The café door chimed as a group of tourists entered. Kathleen straightened to greet them. “I should get back to work,” she said, but her smile lingered as she looked at Patrick.
“Of course. Thank you for the coffee and the conversation.” Patrick left money on the counter, including his usual generous tip. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll have your coffee ready,” Kathleen promised.
Patrick stood and headed for the door, still feeling the heat in his cheeks from her compliment. Had she really just called him the best-looking builder in town? At seventy-three? He shook his head, half-smiling as he stepped outside.
The morning air felt good on his face as he walked back toward the construction site. Maybe he was reading too much into it—Kathleen was his friend. But something about the way she’d leaned in, the mischief in her voice when she whispered those words, made him think there might be more to it.
He’d been alone for so long, he wasn’t even sure he’d recognize flirting anymore. But if that’s what it was, he didn’t mind it one bit.
Chapter 3
Kathleen adjusted the checkered tablecloth spread across the coffee table in her Victorian home. It wasn’t the fancy dining table she imagined would one day fill the room, but the house and her furniture were a work in progress.
She glanced through the bay windows and smiled. Even if she was living in a partially completed construction site, the view remained spectacular. Flathead Lake stretched endlessly toward the mountains, painted in shades of amber and rose by the setting sun.
“This is perfect,” Isabel said as she sat on the floor. “Who needs a formal dining room when you have a view like this?”
“Speak for yourself,” Lynda laughed, attempting to find a comfortable position against a cushion. “My knees are reminding me that I’m not twenty anymore.”
Susan emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray laden with sandwiches, apple pies, and a bottle of wine. “Picnic dinners are underrated,” she declared. “I love that there’s no fuss or formal courses. It’s just good food and better company.”
Kathleen poured wine into four mismatched glasses. Everything about this evening felt wonderfully relaxed, from the casual meal to the paint-spattered drop cloths that served as their flooring. After the busy day at the café, she’d been looking forward to spending time with her dearest friends.
“I still can’t believe you bought this place,” Lynda said, accepting her wine and gazing around the room. “The potential is incredible, but the amount of work...” She gestured at the exposed beams on the ceiling and the half-stripped wallpaper on the far wall.
“Some days I wonder what I was thinking,” Kathleen admitted. “But then I wake up to that view, or I see how a room transforms with just a coat of paint, and I remember why I fell in love with it.”
“Your home will be stunning when it’s finished,” Isabel assured her. “And you’re doing so much of the work yourself. That takes a lot of skill and patience.”
Kathleen smiled as she thought of the hours her daughter and son-in-law had spent here. “Natalie and Gabe have been wonderful, and so have you and Lynda. Susan’s even given me advice from Georgia. I wouldn’t have finished as much as I have without everyone’s help.”
Susan raised her glass. “To Kathleen, her helpers, and everyone who’s been brave enough to start over.”
They clinked glasses, and Kathleen felt the familiar warmth that came from being surrounded by women who truly understood her. Their friendship had sustained her through her divorce, through the challenges of starting the café, and now through this ambitious renovation project.
“Speaking of starting over,” Isabel said, “I had an interesting conversation with Frank today. A friend of his is looking at investing in a new resort that’s being built about an hour from here.”
“Really?” Kathleen set down her sandwich. “I haven’t heard of any large-scale developments happening in this part of Montana.”
“There’s definitely something happening,” Isabel mused. “Someone in our reading group has been approached by a company that wants to buy a large parcel of land by Finley Point.”
Kathleen placed a sandwich on her plate. “Everything changes. Most of the people I know seem to be looking for something different in their lives.”
Lynda nodded thoughtfully. “It was the same for me. Sometimes you need to step away from everything familiar to figure out who you are. We should ask Mabel if she’s heard anything about the development.”
“I’ll leave you to do that,” Susan said with a smile. “The last time I spoke to Mabel, she gave me a lecture about work/life balance.”
Kathleen grinned. “Did you listen to her?”
“For about a week,” Susan replied. “When two of my ovens died at work and the water pipes burst in my apartment, I had to throw all thoughts of having a social life out the window.”
Isabel picked up a sandwich. “If Lynda and I can change our lives, there’s hope for you, too.”
As the conversation drifted from Isabel’s progress with the bookstore to Lynda’s foster animals, the easy flow of topics felt as natural as breathing—the way it always had with Kathleen’s friends.
Unlike Isabel and Lynda, Susan grew quieter as the evening progressed. She picked at her food and seemed lost in her thoughts, only half-listening to the conversation around her. When Lynda asked her about a recent wedding she’d catered, Susan’s response was unusually brief.
