Andrea’s eyes bulged. “Were we all supposed to be doing that?”

“I don’t know! Was there a handbook we missed?”

“Psst,” Lauren said, moving closer to Ronnie. “She’s got Baileys for your coffee.” She pointed at Andrea. “Just in case all this”—she gestured around at the other mothers, who were clustered and talking in high-pitched voices—“is too much.” Then she quickly added, “I’m just saying, it’s a little . . .”

“. . . Overwhelming?” Andrea finished.

The three women shared a look of understanding. Ronnie’s eyes widened at their coffee mugs, but after thinking it over, she said, “What the hell?” Then she glanced toward her boyfriend, who was now speaking in one of those gaggles of eager mothers. “But pour it in quick. My boyfriend over there? He teaches kindergarten here. I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

Andrea dumped the rest of the bottle into Ronnie’s cup with impressive sleight of hand. After she finished, she did a double take at something on Ronnie’s left wrist. It was a yellow rubber bracelet not unlike the Livestrong bracelets people were wearing in the early 2000s. “Where’d you get that?”

Ronnie inspected the bracelet and shrugged. “Some guy gave it to me—my boyfriend and I did a meal-delivery service for him and his wife over the summer, after those wildfires? It’s like a cancer bracelet or something?”

“Does the guy have Willy Wonka hair?” Andrea’s voice had an edge. “Bulgy eyes?”

“Yeah, that sounds right. His name was . . . Jerome?”

“Jerry.” Andrea looked more and more uneasy. “Do you . . . know him?”

“Only in passing.” Ronnie sipped. “He seemed nice, though.”

“Ah.” Andrea’s shoulders relaxed a little. “He is nice. His wife has cancer. The bracelets, look”—here she showed her own wrist; she was wearing a similar yellow bracelet—“his daughter made them. Flora. She launched a sportswear brand last year, and I guess this was part of the line.”

“Impressive.” Ronnie smiled, and then added, to Andrea, “I bet you have a lot of cool friends like that. Designers and whatnot. You have that look.”

“Me? Oh, not really.” Andrea blushed. “And Flora moved up the coast, actually—we weren’t even friends. I actually don’t know another soul in Raisin Beach.”

“Me neither,” Ronnie admitted. “I mean, not really.” She mentioned that she, like Andrea and Lauren, hadn’t moved there that long ago.

Lauren took a sip and looked at Ronnie. “Do you work?”

“Me?” Ronnie froze. “Um, yeah. At this . . . nonprofit. It’s really boring.”

“Your looks are wasted on a nonprofit!” Lauren chided, then pointed to herself. “My looks, however, are not wasted on being a stay-at-home mom.” Then she looked at Andrea. “How about you?”