Chapter Two
Maci
On our first morning in Lemon Grove Estates, the only sounds were the birds. There was no traffic, no sirens, and no loud music before eight. Just the birds.
I woke up to birds singing outside my window, and sunlight drawing pale golden lines across the ceiling. For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then I noticed the smell of fresh paint. I looked around and saw a stack of unopened boxes by the wall. My shoes sat by the door, still in the plastic bag from our old place. One of Zaire’s suitcases had fallen over during the night, so three shirts and a pair of socks were on the floor.
Moving always made even nice things seem out of place. I turned and saw Zaire asleep next to me, his arm resting on my pillow. His face looked peaceful, which didn’t happen much during the day. His phone was on the nightstand. Somehow, he hadn’t touched it for almost seven hours.
I slipped out from under the covers and picked up my robe from the bench at the end of the bed. The hardwood floor felt cool under my feet.
I paused by the window before leaving the room. From upstairs, I could see nearly the whole cul-de-sac.
Morning sunlight reached over the lawns and driveways.
Sprinklers moved back and forth, leaving a mist on the grass.
A man in a navy shirt walked a small white dog by the entrance.
Two women in matching workout clothes hurried down the sidewalk, talking and gesturing, as if they had already done more before breakfast than most people do all day.
I pulled my robe tighter and looked at the house across from ours. Camille’s curtains were open, but I didn’t see her. That should have made me feel better, but it didn’t.
I stepped away from the window before I started to look like a strange neighbor.
Downstairs, the house was quiet. Boxes filled the foyer, stacked neatly by the movers, but there were so many it hardly made a difference.
The dining room felt more like a storage unit.
The living room furniture was set up, but nothing was arranged.
The big white sofa sat in the center, with plastic still on two cushions.
I walked into the kitchen and stopped. Even with all the boxes, it looked beautiful.
A marble island stood in the middle of the room, with space for six people to sit comfortably.
Brass pendant lights hung above. The cabinets almost reached the ceiling and were painted a warm cream color, making the space feel softer.
The built-in refrigerator matched the cabinets, and the range looked like it belonged in a restaurant.
Zaire loved the kitchen when we first saw the house. I hadn’t paid much attention to it then. Now, I did.
Maybe it was the morning light. Maybe I was finally letting myself see what we had bought, instead of just thinking about what it meant.
I rested both hands on the island. This place was ours. The idea felt strange, not in a bad way, just heavier than I expected.
I looked at the pantry door. I needed coffee.
I opened the box labeled KITCHEN and pushed aside dish towels, a roll of shelf liner, and three glass containers before I found the coffee filters. The coffee maker was already on the counter, still wrapped in foam.
I spent the next ten minutes searching through boxes for everything else I needed.
By the time I found everything, the kitchen was messier than when I started.
I plugged the coffee maker into an outlet by the small alcove near the pantry. It felt like the perfect spot. The thought came so easily that I paused, my hand on the counter.
I looked at the alcove. It was clearly meant to be a coffee station. There were outlets, open shelves, and a narrow drawer underneath. Putting the coffee maker there just made sense.
I turned away to fill the water reservoir. The machine started brewing with a quiet hiss, and soon the smell of coffee filled the kitchen.
I poured a cup and walked over to the glass doors that looked out onto the backyard.
Since we didn’t have patio furniture yet, I stood by the door and sipped my coffee. The small lemon tree by the fence moved gently in the breeze.
I tried not to look at the tree. Then I heard footsteps behind me and turned around. Zaire came into the kitchen in gray sweatpants, his eyes barely open.
“You made coffee without me?” he asked.
“You were sleeping.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
“I guess a new house means new habits.” He walked over and took the mug from my hand. I watched him take a sip.
“You know we own more than one cup.”
“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?”
“The staff.” I lowered my mug.
“What staff?” He looked at me like we had already talked about this.
“We talked about this, Maci,” he said, sighing.
“No, you talked. I just listened while I was packing.”
“That still counts.”
Another knock sounded. I set my coffee on the island.
“What exactly did you arrange?”
“Housekeeping twice a week, lawn care, pool maintenance when the pool is finished, and a cook.”
I looked at him like he had lost his mind.
“A cook?”
“More like a meal-prep service.”
“That is not the same thing you just said.”
“It’s a cook who prepares meals.”
“Zaire.”
“You said you wanted settling in to be easy.”
“I meant I didn’t want to argue over where the sofa went.”
“And now you don’t have to argue over dinner.”
The knock came again, quieter this time. I shook my head and walked to the foyer.
“You enjoy spending money too much.”
“I enjoy spending money on things that make our lives easier.”
“Same thing.”
“It absolutely is not.”
I opened the door.
A woman stood on the porch, holding a leather portfolio close to her chest. She looked to be in her early fifties, with smooth brown skin and a neat bob streaked with silver. Her calm expression made it clear she had met plenty of wealthy people before and was not impressed.
Next to her was a younger woman holding a basket full of cleaning supplies, folded cloths, and fresh white towels.
“Good morning,” the older woman said. “You must be Mrs. Graham.”
“Maci is fine.” I gave her a polite smile.
“I’m Bernice Cole. I oversee household services for several homes in Lemon Grove Estates.”
Of course she did. This neighborhood even had its own household services.
“Come in.”
She stepped inside, followed by the younger woman.
“This is my niece, Laila. She’ll be assisting me today while we get everything organized.”
Laila smiled.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
Zaire appeared behind me.
“Bernice.”
“Mr. Graham.”
They greeted each other like people who had met before.
I looked between them.
“How long have you two been planning my life?” Zaire placed a hand against his chest.
“Yooo, that sounded so dramatic.”
“It was meant to.”
Bernice’s smile deepened slightly.
“Mr. Graham wanted the transition to be as smooth as possible.”
“So, he says.”
Bernice opened her portfolio.
“I suggest we start with the kitchen, main bedroom, and linen closets since families usually need those areas right away. After we unpack everything, we can adjust things to fit your preferences.”
She mentioned my preferences, and hearing that should have made me feel in control. But when I saw the mountain of boxes behind me, I almost hugged her.
“That sounds perfect.”
“Good. We’ll start upstairs.”
She turned toward the staircase but stopped. She looked up at the second floor, then back at me.
Her expression changed for a moment. It could have been recognition or maybe concern. I wasn’t sure.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Of course.”
She replied a little too quickly and tucked the portfolio under her arm.
“This is just a beautiful home.”
I waited quietly, but she didn’t say anything else. Laila followed her up the stairs, and I listened until their footsteps faded upstairs.
Zaire went back to the kitchen, and I stayed by the front door. Not long after, a black SUV slowed down in front of our house.
The driver lifted one hand from the wheel and waved. Without thinking, I waved back.
Before the SUV reached the curve in the cul-de-sac, another neighbor stepped onto her porch with a watering can. She saw me and smiled, as if she had been waiting for this moment.
“Good morning!” she called across the street.