Again she shook her head, then ducked down under the water as if that could hide her from the truth. She wasn’t using them, she protested. She was dating—a lot. She was dating and hoping to find her soulmate. She was dating and hoping to find the woman of her dreams. That wasn’t using them, she told herself.

She swam to the shallow end, walking slowly up the steps. The air was cool tonight, reminding her that it was still spring. She wrapped the towel around herself, pausing to look back at the pool.

It looked lonely. Much like she felt. Lonely, even though there was a naked woman lying in her bed.

Lonely.

Chapter Nine

Laura was tempted to start the mower at daybreak, hoping to wake the neighbor, but then that would mean cutting into her quiet time. No. She’d wait. She’d wait until she knew Cassidy Anderson was up. In fact, she might even wait until she was at the pool. It was a warm, sunny day. She had no doubt they’d use the pool.

She parted the blinds now, peeking out with the binoculars. The way the house was angled, she couldn’t see inside it. From her writing room, the pool was in plain view, though, as well as the patio and enough of an outdoor kitchen to make her envious. It was after nine. Were they still in bed? Making love?

“Eww,” she said. The anorexic blonde couldn’t possibly be good in bed.

But no. She saw movement. Oh, there she was. Tall, dark, and handsome—Cassidy Anderson—was coming outside. A one-piece swimsuit? What’s up with that? Her brows drew together as another woman came outside.

“That’s not the anorexic blonde,” she murmured. “Good. But who are you? God, I swear, Cassidy…your taste in women…it sucks.”

She lowered the glasses. Oh, well. Not her concern. She needed to mow the lawn, she thought with an evil grin.

* * *

Cassidy nearly fell off her float when the lawn mower started up next door, right next to the fence. She closed her eyes and sighed. Really?

“We had a deal,” she murmured.

“What?”

She looked at Larson and shook her head. “Nothing.” She tipped off her float. “Be right back.”

As she’d done last Saturday, she marched down her driveway to the gate, punched in the code, and waited for it to open, then she nearly stomped over to the neighbor’s yard. The woman—Laura Fry—was down at the other end. Cassidy walked through the yard around the side, thinking that the grass didn’t really even need to be mowed in the first place. The yard looked freshly manicured.

“Then what the hell?”