“Yes, that’s fine,” I told her.

“Excellent. Noon. Weatherby’s Diner. We’ll be the two blondes in a window booth.”

“Well, if there are two other blondes, so you know me, I’ll be the short, middle-aged brunette,” I informed her.

“Petite,” she stated as reply.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

“Women are not short. They’re petite. They also are never middle-aged. They’re mature.”

I didn’t know how to reply to that true but firmly declared statement except to say, “Oh. Right.”

She sounded vaguely flustered when she backtracked, “You can, of course, refer to yourself however you wish.”

I felt the need to smooth her fluster and did this saying, “Petite is a nicer word. So is mature.”

“They are, indeed,” she agreed. “Though I also am not overly fond of mature. Why a woman needs to qualify that, I cannot fathom.”

I couldn’t help but agree.

“So I’ll be the petite, mature brunette,” I told her, trying to make a joke. “However, the mature part is just for you and me.”

“And Alyssa and I will be the not-petite, mature blondes,” she returned, and thankfully I could hear the smile in her voice. “Further, you should be aware that as it’s summer, I may have my son, Ethan, with me. And as Alyssa and her husband, Junior, are kind, good-hearted people, they’ve wisely made the decision to copiously populate Magdalene with their offspring. Therefore, she could have a bevy of children with her. They’ll be the ones causing mayhem. I’ll do my best to be certain Ethan doesn’t join in, but he has a mind of his own and his father and I like to encourage exactly that.”

I grinned at the counter. “That’ll be good then as you all will be hard to miss.”

“Indeed,” she again agreed. “Now, do we have a plan?”

“Yes, Josie, we have a plan. I’ll see you and Alyssa Wednesday at this Weatherby’s place.”

“You can’t miss it,” she told me. “It’s in town and town’s not that big. It’s right on Cross Street. But if you have troubles, simply call me.”

She seemed oddly formal, which was quite a contradiction to her cursing, but friendly and totally informal husband.

“I’ll find it,” I assured her.

“Good. We’ll see you then, Amelia.”

“Yes, Josie. See you Wednesday.”

She rang off and I put the phone to the counter.

Lifting my head, I looked at a beautiful space that didn’t look that fabulous with boxes stacked against the walls.

However, apparently, if Josie Spear had anything to do with it, this house sale would happen quickly and I could get started on creating a home I loved that my children were comfortable in.

Until I had that clean palette, though, I wasn’t going to start that project.

Which meant, home from my meanderings to nowhere doing nothing that actually bore fruit as I’d met some people and had plans for lunch on Wednesday, at that exact time, I had nothing to do.

Nothing.

No friends.