Page 51 of Touch of Class

“Yes,” Gillian said quickly. “Poorly formed, half-assed, and not at all gracious.”

“I like it,” Daphne said resolutely.

“Really?”

“Actually, I do. Feels genuine. Also, you know how much I enjoy it when you’re kind of a mess.”

“I’ve noticed, but don’t get your hopes up it’ll continue. I intend to rebound, and as you know, I still hold the school record for rebounds in a single season.”

Daphne shook her head. “I did not know that, but I’ll pay closer attention this time.”

“See that you do.” Gillian tried to find her footing again. “I throw a great dinner party. You’ll have no choice but to be impressed.”

“I look forward to it,” Daphne replied, tongue firmly in cheek. “I expect centerpieces and wine pairings and probably seasonal décor of some kind.”

Gillian snorted softly. “Check, check, check.”

Daphne opened her mouth, eyes dancing with mirth, but Izzy cut her off. “I take it back.”

Both adults turned to look at her. Had Daphne forgotten she was there? Gillian had.

“I’m not in a hurry to grow up. I think it makes you weird.”

Gillian sighed, not sure if she should be embarrassed or grateful for the simplistic explanation of whatever was happening to her these days. “Yes, apparently adulthood takes things that used to be set and safe and makes them super weird.”

Thirteen

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin met Daphne at the door with a burst of energy and a cloud of the most heavenly smells drifting out into the hallway of Gillian’s luxury apartment building. “Come on in.”

She hugged Robin hello, then allowed her to take her coat, careful of the flowers she carried wrapped in paper and twine.

Tegan bounded over and hugged her, too. “I’m glad you joined us.”

“I’m glad you have room in your traditions for new folks.”

“This is only my second Friendsgiving,” Tegan admitted. “I still feel pretty new.”

“No way.” Daphne glanced past her to where Brooke stood at the stove, sneaking a taste of something in a soup pot. “I figured you two had been together ages.”

Tegan shook her head. “Officially, a year and three weeks.”

“Unofficially,” Robin whispered, “it’s been about six months longer than that.”

“Not our story to tell.” Sawyer appeared and winked at Daphne as they steered Robin away. “And for what it’s worth, this is my first Friendsgiving in a couple years, though I was a founding member of the tradition. I was kind of the prodigal of the group until someone recently gave me very good reasons to stick around.”

“And that is my story to tell,” Robin cut back in.

“For crying out loud, let her through the door,” Gillian called, and the crowds parted to reveal her standing in the center of the room like some glorious ringmaster. She’d dressed down in navy blue leggings that hugged her hips before falling loosely around her legs, along with a pristine white T-shirt under a red and blue Bills flannel she’d buttoned only halfway up. She wore her hair pulled back in a messy bun that somehow managed to not look messy at all with two soft tendrils spiraling down near each temple.

Damn it. How could someone who rocked a suit or a pencil skirt also manage to look perfect in flannel and yoga pants? It wasn’t fair, and Daphne silently registered that complaint with the universe before extending the bouquet in her hand. “Thank you for having me.”

“Wow, these are beautiful.” Gillian accepted the blend of sunflowers and burgundy dahlias. “I can’t believe you found such vibrant, fresh flowers this time of year.”

“I saw them at the Lexington Co-op, and even though I knew you probably already had your centerpieces meticulously coordinated, I grabbed them on impulse. They spoke to my mood about being included in this wonderful event. Sunshine and a deep warmth with a hint of red for the challenge neither one of us can resist.”

“Aw geez, Daphne.” Sawyer laughed. “Way to break the curve on hostess gifts. Robin and I brought ice.”

“It’s what she asked us to bring.” Robin shrugged. “It’s always what you ask the people who can’t cook to bring.”