“How precious,” Eleanor said, though her eyes remained cool behind her dark lenses. “Just make sure she wears something she can get dirty. I do not want any ruined clothes on my account.”
She rolled up her window before I could answer, the silver sedan pulling away with a sharp puff of exhaust.
The living room was quiet at eight that evening, the only light coming from the lamp by the sofa where Mia was sitting with her sketchpad. I sat nearby, my phone resting in my lap.
A soft chime signaled an incoming text. I picked up the screen and read the message from Eleanor.
*Just a reminder for Saturday at seven. We are keeping it rustic on the river lawn. Wear your absolute oldest clothes, something you do not mind getting stained. It is going to be a real mess.*
I stared at the words, a small breath of relief escaping my lips. For the first time in years, Eleanor was offering an invitation that did not require a trip to the boutique or hours of agonizing over the proper etiquette.
