Riva pointed to what looked like a wedding ring on Fiona’s left hand. “Are you married?”
“I was. For thirty-one years.”
“Goodness, you don’t look old enough.”
“We were wee babes when we wed.” Her eyes grew sad. “I was almost twenty. Jamie a bit older. But my Jamie and me, we always said we grew up togetherafterwe got married. Sweet Jamie’s been gone for nearly five years now.”
“I’m sorry. I lost my husband too ... not too long ago.”
Fiona reached for her hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “I’m sorry for your loss, Riva.” The bell jingling on the door drew Fiona’s attention to a pair of teens entering the bistro. “Excuse me. I do tend to run on and on like a magpie. Better get back to work.”
“Yes. No problem.” Riva nodded, picking up her fork. As she ate, she wondered about this woman. Something about Fiona was extremely likable. But would she fit in well at Riva’s house? What would Laurel and Windy think? She suspected Windy would like her. But Laurel? She’d be sharing the same floor with her. What if Laurel didn’t appreciate the music? Maybe Fiona could practice somewhere else in the house. Whatever the case, Riva decided to leave Fiona her phone number with a note saying to call her for an interview. After all, Fiona would need to see the house. She might not even like it. But if she did, Riva would get a chance to chat with her further.
The bistro got progressively busier, and soon it was obvious that Riva’s table would be needed by the elderly couple now placing an order up front. Although she’d considered ordering the bread pudding and a cup of coffee, Riva felt guilty for tying up the table while the couple waited. She took her little note to the counter and handed it to Fiona. “Give me a call,” she mouthed as she moved toward the door.
Fiona nodded eagerly. “Thank you,” she called back. “Come again.”
As Riva drove to the grocery store, she noticed a flower stand on a corner and decided that her new tenants deserved some festive blooms to celebrate their first night in their new home. She used to get fresh flowers regularly. If not from Paul’s garden, then from various spots in town, but she’d never seen this little kiosk before. She took her time and finally decided on a woodsy bouquet of sunflowers, purple delphinium, cedar greens, and Queen Anne’s lace. “This is a lovely arrangement,” she said as she paid the girl working the stand. “Very creative.”
“Thanks.” The girl handed her change back. “My mom’s the floral artist. Anyway, that’s what Dad calls her. I’ll be sure to tell her you liked it.” The girl’s phone dinged, and she turned away to answer it.
Riva laid her flowers on the passenger’s side. She checked herown phone, which had no calls, then continued on her way. It was just a little past three and seemed too soon to get groceries and go home. And yet, she was tired of being away and had actually hoped her new housemates would call. Her curiosity about what was going on at her house was growing. But no news was probably good news. So on to the grocery store. And then she would head home. If they were still moving, she would busy herself unloading things before taking a quick peek at their progress. And if no one wanted her around, she’d drive back to the nursery to pick up her plants.
Riva hated grocery shopping. It hadn’t always been that way, but she’d never really enjoyed it. Paul, for some unknown reason, hadn’t minded doing grocery runs. She’d often text him a list in the late afternoon while he was still in his law office, and he’d fill the list on his way home, often with a bouquet of grocery store flowers. And he never complained about it. Oh, how she missed that!
By the time she got home and unloaded everything from her car, Riva was tired. That return trip to the nursery could wait until morning. Not for the first time, she wondered how she used to have so much more energy. Was it aging? Or was it lingering sadness over losing Paul? She couldn’t be sure.
Riva was just putting the last roll of paper towels into a high cabinet when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning to see who was approaching, she nearly tumbled off her stepstool.
“Whoa there.” Marcus stepped up from behind, helping to catch her before she fell. “Easy does it.”
Embarrassed at her clumsiness, she pushed away his hand as her feet hit the floor. “Thank you,” she said curtly.
“Didn’t want to see you splattered all over the floor.” He looked amused. “You know most accidents happen at home.”
“So I’ve heard.” She folded the stool and stashed it by the fridge. “Sneaking up on someone is probably a good way to cause an accident as well.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know you were jumpy. Probably from living alone. Guess you’ll have to get past it.”
“Right.” She watched as he pulled out a barstool and made himself comfortable at her breakfast bar.
“This really is a great kitchen.” He rubbed his hands together as if he was hungry.
“Can I help you with something?”
“I came down for a drink of water. Helping Windy arrange and rearrange that attic, which is getting pretty warm, made me thirsty.”
“Yes. Of course. Do you want something besides water? I got some sodas.”
“No, water is fine. I would have gotten it myself but was feeling intrusive.”
“Let me get it. Sorry for snapping at you.” She rolled her eyes as she got down two water glasses. “I guess nearly falling startled me. Like a bad adrenaline rush.”
“That’s understandable.”
She put ice cubes in the glasses, then filled them. “I’m usually super careful. The idea of being that old lady you see in TV commercials—lying helplessly on the floor, crying for help and wishing for an emergency necklace device—well, that image always makes me nervous.”
He laughed. “You are not an old lady.”
