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rich brown waves bouncing. She wore knee-high boots with skinny little heels under a floaty skirt matched with a gorgeous plummy sweater that had, no doubt, come from her own stock. Huge silver triangles swayed at her ears as she stepped back so her cheerful Boston terrier, Oreo, could jump out after her.
    The dogs immediately fell into an orgy of delighted welcome—sniff, lick, roll, run. Sylvia gracefully waded through them and shot Fiona one of her stunning smiles.
    “Morning, cutie! We’re an hour early, I know, but I wanted some gossip time. Can you spare it?”
    “For you I can.” Fiona crouched as Oreo raced to give her a quick hello before dashing back to his playmates. “Come on back to the kitchen. You can have some tea while I grab breakfast.”
    Sylvia’s hello included a long, hard hug—it always did—before, with her arm still looped around Fiona’s waist, she walked into the house.
    “The news about you and Peck finding the little boy is all over the island. You did good.”
    “Peck was perfect. And the fact Hugh had to pee, twice, didn’t hurt. Still, it’s pretty amazing how much ground a three-year-old in footie Spider-Man pj’s can cover.”
    “He must’ve been so scared.”
    “More wet, cold and tired, really.” Fiona put the kettle on, gestured to the cupboard where she kept several options of herbal tea, with Sylvia in mind. “I’m really sorry I didn’t call you right away to let you know.”
    “Don’t worry about it.” Sylvia waved it off as she settled for cinnamon peach. “I was out and about anyway, checking out some pottery—and naturally left my phone in the car. I have to stop doing that.”
    She turned, narrowed her eyes as Fiona took a box of Froot Loops out of another cupboard. “You’re not having that processed sugar for breakfast.”
    “Fruit, as in Froot Loops.” Smiling hopefully, Fiona shook the box. “There has to be fruit in here.”
    “Sit down. I’m fixing you a decent breakfast.”
    “Syl, this is fine.”
    “It might be, on occasion, if you were ten. Sit,” she repeated, and, at home, opened Fiona’s refrigerator. “Um-hmm, um-hmm. I can work with this. You’ll have a nice egg-white omelet on whole wheat toast.”
    “I will?”
    “And fill me in on the distraction. An interesting eyeful, isn’t he?”
    “Adorable, and with some training he’ll be a wonderful companion.”
    Sylvia shot Fiona an arched look as she pulled out a small bowl and a tiny container. “I meant Simon.”
    “Maybe I did, too.”
    “Ha. He’s tremendously talented, and well mannered, if a little mysterious.”
    “Which one are you talking about?”
    “Smarty.” Expertly, Sylvia separated the eggs, sealing the yolks in the container before whipping the whites together with a little cheese and herbs. “He has a lovely house on East Sound, is meticulous in his craft, has gorgeous eyes, a strong back, a cute puppy, and he’s single.”
    “He sounds perfect for you. Go get him, Syl.”
    “I might, if he wasn’t two decades behind me.” Sylvia poured the egg whites into the skillet she had heating and popped bread into the toaster as Fiona fixed the tea. “You go get him.”
    “What would I do with him once I got him? Besides that,” she added when Sylvia snorted, “men, like dogs, aren’t just for the fun times. They’re a full-out, long-term commitment.”
    “You need the fun times so you can decide if you want the rest. You could try, oh, I don’t know, the wild and crazy concept of a date.”
    “I’ve been known to date. I prefer group socialized events, but I occasionally date. And I occasionally indulge in those euphemistic fun times. And before you give another nudge, just let me say: Pot, kettle.”
    “I married the love of my life, and had ten wonderful years with him. Sometimes I still feel cheated we didn’t have more time.”
    “I know.” Fiona slipped over to rub a hand down Sylvia’s back as they both thought of Fiona’s father.