Standing next to the door, I said, “Well, how she died, for starters.”

Jon nodded. Looking solemn, he patted the bed, inviting me to sit beside him. I did. “Michelle had a lot of issues. Emotional problems. Not many people knew. Not her friends. Not her parents. Not even Josh. Only her doctors and me. It started almost immediately after we were married. She seemed happy for a little while, maybe six months or so, but then my crazy work schedule got to her. She became lonely. Depressed. I suggested we start trying to have a child, and her mood picked up again.” His smile was wistful, sweet. “I thought we were going to be okay. But when she didn’t get pregnant right away, her depression came back. And it was worse. I suggested we give up, think about adopting to take the pressure off. She insisted we keep trying. So we saw a specialist. Had some tests run. Turns out she had some kind of hormonal imbalance. She was given some pills and a few months later, she was pregnant.”

He hadn’t gotten to the part about her dying, but I was willing to be patient. This was, by far, the most words I’d heard Jon speak consecutively since meeting him. He wasn’t the chit-chatty kind.

“After Joshua came home, things were good. Perfect. She was busy. Happy. She poured her energy into taking care of our son. She volunteered at his school. She made cupcakes for his bake sales. She helped him with his homework and hauled him to soccer practice and baseball games. Her world revolved around our boy for ten years. She was a wonderful mother. A wonderful wife. But when he started to become more independent—as is normal for boys that age—she told me she was ready to have another child. And I was glad to try for another, especially if it meant she’d be happy. Unfortunately, it wasn’t so easy. She took hormone treatments. But they didn’t help. We even tried IVF. Nothing worked. One day, two years ago, I came home from work to find she’d killed herself.” Jon blinked. His eyes reddened. He sniffled. “I never thought... .”

“I’m sorry.” I set my hand over Jon’s. His was trembling. Made me wonder, was he over his wife’s death? “Two years isn’t a very long time.”

“I’m okay. I even went to a counselor for a while.” He didn’t exactly sound okay. “If you’re worried that I’ll be comparing you to Michelle all the time, please don’t be. I told you she was my past, and I meant it. She’s gone. I’m ready to move on. I’m looking back now only because you asked me to. From this point forward, we’ll be looking to the future. Our future.”

“I hope so.” I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced. “I quit my job for you. I gave up my apartment. I don’t have a safety net, if this doesn’t work out—”

“You don’t need one, Christine. Trust me. Please.”

I wanted to trust him. I was almost afraid not to.

Shifting to face me, he took my hands in his. “Look, I told you things won’t be perfect. And it won’t be easy. My hours are crazy. I’m not home much. Josh will need time to adjust to having another woman in the house. But I will be here for you, just like I was for Michelle.”

Feeling slightly chilled, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m a little scared. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

“I understand. I would be, too.” He pulled me into a hug. I relaxed in his embrace. He was warm and strong and I wanted to believe he was the man of my dreams. Easing back, he brushed my hair out of my face and gave me a sweet, gentle kiss. “I want you to always feel you can be honest with me.”

I nodded. “You too.”

“Now, there’s one room I haven’t had a chance to show you yet. I think now’s the time.” He stood, offering his hand. I accepted it. Down we went, to the main floor of the house, through the kitchen, and down a second, steeper set of stairs to the finished basement.

I stopped at the bottom of the steps, clapped my hands over my mouth. “What is this?” I said through my fingers, my eyes sweeping over the bright, cheery space. I saw three long counters, dotted with various sewing machines. Three dress forms stood along one wall, in front of floor-to-ceiling shelves. And sitting on a stand was a very special machine.

“It’s your sewing studio,” Jon said.

“You’re kidding.” I made a beeline for the commercial grade embroidery machine. That one alone cost anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand dollars. I’d been dreaming of getting one for ages. Gaping, I glanced around the room again. “I can’t believe this.”

“I wanted you to have everything you’d need to make your dream come true. I couldn’t expect you to launch your clothing line with that rusty old Singer of yours.”

