“Twice. You should come see my new rug in my looks-like-new office. Really brightened it up.”

MJ’s eyebrows went up. “You got it up the stairs all right?”

“Well, the delivery man carried it up. None other than Nate Owens, store manager, and I believe he is interested in Loren. He remembered her from high school and invited her biking Sunday. He is a delightful young man.”

“Well, I’ll be. They’re going biking on Sunday afternoon, eh. We will all pray for good weather.” MJ checked her watch. “Better be getting home. I promised Daryl I’d help him with his kayak. Something about stitching gunwales.”

“And I have a new client who wants to see some houses today, so we are out of here.” Roxie headed out the door.

“What about the bird?” Anne called. “Wait. Never mind, I’ll take care of it.”

“Good luck with your showings,” MJ said at her gate. “You want to bring Sir Charles over while you’re gone? Looper loves to have company.”

“Thanks, maybe I will, although I’m sure all he and Juno do while I am gone is curl up in a sun spot and sleep.” She patted his head. “Come on, big dog, let’s get home.”

* * *

The next morning, three people were already in the room when MJ and Roxie arrived at the UFO meeting place, the senior center. They shared a grin and set their bags down on the table.

“Welcome, everyone.” MJ stepped in to be the greeter. “Glad you could come. There is coffee and tea on the corner table.”

“And I brought cookies,” Maureen’s daughter Josie announced. “Can’t have a meeting without cookies.”

“Hey, I didn’t know that was a law.” Roxie smiled at her. “And knowing you, they are homemade.”

“How embarrassing to bring store-bought.” Josie pulled the lid off her plastic container, releasing cinnamon oatmeal fragrance.

“Are they even cooled yet?”

“Oh, yes, took the last batch out of the oven at eight, so please, everyone, help yourself.”

Roxie set out a Sharpie and a deck of HELLO–MY NAME IS labels. “So, here are name tags, just in case we have people we don’t know.” She saw Maxine, a recently widowed retired schoolteacher. “Maxine, what are you working on and the magic question—when did you start it?”

The unashamedly gray-haired woman held up a variegated rust cable-knit sweater back. “Let’s just say that the grandson I started this for is now a football player at the high school.”

“And that is size…?”

“Oh, six or so. I’ll find someone to give it to. Thought of unraveling it but the back is finished; this is the front, and the sleeves will go quickly, no cable there.”

“I love that I’m not the only one,” Roxie sighed.

They had one crocheter, halfway through a baby afghan, and a painter who was setting up her easel. “I want to give this to my daughter for a wedding gift in a month so I really need to get on it.”