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W hen she arrived home, the window curtains in her casita were drawn against the daytime heat and the thick mustard-colored walls topped by terra-cotta roof tiles radiated warmth.

The yard was choked in spikey bougainvillea vines, and the path to her front door was smothered in papery magenta blooms and desert sand.

A neighbor’s pit bull barked a welcome from behind the fence, but in the nighttime darkness, all else was quiet.

Endy stopped on the pathway and smiled at Maria perched on the front step, illuminated by the overhead porch light. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“I brought ice cream,” she said, holding up an insulated tote.

“Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong? Can’t I come over to my bestie’s house just to hang out with her?”

“Well, yeah,” replied Endy, “but you brought ice cream. So something’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong.” Maria stood up and brushed at the seat of her black yoga pants. “I get the salted caramel first.”

Endy pushed open her door and clicked on a lamp.

A lone green sofa with lumpy pillows and sunken cushions and an oak-laminate dining set with four chairs took up most of the front room.

The walls and floor were bare, and the built-in shelves lining the living room wall were empty.

There was no television, no plants, no pictures.

Endy kicked off her shoes and went into the kitchen. She opened a drawer and selected two spoons from the five she owned, then plopped down on the sofa next to Maria.

Maria pried the lid off the container and stuck her spoon in immediately. “So, I’ve been thinking …”

“Is this where you tell me nothing’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Endy,” replied Maria, exasperated. “I’ve just been thinking that we’ve been here, in Palm Springs, for almost two years and I kind of like it more than I thought I would.”

Endy nodded and dug her spoon into the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough. “Me too.”

“Valid, right?”

“Yep.”

“So then, do you think we’re going to stay here for a while?” asked Maria, her head tilted. “I mean, this would be the first time we’d live someplace for more than two years.”

Endy took another bite of ice cream. “That would be great by me, but I’ll need to find a new place to live since my landlords are planning to sell this casita at the end of the season. And I want to make sure that Picklers gets funded for the next couple of years.”

“?Ay!” moaned Maria, rubbing at her temples. She breathed out. “Brain freeze.”

“Ouch, I hate those,” agreed Endy. She waited until Maria had stopped grimacing, then asked, “So, how do you feel about us staying?”

Maria slowly licked her spoon and then dipped it into the pint Endy held. “Well …”

“Okay, this is where you tell me something’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong! I just was thinking that if we decide to stay here for a while, it might be nice to meet some other people. You know, make more friends.”

Endy slid a glance at Maria. “After eight years, are you finally getting sick of me?”

“No, never! You’ll always be my bestie, Endy. But I worry that if something happens to one of us, the other will be left … alone.”

“What could possibly happen to one of us?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying that I want us to find more friends who don’t work at the pro shop or who are, like, either ten or seventy years old.”

Endy chuckled. Maria was right. They didn’t really have any friends their age.

And spending their days working at the racquet pro shop or with Picklers hadn’t helped that.

The idea of staying in Palm Springs was appealing to Endy, so if they were going to break their two-year pattern, then they really should find more friends.

“Okay, I agree, it’s a good idea,” Endy replied as she dipped her spoon in her carton and scooped out the last bite. “Let’s make new friends.”