“Are you for real?” I asked, throwing my arms around his neck. I kissed him all over his face. “Ohmygod, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His eyes twinkled. How I adored those twinkles. I adored a lot more than his twinkles. Just tell me this man is everything he seems to be. “Now that you’ve seen your surprise, how about we get that truck unpacked?”

I could care less about all the crap I’d hauled here now. Outside of my clothes and a few personal items, none of it was worth anything. None of it would fit in this glorious house. But I had to return the truck to U-Haul in the morning. “Okay.”

Jon gave my butt a little tap as he led me toward the garage. “And maybe when we’re done, you’d like to take a nice, long bath... .” A bath? My apartment had only had a tiny shower stall. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a bath. “... together.”

A hot man. A gorgeous house. A dream studio. Could my life get any better than this?

“And tomorrow, you can go shopping for material,” he added.

Shopping?

I wasn’t in Stepford. I was in heaven.

The next morning, I was sorting through my sewing pattern collection when the doorbell rang. Jon was upstairs sleeping. So was Joshua. That meant it was up to me to answer. Looking glorious (not) in a ratty pair of sweats, a T-shirt that said, NY L OVES ME, and a ponytail, no makeup, I checked the clock as I padded barefoot to the front door.

The bell rang two more times before I finally answered.

What a surprise (not). It was Samantha, Lindsay, and Erica. Samantha was holding a plate covered in foil. Lindsay had a steaming carafe of something that smelled incredible, and Erica was holding a white bakery box.

“Good morning.” I stepped aside to invite them in. “What a surprise. At nine o’clock in the morning. On Labor Day weekend.”

Lindsay, donning a semi-scowl, gave me a quick up-and-down inspection. “We didn’t wake you, I hope.” She lifted the carafe. “I brought caffeine.”

“No, you didn’t wake me, and thanks.” I had to admit, nobody had ever gone to such lengths to make me feel welcome before. In the city, it was a big deal if my neighbors gave me a little nod in the stairwell. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. Was it a suburbia thing?

“I made muffins this morning. They just came out of the oven,” Samantha said as she click-clacked past me.

“I brought bagels.” Erica, following on Samantha’s heels, lifted the box. “I hope you like Einstein’s Everything bagels.”

I motioned them all into the kitchen. “I do, thanks.” After four tries, I found the cupboard with the cups. I grabbed four and set them on the island-slash-breakfast bar. Then I went in search of plates.

“I just love Everything bagels,” Lindsay said, pulling out a stool and sitting.

“Me too. The saltier and garlickier the better,” Erica said, sitting beside Lindsay.

“I prefer plain,” Samantha said, taking the third stool.

Standing on the opposite side of the bar, I placed a plate in front of each of them.

Meanwhile, Lindsay poured a steaming cup of coffee and handed it to me. I took a whiff. My mouth watered. “What kind of coffee is this?” I sipped. Delicious. But hot. I set down the cup to look for knives.

“My own blend. I may not bake.” Lindsay put a bagel on her plate. “And I’m not much of a cook. But when it comes to coffee, I know a thing or two. Erica, tell me you didn’t forget cream cheese?”

“Of course not.” Erica spread a handful of little packets on the counter.

We all settled in, nibbling on the world’s best muffins and munching on bagels for a few minutes.

It was Lindsay who eventually broke the silence. “We thought we owed you an apology for yesterday,” she explained.

“Oh? Why’s that?” I asked around a mouthful of muffin.

“Because we all just met you, and right off the bat we were talking about Michelle,” Erica said. “Talk about insensitive.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” I spread some more cream cheese on my bagel. “Jon told me you were close friends.”

“Yes, we were. For ten years. Since the day they moved in.” Lindsay gave me a charming smile. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends with you, too.”

“I’m glad.” At least, I thought I was glad. A part of me was unsure about this whole thing. These three women, The Pack, seemed a little too eager to be my friends. It was odd.