Chapter 2

Chapter Two

I am trapped in a spiral of memories from yesterday afternoon. Images of the refreshing pool water flash through my mind. I felt so free and… good , surrounded by weightlessness. Shameful thoughts, I know. But that’s how I feel.

The mysterious Mr. King won’t leave my thoughts, either. I can’t get his deep voice and its timbre out of my head. Then there’s how he spoke to me—no, flirted with me. It was almost cheeky and yet somehow charming.

As I prepare dinner for Thomas and our daughter, my thoughts briefly wander to Mr. King’s pronounced muscles and how they presented themselves to me in all their perfection. Rarely have I seen such a desirable specimen of a man. I know how wrong it is, as a married woman, to think of another man, yet I can’t stop myself. I allow the memory to sink in, even as I chop vegetables and stir the pot, trying to focus on the task. The guilt tugs at me, but the image of him lingers, unwelcome yet persistent, as I try to push it aside and concentrate on my family.

I promised June I would stand by her during today’s conversation with her father, and I will. So I cooked his favorite meal: pot roast with beans and bacon served with a red wine sauce. And an apple pie for dessert.

I spend hours in the kitchen, preparing everything from scratch. Thomas insists on nothing less than homemade meals; he works hard for our perfect life and expects a lovingly prepared dinner each evening.

I always try to please my husband so he doesn’t get upset. His job at his law firm often puts him under a lot of stress, so I try to stay on his good side by responding to his needs and understanding that he may have a short fuse. It’s my job to take good care of and forgive him for certain things because I know he doesn’t mean it. Sometimes, he’s just overworked and worn out.

A burning smell and rising smoke pull me out of my thoughts. Crap !

I quickly rush to the oven, grab my oven mitts as I pass, and open the door. Hot air and dark smoke hit me, making me cough as I take out the roast. Today, of all days, dinner is burned.

Angry with myself, I shake my head and look at the damage. But I don’t have time to do anything about it because I hear the front door open and the familiar voices of my husband and daughter drift into the kitchen.

Hastily, I open the window to let the smoke and burned stench out. Maybe my misstep won’t be as noticeable. Unfortunately, I can’t think of a quick way to conceal the damage to the roast.

“Cora? What have you done?” Thomas asks as he enters the kitchen with our daughter. His eyebrows are drawn together questioningly; a mistake like this is completely out of character for me.

I tilt my head slightly in apology and turn my ring nervously back and forth.

“You burned the food?” he questions reproachfully, making his displeasure clear.

I can understand him, as I’ve completely messed up my primary responsibility.

“Call the news. Mom burned Dad’s sacred pot roast,” June jokes, lightening the mood a little as Thomas’s brow gradually lowers again. His stern eyes leave me as he looks at our daughter and gives her a small smile.

Even though June is the spitting image of me with her cat-green eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips, she has inherited Thomas’s blonde hair. She has inherited the same stubbornness and unyielding nature from her father, yet her heart is big and compassionate. June is a good daughter and a wonderful young woman I’m incredibly proud of.

“I guess we’ll have pizza then. Come on, Pumpkin. While your mom cleans up here, we’ll take care of dinner,” he says to her, giving me a warning look at the same time.

I feel bad because I promised June my support and wanted to ensure Thomas had a relaxing evening tonight to get him in the right mood so that June and I could explain that her midterm didn’t go as well as we’d hoped. Shit !

As the front door slams shut behind them, I snap out of my stupor and dispose of all the dinner I had prepared. It hurts my soul to throw away so much good food, as only the roast was affected by my mistake. But Thomas was very clear about ordering pizza. I can’t afford to make another mistake by disobeying. If everything runs smoothly from now on, maybe I can save the evening after all.

They’re still not back once I’ve tidied the kitchen and polished all surfaces. I decided to take out the trash in the meantime so that the smell of burning food is completely gone by the time they return.

Armed with the trash, I step out of the red front door, leave it ajar, and stride across the porch. Dusk has long since fallen, and the weak lamp bathes the porch’s dark wood and the light-colored stones of the path in front of me in a dim light.

Arriving at the black trashcan, I throw the whole bag into it. Sighing softly, I walk back to our house. Suddenly, the sound of a guitar stops me in my tracks. I look around to locate the source of the music. It appears to be coming from the neighbor’s house, but I can’t see anyone there.

Guided by the beautiful melody and curiosity, my feet carry me across the small patch of grass separating our properties.

