I knocked on his door with my heart pounding in my ears. And that volume only seemed to increase as I heard his footsteps. After what felt like an eternity, the handle rattled softly and the door finally opened.

Then there he was.

It was almost crazy. We just talked yesterday and somehow, it already felt like an eternity since I'd last seen him.

Funnily enough, he was dressed in almost the same exact outfit that I was. A pair of jeans and a plain T-shirt. It wasn't exactly "tight-fitting" on him or anything, but goddamn, I don't think there was a T-shirt alive that could cover up those muscles of his.

Not that it mattered. With any luck, I'd have it off of him in a little while anyway. There was a hint of a smirk in his smile as he looked at me. Almost as if he was reading my mind. Then again, the way I was eye-fucking him probably didn't make it too hard to guess either.

Still, he did his part to play the good neighbor while we were outside. "Hey, Maggie! Glad you could make it."

His exaggerated cheerfulness helped to yank my mind out of the gutter. At least, long enough to play along. I laughed, putting on my own fake smile.

"Of course. I promised after all."

"Well, come on in. I could certainly use a hand," he said, gesturing inside.

Oh, he was about to get a lot more than just "a hand" from me, and I gave him a look that told him as much. He returned my look with a sly smile of his own, stepping back to let me through the doorway.

However, fate is a cruel and fickle bitch. No sooner had I taken a step than I heard a voice call from behind me. "Maggie, is that you?"

I had to repress a groan as the familiar voice immediately caught my attention. God, why me? Why today?

Of course, of all days, who else would show up today but Greta Hillard?

The last thing I wanted to do today was waste my time with Mason forcing small talk with Greta Hillard. However, I didn't really have much of a choice.

Greta was one of those infamous neighborhood busybodies. And one of the most notorious ones too. She was like a lit match searching for gasoline, and the moment she found any she set it all ablaze, spreading her flames anywhere and everywhere that she could.

Nobody was safe from the fires of her burning gossip. She was the one who spread the news about the Wilson's teenage daughter getting pregnant, about Mr. Olson losing his job, about the president of the HOA fucking the manager of the local landscaping company.

Without compassion, empathy, or remorse, she shamelessly spewed whatever she could to whoever would listen. Regardless of what the consequences might be to those involved.

Which is why I couldn't ignore her. Zooming into Mason's house without so much as a "hello" would only make her suspicious. And the last thing I needed was to draw any more attention to us and our interactions than what was necessary.

No, my best bet would be to face her head-on. To stop the gossip directly at its source before it had the chance to make its way to others. And, potentially, even spin it in my favor.

I took a deep breath before turning toward her with my best fake smile. "Greta! What are you doing here? This isn't Puffy's usual walk, is it?"

"No, it isn't," she agreed, patting the panting Pomeranian at her heels. "We usually take a shorter walk around our street, but the vet said Puffy's been putting on a bit of weight lately so I thought adding an extra street or two to our route might help with that."

"A few less sugar cookies might help with that too."

She chuckled softly. "Oh, I know. But I just can't help but spoil my handsome little boy. It's a mom thing. Trust me, you'll understand when you and Phil pop out a few of your own."

Then came the moment I had been dreading. She glanced past me, her eyes zeroing in on Mason. She scanned him quickly before looking back at me, a hint of suspicion in her eyes.

"So, what are you doing over here? If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, I'm helping Mason unpack today," I explained.

I said it simply. As if it were a matter-of-fact kind of thing. The same way I would have said that I was going to the store or heading out to mail a letter. A statement wholly lacking drama and excitement, and therefore, lacking in intrigue.

Not that that stopped Greta from trying to find some, of course.

"Oh, right. The new boy on the block. I thought I saw moving vans the other day," she mused thoughtfully. "That wasn't too long ago though. Did you two know each other already?"

To your average bystander, the question probably sounded innocent enough. But I knew Greta better than that. That question was a well-laid trap. She was on the hunt for good gossip, and I refused to be the next victim caught in her tangled web of drama.

"Not exactly. He caught me sneaking through my fence to spy on him when he moved in and offered to fix it for me," I chuckled. "I said I'd pay him back by helping him unpack this weekend."

"And thank God she did," Mason sighed, walking up to meet us. "It's been about four days now and I haven't unpacked a thing. I'm literally living out of boxes right now.

