Franklin kissed her forehead. "Wait until you see the backyard."
They had been married for eight months. The house was their first real purchase together. Franklin had handled the paperwork. Denise had picked the neighborhood. She liked the trees, the walking trails, the distance from the highway. She had driven through Crestwood Manor three times before they made the offer. She never noticed that every face she passed was white.
The morning air smelled like fresh-cut grass and jasmine from the neighbor's hedge. Sprinklers ticked in slow arcs across emerald lawns. It looked like the kind of street where nothing bad ever happened—the kind of place you moved to and never left.
Bruno jumped down from the truck and circled Franklin's legs, tail swinging. Franklin clipped his leash and handed it to Denise. Then he grabbed the first box and walked toward the front door.
Across the street, Judith Pennington stood on her porch with a coffee mug in one hand. She had been watching since the truck turned onto Maple Ridge Court. She set down the mug. She smoothed her blouse. She crossed the street with a smile that never reached her eyes.
"Good morning. Are you the movers?"
Franklin set the box down on the porch steps. "No, ma'am. We're the new owners."
The smile dropped for half a second. Then it returned, tighter. "Oh, I see." She straightened her collar. "I'm Judith Pennington, president of the Homeowners Association." She looked past Franklin, scanning the truck bed. "I wasn't informed about this sale."
"We closed two weeks ago," Denise said. "The realtor handled everything."
Judith's gaze moved from Denise to Bruno. The dog sat at Denise's feet, calm, leash slack. "Is that animal registered with the HOA?"
Franklin tilted his head. "We just arrived."
"Well, there are forms, breed restrictions, weight limits." Judith pulled her phone from her pocket. "I'll need to review the bylaws."
"We're happy to fill out whatever's needed," Franklin said. "We're just unloading right now."
Judith didn't move. She stood on the walkway, blocking the path between the truck and the porch. Her eyes swept the boxes, the bookshelf, the crate of kitchen supplies. She looked at the house behind Franklin like she was inspecting damage at a crime scene.
"This is a very particular community," she said. "We have standards."
Franklin met her eyes. He said nothing. He picked up the box and walked past her into the house.
Judith watched him disappear through the front door. Then she pulled out her phone and began typing. Within 15 minutes, Judith Pennington had sent a single message to the Crestwood Manor group chat: Unknown individuals at 14 Maple Ridge, not vetted. Possibly unauthorized occupants. Stay alert.