Mr. King’s porch is entirely dark. Not a single lamp provides any light. Only when I fully step onto his property do I see him sitting on the beam of the porch railing, one foot dangling down, the other propped on the wood, and his guitar resting on his thigh.

Stepping closer, I notice he is again only wearing shorts. Despite the advancing evening, it’s still hot as we’re in the middle of a heatwave.

I briefly consider simply turning around again. After all, he hasn’t noticed me yet, or at least hasn’t looked up. But when he gently runs his fingers over his guitar strings, the thought of leaving completely escapes me. I stand rooted to the spot just a few steps before his porch and listen to his music.

“Good evening, Mrs. Shepherd,” the young man greets me in his smoky voice as he continues to play.

His gaze slides over to me, and that daring, beautiful smile returns to his lips. I don’t know whether to return the smile or to leave, cursing myself for acting stupid. My feelings toward him are entirely contradictory. On one hand, I’m curious and want to learn more about him. But then I remember that I am not allowed to be interested. I’m not allowed to question anything about him and his personality because I’m a happily married woman. I can’t do that.

“Sorry,” I reply meekly and am about to turn away when he plays a more intense and louder melody, completely captivating me again because Ezra King is an exceptional musician.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he replies confidently, which once again confirms that he’s dangerous, and yet I can’t escape the sight of him and his extraordinary guitar music.

Instead, I step a little closer to him, and after a while, I lean my shoulder against a beam opposite him. My eyes wander over his skillful fingers, which perfectly command the instrument, and up his sculpted right forearm. My gaze passes the tightening biceps and glides over his bare chest, whose right pectoral muscle tenses repeatedly as he grips the strings. It’s a shame that the guitar obscures the view of his well-toned stomach.

As my gaze travels up to his face, our gazes meet, and we lock eyes. His intense stare makes my pulse race, and a strange feeling runs through my belly. I can’t describe it and know I shouldn’t question it. So, I lower my gaze and enjoy his heavenly music, which leaves me spellbound.

I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here listening to him play, but the exclamation of my first name suddenly jolts me back to reality, and I jump as I recognize my husband’s voice.

“Cora?” he calls me again, and as I look over my shoulder, I see him approaching us.

I immediately get nervous and feel bad, even though I haven’t done anything wrong. At least, that’s what I try to tell myself. I give Mr. King—who is about to stand up—a fleeting glance before I turn away from him entirely and walk toward Thomas.

“What are you doing here? And who is that?” Thomas demands to know, and I can tell from the way he speaks and approaches me he is anything but thrilled to find me here with this young and half-naked man.

I want to say something, explain myself, and appease him simultaneously, but unexpectedly, a smoky voice sounds behind me.

“Excuse me, Mr. Shepherd. I didn’t mean to distract your wife. I’m Ezra King, your new neighbor,” he replies with complete confidence, again with that cheeky grin, as he holds out his hand to my husband to introduce himself properly.

He holds his guitar in his other hand. He seems utterly oblivious to the fact that he is still only half-dressed. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make things any better. I stiffen and look at Thomas, who is standing before him, visibly startled and momentarily frozen.

“You must be quite close with my wife if you already know our names and marital status,” my husband replies coolly, punishing me with a bitter look.

The corner of Mr. King’s mouth twitches slightly as he lowers his hand, maintaining an air of indifference.

Fortunately, his gaze is only directed at my husband; otherwise, Thomas would undoubtedly be even more upset.

Thomas is a very jealous and possessive man. Although he has no reason to be, unlike me… But of course, I don’t tell him that. Instead, I tilt my head slightly and look down. I don’t want to say anything wrong that will upset him unnecessarily. Besides, I’m worried that the circumstances of our first encounter will be revealed now. Thomas would, of course, take it the wrong way, and I definitely want to avoid that.

“I asked for my neighbor’s names when I bought the property. I wanted to know a bit about my new neighborhood,” Mr. King counters with an amused undertone as he nods over to our house.

When Thomas takes his eyes off him to look around our neighborhood, Mr. King winks at me. I bite my lower lip to suppress a grin at his mischievous yet refreshing manner. You can’t look at him like that . My inner voice intervenes again, and I lower my gaze.

Thomas turns back to him, but nothing happens for a long moment until he nods at him.

“Have a good evening, Ezra. Come on, Cora! We don’t want to spoil another meal tonight, do we?” he reprimands me and leads me firmly off the porch with a hand on my lower back.