"Actually, since you're already here would you mind helping, Miss..."

"Mrs. Hillard," she corrected, "but please, call me Greta."

"Well, Greta, if you don't mind, could I steal an hour or two of your time? I could really use the extra help if you're available," he almost begged.

Funny. Between the two of us, I thought that I was the risk-taker in this little arrangement of ours. However, it seemed like Mason was really willing to go all-in when it came to this Greta situation.

I mean, brushing off her suspicions was one thing, but literally inviting her into the house? He was basically giving her an open invitation to monitor us at her discretion. It was one hell of a power play. And a big gamble on his part too if she decided to call his bluff.

Thankfully, Greta's community involvement always began and ended with gossip. She was never really the "lend a helping hand" kind of neighbor. Not that she'd ever admit that openly, of course. Instead, she'd always find some excuse about being "busy" with one thing or another. And, luckily, this seemed to be another one of those times.

"Unfortunately, I am not," she explained apologetically. She motioned to her dog. "I have Puffy with me, and I couldn't stand leaving him tied up that long."

I thought that would be the end of things, but to my surprise, Mason actually doubled down. He stepped forward and reached down to pat Puffy's head, giving Greta a big smile.

"Oh, that's not a problem. Bring him inside. I love animals. The little guy can run around while we unpack," he offered.

Greta seemed just as shocked by this sudden offer as I was. After all, people usually took her excuses at face value. I don't think she'd ever had to come up with a second excuse before. It left her flustered.

"Ah, umm, well, thank you," she babbled out, face slightly red with embarrassment, "but we really can't. Puffy aside, I have to get home soon anyway. My, umm, my husband comes home for lunch so..."

"Ah, right. Of course," he said, nodding understandingly. "You ladies have your husbands to take care of, don't you?"

He paused suddenly. I was surprised as a look of genuine panic came over his face. Thankfully, he caught himself and quickly disguised it as something more generalized.

"Shoot, Maggie, does that mean you need to head off at lunch too?"

Right. I guess I never exactly told him what Phil's schedule would look like for the day. Made sense that he might be worried about an angry husband showing up at his house in the middle of the afternoon.

"No, Phil gets lunch in the city. Don't worry, I'm trapped here for the day."

He breathed a sigh of relief before looking back at Greta again. I saw a hint of mischief in his eyes as he did.

"Good, I don't think I'd be able to handle all this junk on my own. Two people is barely enough as is. Hey, Greta, are you sure your husband couldn't—"

She pulled out her phone quickly and glanced down at it. "Ah, goodness, is it that late already? Well, I'd better get going. Nice meeting you, Mason. Good luck with the unpacking."

She gave me a quick, sympathetic look that said "good luck" before scooping up Puffy and scurrying down the street.

I couldn't help but snicker a bit at the sight. Well, it was probably safe to say she bought the "unpacking" excuse now. That would help me out in the future if word ever got around to Phil about all this.

Mason gave a small chuckle himself, turning towards me. "Guess it's just you and me Maggie. Shall we?"

He motioned again to the house. I gestured for him to lead the way.

I followed behind him calmly enough. However, the closer we got to the house the more that facade started to fade. By the time the door finally closed behind us I was already back to being the jumbled pile of nerves that I had been when I first arrived here.

I was here. I was really here. Inside Mason's house. Just him and me. The two of us. Alone.

My heart raced wildly in my chest.

"We should probably unpack the living room," he commented, heading in that direction.

"Huh?"

The statement threw me off so much that it actually snapped me out of whatever nervous spiral I'd been in. I mean, I know we said I was "helping him unpack" today, but were we actually going to spend time unpacking? Did I misinterpret something?

He smiled at my obvious confusion. "You know this neighborhood better than I do, but something tells me she's not the only busybody around here. It's probably safer if people actually see us unpacking something together. The living room faces the street, and I haven't put up the curtains for the front window yet, so it won't seem weird if we put them up and close them later."

If this was a cartoon, my jaw would have been on the floor. I was amazed by just how much he had thought all this through. Despite all my planning, I never once thought about any of that. He nodded his head vaguely in the direction of the living room before heading there himself.

"We shouldn't stay in the doorway too long or people might get the wrong idea." He paused for a second after he said this, a sly smile on his face. "Well, technically I guess it would be the right idea, but we probably don't want them to know that."

