Their ads ran on TV and radio constantly. They had billboards all over the city. If anyone had an air conditioner go out, they called Anderson. Winter blues when the heater didn’t work? They called Anderson. New home builders? They contracted with Anderson.

It was all working like the well-oiled machine it was intended to be. Yes…life was good, she mused as she spun back around to face her desk. Her professional life, that is. She’d spent so many years working to get the company to where it was, she’d sacrificed her personal life. Now, now that she had time—and money—she couldn’t seem to enjoy her personal life. It wasn’t fulfilling. Everything—everyone—seemed to be a stopgap to her goal: meeting the love of her life.

So far…she hadn’t come close to meeting her. And now that she was approaching her mid-forties…she feared she would never find her. She feared she would have to settle. Settle for someone like Claudia.

“At least the sex is good,” she murmured as she closed her laptop.

* * *

“Again with the anorexic blonde? She is so not right for you,” Laura murmured as she stared through the binoculars. “Can’t you see that?”

There was something different this time, though. Tall, dark, and handsome was being a little standoffish. She’d pulled away from the kiss.

“Oh…who’s this?” She didn’t recognize them from last weekend’s party. Two women, both blond. They seemed young. They were giggling. Laura rolled her eyes. “Children,” she muttered. Tall, dark, and handsome appeared to be fortyish, perhaps a little older. The anorexic one was in her thirties. These two looked to be early- to mid-twenties.

She lowered the binoculars and turned away from the window with a sigh. “I have got to get a life.”

She firmly pulled the drapes together. She had no intention of spending this weekend like she’d done the last: spying on her neighbor. Sure, she was cute and a pleasure to look at, especially in a bikini. But her taste in women was sorely lacking.

She was fortyish and wore a bikini. Wore it nicely.

Laura shook her head. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a bikini,” she murmured to herself. Then she smiled. “I think I’ll mow today.”

Chapter Seven

Cassidy floated idly in the pool, her mind closed to the laughing conversation coming from the float next to her. The neighbor was mowing. It was Saturday. Couldn’t he mow during the week when she wasn’t there? From what she remembered of him—what was his name? Frankie?—he wouldn’t be considerate enough to mow on a weekday.