It didn’t escape my notice that Thomas intentionally addressed the young man by his first name instead of the more formal ‘Mr. King,’ likely to assert and clarify their power dynamic.

“Likewise. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shepherd,” he calls after us provocatively, and here, too, he can’t help but have an amused undertone. Oh my.

I don’t turn around as I don’t want to give Thomas an even bigger target. So I let Thomas lead me into the house. I know he has a bone to pick with me, but June is already waiting for us at the dining table, her head tilted in question. In the meantime, she has cut the pizzas into slices and is now placing them on plates.

“What took you so long?” she asks, looking at me inquiringly.

I know she’s wondering what’s going on with me today. Yes, I’d like to know that too…

“Nothing. Let’s eat. I’m starving with all this delay,” my husband replies, sitting at the table next to our daughter.

Silently, I settle down on the chair opposite him and take a slice of pizza. I’m not hungry anymore, but I force myself to eat.

I sit at the table with my family and listen to their conversations. Thomas eagerly asks his little girl , who she hasn’t been for a long time, about her studies. June stumbles over her words until, at some point, she makes eye contact with me, looking for help. Terrible timing, dear…

“Honey, don’t you think it’s quite late? June still has a long drive ahead of her.” I’ll try to end this evening now before this conversation goes downhill.

Thomas looks at me with a puzzled expression. He probably can’t understand why I want to end the evening so abruptly. Typically, I ask June to stay the night because I’m concerned about her driving back to college so late.

“Cora, what’s wrong with you today? It’s Friday night. Of course, our daughter stays the night.”

Irritated by my strange behavior, he shakes his head before looking back at our daughter.

“Sorry about that. I’m not quite myself today. Of course, June stays the night. Put a movie on, and I’ll clear the table and bring you another glass of wine, okay, darling?” I address them both with a smile and get up to clear the table afterward.

June furrows her eyebrows, a little taken aback, but nods. Thomas also nods with a bewildered expression on his face.

Still smiling and friendly, I flee to the kitchen with the plates. I just want to get out of there. I’m annoyed that I cleaned so thoroughly earlier because that would take my mind off things.

Thomas is probably already waiting for his glass of wine. So I hurry, clear away the leftover pizza and plates, get the bottle out of our wine fridge, and open it.

I know I’m in for another unpleasant conversation with him tonight because he won’t tolerate me having contact with a man as young as our neighbor. Nor will he tolerate me ruining his dinner. Of course, he would say nothing like that in front of our daughter. June has never heard us argue. Thomas has always been very meticulous about that. I’m glad about this because there are certain things children don’t need to know about their parents.

“Here you go.”

I hand Thomas his wine glass and June a can of Coke before turning away with a smile to go to bed.

“Aren’t you watching with us?” June wants to know.

I shake my head slightly, maintaining the smile that is expected of me. “You two can watch the movie. I’m tired and going to bed early,” I inform her. I turn away after catching a disapproving look from my husband and head upstairs.

Sighing softly, I leave our white-furnished living room, ascend the dark wooden stairs with beige carpeting, and head straight into our bathroom to prepare for bed. Standing before the mirror, I gaze at my reflection and fail to recognize the person staring back at me. Outwardly, I appear unchanged. My long brown curls are neatly tied in a bun, per Thomas’s preference for my exposed neck and throat. Light makeup highlights my high cheekbones, and nude lipstick accentuates my lips. Yet, as I meet my gaze, my green eyes, intensified by black mascara, reflect a sadness that momentarily sends a chill down my spine.

I shake my head to dispel my reflection and push away the oppressive feeling in my chest, then prepare myself and wearily step into our connected bedroom. I don’t even turn on the light and walk through the dark room. Until something unexpectedly makes me pause at the window. A glow of light from Mr. King’s house catches my attention.

This house has been empty for so long. Seeing the light there now is both strange and intriguing. I find myself wondering how the young man has furnished his home. As I consider the house, I step close to my window and kneel on the small windowsill. But when I realize that I might be looking directly into his bedroom, which is directly across from ours, I quickly retreat and hide in the shadows. Oh God! If you had seen me now…

My cheeks glow with shame, and I shake my head repeatedly to dismiss the embarrassment.

I quickly slip into my bed, my heavenly sheets tucked around me, and try to forget everything that happened in the last two days with Ezra King. I must stay away from you…