“Such as?” asked Rachel.
“Many of the fines and requirements in this subdivision are excessive.”
“I can get behind that,” I said as Rachel asked, “Would you like some wine?”
“I believe I would,” Harriet said with a smile.
We shared a look that said oh-hey-she-might-be-just-the-HOA-president-we-need, and Rachel fumbled for a plastic cup—she usually had one in case George forgot his.
“Oh, and I like your YouTube channel, Vivian.”
“Thanks!”
“More productive than setting your husband’s shit on fire,” she added as she grabbed a quiche.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that thoughts of her had kept me from setting anything on fire.
Harriet took a sip. “This is really good.”
Rachel held up the wine and showed her varietals and appellations and such.
I made a plate of food for her.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she said.
“Of course you can!”
She enjoyed the food, even asked about the meatballs, which was an easy recipe she surely had to know already. Then she thanked us and walked away, leaving us all to wonder if the natural order of Heritage Park would be overturned. Would we end up with Harriet as president instead of Dawn?
“Well, that was weird,” Abi said once she’d disappeared.
“I know. I almost miss the sparring over statutes and regulations.”
“I hope Dawn is okay,” Rachel said.
I frowned. Come to think of it, I did, too.
Well, Vivian, you can only take care of yourself—and that’s a full-time job.
“Hey, is it too late to join the party?”
Just the sound of his voice made my heart do funny things. I turned, and sure enough, there was Parker Ford, dragging out his own chair to join us.
“It’s never too late for friends.” Even as I said the words, I fervently hoped I spoke the truth. “In fact, I have a little something for you, a souvenir from the past month or so.”
I handed over the stainless steel tumbler. He saw the “Mom Scouts” part first. Then he turned it around and saw his name. His grin came slowly. Then his eyes met mine with a promise I wanted to believe.
Time would tell.
I had to look away. “Now you’re an honorary member of the Mom Scouts, whether you like it or not.”
“It’s an honor,” he said as he held out his tumbler for wine.
A dog barked across the cul-de-sac. Rucker came trotting forward, practically dragging George behind him.
“Oh, thank goodness. I was afraid y’all had gone on your winter hiatus,” George said as he took in our merry band.
“Nope. We got the group back together,” Rachel said as she held out her bottle to pour. George extended his red Solo cup. All was—mostly—right with the world.
