Laughter from the kitchen brought her back to the present and, using the napkin from her place setting, she wiped her tears, then refolded it. It sounded like her guests were enjoying themselves. Riva was amused by how Laurel appeared somewhat smitten with Marcus. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her usually serious and somewhat cynical friend acting so light and flirty. And she’d obviously taken great care to dress up tonight. Even her short gray hair looked more styled than normal.
Really, if true love was brewing, Riva was happy for Laurel. She’d been through a rough divorce and more than ten years of being single. Marcus could do a lot worse than a kindhearted, straightforward person like Laurel.
As she returned to the kitchen with dry eyes, Riva reminded herself she had no romantic aspirations. Although ... if she wanted a relationship ... a fellow like Marcus didn’t seem half bad.
Chapter8
The next morning, Riva got up extra early to finish cleaning up the dinner things from the night before. As she loaded the dishwasher, she felt happy to remember how they’d all enjoyed such a fun evening. It had been good to see friends gathered in her dining room once again, everyone enjoying the meal and companionship. After dinner, they’d all lingered at the table, having coffee and chocolate truffles that Windy had shared for dessert. But by the time they’d started to clean up, they were all worn out, and Riva suggested the mess could wait until morning.
She finished scrubbing the last pan as Laurel strolled in wearing plaid pajamas and a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” she said, reaching for a coffee mug.
“Coffee should be ready soon.” Riva set the pan aside.
Laurel sat at the island. “You’re an early bird today.”
“I felt extra energetic and decided to get a jump on the kitchen.” Riva turned the dishwasher on.
“Last night was perfectly lovely,” Laurel said happily. “Thanks for putting it together, sweetie. I’d hoped to get down here and clean up the mess before you woke, but you beat me to it.”
Riva feigned disappointment. “Shoot, I should’ve slept longer.”
“Ha ha.” Laurel smirked. “Anyway, this reminds me of an idea I had yesterday. I think we should create a chore roster to post on the fridge.”
“A chore roster?” Riva wasn’t sure she liked the idea of keeping tabs on grown-ups. “Do we get gold stars if we do our chores right?” she teased.
“Make fun, but a roster can prevent serious misunderstandings. I used to maintain one at the grade school where I worked. It was the only way to ensure that someone besides me cleaned up the breakroom. You’d be surprised how lazy a bunch of teachers can be at the end of the day.”
“Well, I suppose if you want to manage the roster, I won’t complain.” Riva gave the countertop around the stove a good swipe.
“Windy liked the idea. And if you get more tenants, I think you’ll appreciate it too.”
“Speaking of tenants, I met an interesting woman yesterday. She’s looking for housing too.” Riva got the flyer she’d attached to the fridge and showed it to Laurel. “That’s her with silver hair. Her name is Fiona.”
“A musician?”
“Yes. She seemed nice, and I gave her my number.”
“I gave Kitty your number too.”
“Yeah. Kitty already called. We scheduled a meeting for tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll warn you, Kitty is a real talker. I guess you have to be when you do hair, you know, to keep your clients entertained. So don’t be overwhelmed if she goes on and on. To be honest, it’ll be mostly about herself.” She chuckled. “She enjoys dramatizing a bit, but it does pass the time while getting your hair done.”
“Okay.” Riva considered this. Having a chatterbox in her home didn’t sound too good. “Hopefully Kitty knows how to be quiet too.”
“Oh, I’m sure she does. She’s been through a lot with her ex. I don’t know her socially, but she’s been cutting my hair for years, and she seems like a good person.”
“You think she’ll fit in with us here?”
Laurel shrugged. “It’s hard to know. My guess is she’s a bit younger than we are, but her hair and makeup are, well, rather youthful, so it’s hard to tell ... After hearing her conversations, I’m guessing she’s close to sixty. Although I suppose she could pass for being in her forties.”
“Lucky her.”
Laurel pointed at Riva. “Well, you don’t have anything to complain about. You still could pass for forties.”
“It’s the dark hair.” Riva brought over the coffee pot and filled their mugs. “But the gray is on its way. I see new strands daily.”
“My grays came with my divorce. A parting gift from dear Reggie.”
