Here are the next three chapters. They are a little angsty...but I think it's a pretty safe bet that it will be happy ending!

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She was standing at the foot of the bed when he came in, looking at the array of clothes that she had spread out in front of her.

"You're not ready?"

She looked up at him. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and an untucked Izod shirt. She always thought she would end up with some moody, tortured artist or musician who always wore black and seldom shaved. Instead, she had married an eternally cheerful cop from Wisconsin who wore loafers with no socks.

"I can't decide what to wear. What do people wear to these suburban barbecues?"

He crossed to the bed. "We're not in the suburbs, we're technically in the city. As long as you cover your tattoos and piercings, you'll be fine. "

"You're not helping."

"Here." He picked up a dress she had worn on their honeymoon. The cut was soft and feminine, but the bold print was bright and funky. It was pure Jordan. "Wear this. You'll look great. Don't worry."

She dressed hurriedly, and they crossed the street to the neighbors'. She grabbed his hand as he pushed open the gate to the backyard. The men were standing by the grill with beers, and their pretty, polished wives sat on the other side of the yard in folding chairs with wine coolers tucked into the cup holders. Children of all ages ran wild, screeching and yelling.

Jordan took a deep breath and headed toward the wives' corner. The hostess stuck out her hand. "Hi! I'm Barb Howard. You must be our new neighbor."

"Jordan Cavanaugh. Nice to meet you," she took Barb's limp hand.

Barb titled her head. "I could have sworn the other day your husband introduced himself as Woody Hoyt."

"He did. I use my maiden name."

"Oh, really?" Barb flashed her a phony smile.

"Where are your children, Jordan?" another of the wives asked.

"We don't have any yet. We've only been married for four months."

"Well, don't wait too long, dear," one of the women offered. "It gets harder and harder when you're over 35."

Jordan said nothing but flashed a phony smile to match the others. She was relieved when another woman entered the back yard and broke the awkward silence.

"I brought my world-famous triple fudge brownies!" She noticed Jordan sitting there with her hands tensely folded in front of her. "You must be the new girl. Jordan Hoyt, is it?"

Jordan was about to smile resignedly and say yes, but Barb interrupted. "Hoyt is the husband's name, but Jordan's one of those feminists," Barb laughed her phony little laugh. "She goes by Cavanaugh."

"So, what do I call you then?" The brownie lady smiled and batted her eyes. "Mrs. Cavanaugh? Miss Cavanaugh? Or I guess it's Ms. Cavanaugh."

"It's Dr. Cavanaugh, actually. And Jordan would be fine."

"Oh, really?" She flashed the same artificial smile that Barb seemed to permanently wear. "How nice."

"These brownies are to die for! You must give me the recipe for these!" one of the women asked.

"Well, the secret is the sweetened condensed milk," the brownie lady whispered, and all the women aaaaaahed as if one of the great mysteries of the universe had been revealed.

Jordan sat there for a while in silence with a forced smile on her face. Finally, she excused herself, but no one seemed to notice as she stood and made her way back through the gate and across the street. Woody found her curled up in their bed a half hour later.

"Hey! I had no idea where you went. I told everybody you had a migraine."

"It was awful," she said, and he knew from her voice that she had been crying. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed her back.

"What happened, Jordan?"

"Those women were horrible. I've never felt so out of place. Talking about lasagna recipes and karate lessons and 101 uses for sweetened condensed milk. I can't do it, Woody."

He stroked her hair. "I know it's hard, Jordan. This is all new to me, too. But give it a chance, okay?"

She sat up in bed. "I'm afraid I'm losing myself, Woody. I'm afraid I'm going to become this other person, this person who goes to Tupperware parties and drives a station wagon, or worse...a minivan. I can't be like those women."

He kneeled in front of her on the floor and looked up at her. "I don't want you to be like those women, Jordan. I love you the way you are. I love you." He brushed her hair out of her darkened eyes. "You. Only you."

She smiled down at him. "I'm sorry I left you there by yourself."

He rolled his eyes. "Golf! Those guys were talking about golf! What do I know about golf?" They both laughed, and he kissed her gently. "Barb sent over a plate of food. Maybe when you take the plate back, you could make amends and invite her for a cup of coffee."

Her mouth fell open. "Did you hear any of what I just said?"

"I'm not asking you to be her best friend, Jordan. It's just a cup of coffee. If we're going to be neighbors, we've got to get along. You never know when we might need them."

She jumped up and threw her arms over her head. "Unbelievable! If you want a Stepford wife, you married the wrong girl!"

"What? Where did that come from? Who said anything about a Stepford wife? It's just coffee!" She turned on her heel and crossed to the bathroom. "Jordan, where are you going?"

"I'm going to take a bath."

"Come on, Jordan. Don't walk away."

But she closed the bathroom door behind her and turned on the water. She stood with her ear pressed against the door, waiting for him to come and knock softly and call for her to let him in.

He didn't. She heard the bedsprings creak as he rose, and then there was the sound of his footsteps against the hardwood floor as he left the bedroom and went downstairs.