.”

Like mold on cheese, she didn’t add.

Behind them, Mason was laughing—genuinely this time—as one of the women offered him a slice of hummingbird cake. The blonde feeding it to him laughed, too, holding the small plate above the prominent shelf of her cleavage and tilting her pretty head just so. A voluptuous redhead with a frilly apron tied around her waspish waist brushed his arm with a lingering hand as she passed.

They were circling him like man-eating butterflies.

Or a bunch of **** housewives.

Eliza’s jaw tensed.

Tammy followed her gaze and patted her arm. “Oh, don’t worry, hon. The girls like to make newcomers feel special. And Mason’s such a catch! If I were ten years younger—” she sighed wistfully.

“Well, you’re not. “ Eliza feigned a smile that resembled a rictus grin, ignoring the sharp look Tammy shot her.

She felt like a guest at her own funeral.

“Mmm, that’s delicious,” Mason said, swallowing a mouthful of peach cobbler. “But I couldn't possibly eat another bite.”

The knockout blonde feeding him–what was her name again… Darcy? Marcy?–beamed in delight at his praise. She’d pressed in close, too close, practically painted her busty self against his side.

The other ladies weren’t much better. Shoving and jostling each other, vying for his attention with offerings of home-cooked tidbits for Mason to sample.

“You must try my banana pudding. Won the blue ribbon at the county fair three years running.” Crooned the chestnut-haired beauty plastered to his other side. Her trim, yoga-fit body docked firmly against him as she raised a heaped spoon to his lips. “Say ‘ahhh.’”

“Ahhh~...”

Mason opened his mouth and accepted the spoonful of pudding, velvety and sweet with a hint of vanilla. He gave a pleased hum, which sent a ripple of giggles through the circle of women surrounding him.

“Goodness, you’re so precious,” purred the housewife holding the spoon. Her fingers lingered at the edge of his lips, dabbing a nonexistent crumb with a napkin. Her perky bosom squished against his arm, firm and warm and far too close for casual acquaintance.

He couldn’t remember her name either—Linda? Maybe Lana? They had all introduced themselves so quickly, and with such brilliant, dazzling smiles, the names blurred like watercolors.

Behind him, the redhead in a polka-dot dress massaged his shoulders and leaned in close. “You really are too polite,” she said in a lazy drawl. “A man like you could make a girl swoon.”

“I already did,” laughed the tall blonde. “Didn’t you see me trip over the sprinkler earlier? Entirely your fault, sugar.”

The others chuckled, arranging themselves artfully around him like flower petals drawn toward sunlight. Each one was immaculate: lip gloss gleaming, eyes alight with something that could be mistaken for hunger.

Mason laughed along, flattered and off-balance, glancing at the lemonade in his glass if only to give himself somewhere to look that wasn't a low-cut neckline.

“I’m starting to feel a little overwhelmed here,” he said. “Don’t your, uh… partners mind you all smothering the new guy?”

The response was instant. A ripple passed through the group—not panic, exactly, but a momentary stutter in the discussion. A blink too long.

“Partners?” Repeated the redhead, as though he’d spoken in riddles.

“You know,” Mason said, chuckling nervously. “Husbands? Boyfriends?”

“Ohhh,” Probably Marcy gasped, tapping an elegant finger to her chin. “He means our men, girls!”

That set them all laughing again, high and lilting.

“Well, bless your heart,” said the stunning brunette who’d fed Mason earlier. Lana, he decided. “Most of our men are absent a lot. Business trips, conferences, trade shows…”

“Oil rigs, consulting, real estate development,” another piped up.

“So boring,” Marcy sighed dramatically, twirling a golden strand of hair. “Always gone, always on the phone, always tired when they come home.”

“They don’t understand the importance of community like we do,” added the redhead. “That’s why we look out for each other. Keep things running on track.”

Mason chortled, but something about the way she’d said ‘we’ sounded decidedly loaded.

“Well, I hope to meet them sometime,” he said, keeping his tone easy. “You know, bust out the grill, watch a game, talk shop.”

Mason didn’t own a grill or follow sports, but it felt like the right thing to say.

More tittering followed, but this time it seemed slightly relieved. Another of the neighbourhood beauties reached for his glass and topped it off with a distracting wink.

“You’re too kind,” she cooed. “We’ll be sure to let our husbands know you’re eager for some male bonding… whenever they’re… back in town.”

The emphasis in her tone left no doubt: they wouldn’t be back anytime soon.

Before Mason could reply, the curvy redhead took his hand, guiding him toward the folding chairs set in the shade of an old oak tree. A second bite of cobbler appeared before his lips. Someone fluffed a napkin into his lap, delicate fingers feathered his inner thigh.

And just like that, the conversation drifted elsewhere—returning to harmless flirtations and more proffering of baked goods, their brief moment of hesitation smoothed over by old-fashioned southern charm.

Mason was beginning to think this whole small-town living thing might not be so bad after all.

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