The Perfect Neighbors Read Online Free PDF Page B

unexpected details that conjured tenderness in her: Faint smile lines radiating out from Jason’s eyes. Arms still as thick and strong as when they’d first wrapped around her in high school. A few dots of gray in the stubble around his jaw.
    He seemed to feel her gaze and looked up. “C’mere,” he said. She lay down next to him, snuggling into his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat against her cheek. He dropped a kiss onto her head, already reabsorbed into his television show.
    That lunch with Miller Thompson had meant nothing. She’d been foolish to feel nervous. Miller had taken her to a seafood place, a nice one with tablecloths, but they’d mostly chatted about work. Miller was married and had three kids. He’d flipped open his wallet to show off their school photos. It had all been perfectly innocent.
    â€œAnd honey, please have the kids in bed by eight thirty,” she said.
    â€œYup,” Jason said.
    She climbed off the bed, went to kiss her children good night, and took a clean wineglass out of a kitchen cupboard. This was one of the inspired rules of Wine and Whine night—everyone brought her own glass, so cleanup was minimal for the hostess. Kellie’s was a special one Jason and the kids had wrapped and tucked into her stocking last Christmas. It was comically oversized, and the words painted near the rim read: “Oh, look. It’s wine-thirty!”
    Kellie stepped outside, locking the door behind her, even though crime was practically nonexistent in Newport Cove. Parenting magazine had designated the neighborhood as one of the “20 Safest Communities” after crunching statistics for violent crimes per capita. Cash stolen from the glove compartments of unlocked cars, a mailbox-bashing by bored teens, an occasional UPS package missing from a doorstep—that was the extent of it.
    She strolled down the sidewalk, noticing the Harmons, who had five boys, had left open the sliding side door of their mini­van again. The floor mat was nearly hidden beneath snack wrappers, crumbs, and small plastic toys. Kellie reached out and pulled the door shut so the interior light didn’t drain the battery, then continued on toward Gigi’s brick rambler. The houses on their street were an eclectic mix. A few had been torn down and replaced by McMansions crowded onto the narrow lots, but for the most part, the original Tudors, Colonials, and Craftsmans still dominated the wide, sweeping roads.
    â€œBeautiful evening!” Kellie called to Mason Gamerman, who lived across the street from Gigi and was watering his front lawn with his garden hose. She raised her giant, empty glass toward him, and he grunted in response, which was about as enthusiastic as Mason got. On Halloween, he grimly dispensed pennies to trick-or-treaters.
    Kellie was walking up Gigi’s steps just as her husband, Joe Kennedy (“No relation to the famous family,” he always explained), came out the door. He wore a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and blue-and-gold-striped tie—campaigning clothes.
    Joe smiled, his teeth flashing. Gigi had confided that the image consultant Joe’s campaign director had hired had suggested Joe get his teeth professionally whitened. They’d laughed about it, but apparently Joe had followed through.
    â€œWhere are you off to?” Kellie asked.
    â€œDoor-to-door canvassing,” he said.
    â€œSounds exhausting,” Kellie said.
    â€œIt’s rewarding, though,” Joe said. “I get to sit down one on one with people and talk about the issues that are most important to them. Education, government spending, the economy . . .”
    Yawn , Kellie thought. Last year, Gigi and Joe had come over for dinner and Jason had shown them the new Ping-Pong table they’d set up in the basement for the children. Someone had cracked a joke about how in a few years the kids would be using it for beer pong, and Joe had