He chuckled to himself, kneeling down and opening one of the boxes on the floor. Instinctively, I scurried into the room and grabbed a box of my own. I was hoping we might unpack in silence for a bit so I could calm my nerves again, but a small, exaggerated sigh from across the room told me that probably wasn't happening.

"Honestly, Maggie, how do you do it?" he asked.

I cleared my throat to remove the lump that had been forming there. "Do what?

"Deal with those people," he said, making a disgusted sound. "All those fake, nosy, gossipy suburban types."

A small smile made its way to my lips at the comment. It was kind of nice to hear that I wasn't the only person disgusted by this farce of a "perfect community." That Mason thought of them that way too.

"I just got used to it, I guess," I admitted, shrugging.

"And it doesn't bother you?"

I couldn't help but laugh a bit. "Of course it bothers me, but what am I going to do? I'm stuck here. Being 'honest' would only ostracize me. And, unfortunately, I need to stay on their good side. It's not ideal, but it works.

"Besides, you know what it's like. Don't for a second try to tell me that 'boy-next-door' act you put on for Greta is what you're actually like. I can already tell that you're not."

He chuckled softly. "Yeah, you got me there. But I have my own reasons for being here.

"What about you? Sounds like you'd leave this place in a second if you could. So, why stay? This neighborhood is pretty pricey, I'm sure you could afford to move if you wanted."

I gave a dry laugh. "What? Leave this good neighborhood with all its valuable connections. Oh, no, no, no. We couldn't possibly do that. What would people think if we traded this nice ritzy neighborhood for something lower-class?"

I made an exaggerated face of disgust. He smiled a bit, dusting his hands off as he moved to the next box.

"So, based on your tone, I'm assuming you and your husband aren't exactly on the same page about living here?"

"Let me put it this way: If disagreeing about where we lived was the worst thing about our marriage, I wouldn't be here right now."

Despite trying to keep our conversation on the lighter side, I couldn't help the surly tone that snuck into my voice as I talked about Phil. I could feel the atmosphere in the room shift slightly with my words.

Great. Even here Phil was ruining things for me somehow.

"Well... then I guess I have him to thank for you coming over today," Mason said cheerfully. "I should do something nice for him. Do you think it's inappropriate to send your mistress's husband a fruit basket?"

And just like that, he lightened my mood again. I burst into laughter like I hadn't done in years. It took me a couple of minutes before I could compose myself, and even then, a few small giggles bubbled their way up every now and again. I cleared my throat to try to disperse the last of them.

"You know, between the two of us, I'm the one that's married. Wouldn't that technically make you the mistress in this situation?" I teased.

"Damn, right. I guess there isn't really a word for a guy in that position, huh?" he mused. "I guess 'male mistress' could work. Kind of like 'male nurse,' you know?"

I had to repress the giggles that were building up again. "Somehow, I doubt enough people want to be caught doing this for that term to catch on."

"Hmm, good point. Guess I should scrap that fruit basket then."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, going back to the box that I had been unpacking before. Still, I couldn't deny the fluttering that I felt in my heart right now. And, for once, it wasn't related to sex.

I couldn't remember the last time I felt this way. I felt so light, so free. My smiles, my laughs, the way I spoke. They were genuine. Actually, truly genuine.

Outside of Eli and Ronnie, I'd never had anybody who could make me feel that way. Someone who I felt some kind of honest connection with. Who I could talk to openly, honestly, and unfiltered. Someone who I wanted to stay around me.

As I dug, elbows deep, through a box of books, I was surprised to see another hand reach in and brush against my own. In an instant, all those heart-racing, tingly feelings came back. I blushed slightly, keeping my eyes on the box.

His fingers trailed along the back of my hand. A small shiver ran through me as he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against mine.

"When you're done with this box, why don't we hang those curtains?" he murmured.

Without another word, he grabbed a small stack of books and went back to his area of the living room.

Thank God my back was to the window because I couldn't stop blushing. It felt like my entire body was burning. Both inside and out.

I knew what "hanging the curtains" would mean. That the second they were closed we would move right into what I'd actually come here to do. And that we would finally cross that irrevocable line when we did.

A small smile played faintly on my lips. I grabbed an armful of books and carried them over to the nearest shelf, only one thought on my mind as I did:

Why did he have to have so damn many of them?