Joe hadn’t seen Kindall in two days. But her laughter echoed over fences. Her dog Milo’s collar jingled faintly in the morning stillness. And every time Joe heard that sound, his chest tightened just a little.
He’d been avoiding her, going home the long way, even feigning a sore knee to skip his walks with Noodles. His wife hadn’t seemed to mind walking her—or if she had, she wasn’t saying much...yet.
But trying to avoid Kindall, it wasn’t doing much to stop him from thinking about her. Not when the memory of her voice, her smile, her sexy curves, the way she looked at him—felt like it would forever be stitched into the fabric of his mind.
And now there was Steven plaguing him. Yes, he had noticed the other neighbors watching. That was expected. But Steven? He didn't even live on their street, for heaven's sake. How did Steven know about Kindall? How did he know where she lived?
Steven wasn't the kind of man who watched from behind curtains or found excuses to chat over mailboxes. Had he seen her while driving home from work? Maybe at the tennis courts? Maybe she had walked by his house and caught his eye?
How long had they known each other? And more importantly, how well did they know each other? The thought burned in his mind as he sat behind a stack of paperwork on his desk.
. . . . . .
Kindall, too, found herself thinking about Steven.
There was something about how he didn’t try to charm her that was charming. Something about how he looked at her like she wasn’t a fantasy, but a puzzle. Something to understand, not just touch.
She found herself looping her afternoon walk in a slightly wider circle. A little farther down the block. Past the bend. Up on the hilltop. Past Steven’s house.
It was beautiful. Like it came right out of a magazine. Classic and well-manicured landscaping. Two sleek black cars in the driveway. Nothing too flashy, but expensive. Who did that second car belong to, she wondered. Was that Steven's wife. Or his girlfriend?
For some reason, the thought lingered in her mind as she made her way through the neighborhood and back to Firefly Lane. Once back to her driveway, Kindall spied Mr. Dalton in his front yard, “adjusting” a bird feeder he’d adjusted three times already that week.
But as she started up the drive, something inside her made her turn around and go back down the street where Mr. Dalton was. Mr. Dalton appeared to be fiddling with the feeder’s post, as if it required all his focus, though the truth of his attention strolled just yards away.
“Hey, Mr. Dalton,” she said sweetly.
He looked up, feigning surprise. “Well hey, Kindall. First name is Frank, by the way.”
She tilted her head casually. “So, Frank, what’s the story with Steven, the guy on the hilltop? Maybe you know him?”
Frank blinked. “Steven Monroe?”
“Yeah,” she said, pretending she didn’t already know his last name from the lettering on his mailbox.
Frank rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… he’s pretty well known around here. Owns a development firm. Big contracts all over the city. Sits on some advisory board downtown. Councilmen take his calls. Real connected guy. You know the type.”
Kindall raised an eyebrow. “Divorced?”
“Yeah. Maybe a year ago now. Real quiet split, no drama. One son in college."
Kindall nodded slowly. “Interesting. And how do you know all that?” she giggled, trying to play it cool.
"Oh, you know, the neighborhood talks. You thinkin’ about him?” Frank asked with a conspiratorial wink.
“Just getting a feel for the neighborhood,” she replied, hoping her sunglasses hid that she was blushing now.
. . . . . .
Back at home, Joe stood at his kitchen sink, staring at his own reflection in the window. His hands gripped the edges of the counter, knuckles white.
Before, he had told himself his interactions with Kindall were nothing but harmless. Two adults just making friendly conversation. That it was perfectly fine to want to be a friendly neighbor. That he was only human to find Kindall attractive. To be curious about her. To look. But it wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It wasn't just friendliness. He realized, he was being overtaken by longing. Lust. Envy. Joe looked down at his wedding ring, then up again at his own dark reflection. Something had to give.