She stopped at the road when she heard the mower shut down. The woman had pulled it into the shed at the back of their property. Cassidy stared at her as she walked back toward the house. The cutoff jeans were mid-thigh, leaving plenty of leg exposed. Long legs. The woman was nearly as tall as she was. The woman—Laura Fry—disappeared behind the house and Cassidy continued back toward her gate and driveway, conscious of the smile on her face. So her new neighbor was cute. That was a plus. And, if she had to guess, she would say Laura Fry was a lesbian. Although she wasn’t particularly friendly. Maybe that was a good thing. Overly friendly, she couldn’t handle. Weekends. Quiet time. No neighbors, even if they were cute lesbians. Quiet time.

However, loud laughter coming from the pool dispelled any notion she had of quiet time. Before going around the walkway to the back, she took the time to look at her yard. It was nice. Pristine, in fact. But sterile. No flowers. No colors. Not even any flowering shrubs, which she’d seen plenty of on her drive out. Her shrubs were all uniform and perfectly placed. She nodded. She needed some flowerbeds. She needed some color.

* * *

“I saw you talking to the neighbor. She looked younger than I imagined.”

Laura lifted the lid on the slow cooker and tested the roast with a fork. Another two hours ought to do it.

“Fortyish,” she replied.

“What did she want? That’s the first time she’s ever been over here.”

“She asked me not to mow on Saturdays. Apparently it distracts from pool time.” She smiled at her mother. “We struck a deal. She’s going to get her yard crew to come at ten on Fridays and I’ll stop mowing on Saturdays.”

“Well, that’s good. So who is she?”

“Cassidy Anderson.” She held her hand up. “And before you ask, no, I did not find out anything about her.” She was cuter up close than through binoculars, that’s for sure, although she didn’t share that with her mother. “I was a little rude to her.”

“Why?”

“Because she came over with this attitude. Like everyone should work around her schedule so as not to disturb her on the weekends when she’s got her groupies out by the pool.”

“Groupies? What are you talking about?”

“The anorexic blonde, who is apparently her girlfriend, and two young, giggling blondes today.”

“Laura Sue, have you been spying again with the binoculars?”

Laura took the potatoes and bowl of water over to the table where her mother sat. “Here, help me,” she said as she handed her a vegetable peeler.

“For saying you didn’t like to cook, that roast smells divine.”

“Thank you. The Internet is a wonderful thing. Thousands of recipes.”