Abigail reached into the closet and pulled out a simple raspberry-pink linen sheath dress that she had scored at the discount store near the senior center. The linen was Italian, her favorite. “Here. I picked this up for you. I thought you might need something new for the engagement party. On sale, and you look so good in sheaths.”

It was true. Sarah’s tall, muscular physique could pull off the style, and the color was beautiful with her skin tone and sun-streaked brown hair. “Cap sleeves so your field hockey tan doesn’t show!”

Another daughter might have balked at having her mother pick out her clothes, but not Sarah. If she had a tail, it would have been wagging. Now it was her turn to play dress-up. Sarah loved when her mother shopped for her, otherwise her entire wardrobe would be T-shirts, gym shorts, and hoodies. She zipped up the dress and spun around for Abigail, who nodded approvingly. “Thank you. I love this color. I invited Taylor and Kelly to stop by tomorrow. I hope you don’t mind. They always had the biggest crush on Chase. They want to check out Penny.”

“That’s fine. There’s no food so adding a few more guests won’t be a problem.”

“There’s no food?”

“It’s a drinks party. It’s very British.”

“But we’re not British.”

“We were once. Hundreds of years ago. And don’t you forget it,” Abigail said, handing Sarah some espadrilles that would lengthen the look of her legs. “These are for you, too.”

“I can’t wait to meet the British lord. He’ll appreciate the fact that we’re not serving any food,” Sarah said, kicking off her slides and slipping on the beige espadrilles. “These are so sexy.”

“I’m hoping your father can take him on a short tour of the neighborhood and show him all the homes built after the redcoats burned the town to the ground during the Revolutionary War.”

“That will make him feel at home,” Sarah said. “You didn’t really say much about the mother last night.”

“Well, the mother is very . . .” Abigail hesitated to finish the sentence. Very what? Greek? Intimidating? Surprisingly charismatic? All of the above. She had wanted to get a handle on this woman who had chosen to become a mother but not a wife. To own a business, rather than pour her time into her own home. Choices it would never have occurred to Abigail to make. But she sensed that Alexa wouldn’t be easy to truly know. One dinner wasn’t going to unlock Alexa. “Very intriguing. A global citizen. Want to help me polish the silver?”

Nobody loved a good “polish sesh” more than Sarah. She found turning the trays from black to bright to be satisfying, like a great massage. “Why do we need to polish the trays if we’re not having food?”