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With a smirk, Sadie got up, sat in Grant’s lap, and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling them close.

Whenever they were within six inches of each other, they looked like the image on their next movie poster.

It was sweet. “But I wouldn’t be married to Farm Boy!

” she said in her best imitation of pouty Julia Menlo, the Hollywood superstar who tried and failed to steal Grant from her.

Grant slipped an arm around Sadie’s waist but addressed all of them. “Did I miss the sister pact thing? I love that part.”

“No, but we might as well do it now,” Monique said. “No dates for me.”

“Date free,” Ginny said, concluding their second and final weekly brunch ritual.

Monique started making them declare the status of their love lives after the executor of Great Aunt Lydia’s will explained the details of their surprise inheritance.

Great Aunt Lydia, who never met a man she didn’t dislike, bequeathed each of them a million dollars but only if they stayed single till age thirty.

By Monique’s black and white logic, if they didn’t date, they weren’t at risk for marriage.

Of course, Sadie had found the loophole in that by marrying Grant after just three fake dates.

As far as Ginny was concerned, staying single for three more years would be as easy as breathing for three more years.

Dates, and especially first dates, were a good day spoiled.

Dream dresses and dream proposals were the height of boring.

Even if she managed to do all that in the simplest way possible, she still had to get along with the same exact person day after day and year after year till she died.

Who would sign up for that torture?

Sadie returned to her seat, and Grant started slicing up the casserole. “So, only two are left in the…what did Rick call it?” he said.

Monique held up a hand indicating she wouldn't be having any casserole, then pulled the fruit salad toward her. “Our Sister Spinster Pact.”

Ginny shook her head when she saw Grant lifting out an edge piece for her. “Corner piece, please! Extra big.”

He obliged with a pride-filled grin, and a massive corner chunk soon slid onto her plate.

As she took her first bite, fireworks of flavor exploded in her mouth.

When she closed her eyes, she could even see them in her mind—bright splashes of mustard yellow and brick red against a deep blue canvas.

“Mmmmm. Who needs a million dollars? All I need is Grant’s cooking once a week. Am I too young to retire?”

“Retire?” Monique spluttered. She set her coffee down so hard it splashed out a bit.

“Ginny, you know I love you, but how will it be any different than your life now? You’re lucky I’m a real estate attorney to the rich and famous.

My company pays you a ridiculous rate to clean empty mansions before they hit the market, and that’s it. That’s all you do.”

“I also do a little handyman work when a house needs it, but you’re right. I can’t complain. I even like the cleaning. I’m just extra busy trying to finish some repairs to my own place right now, so a little downtime would be great.”

“I’ve got good news for you then,” Monique said.

“My team is helping a couple of brothers who are about to make an enormous development transaction. It’s a big hairy deal, and the head of the firm has taken everything else off our plates to make sure it goes smoothly.

That means no new cleaning jobs for you for the next two weeks. ”

Sadie sent Ginny a look of concern. “Is that going to be okay for you financially? Will you need help with rent or utilities?”

“Nah,” she said around a mouthful of casserole. “I'm fine.”

Monique shook her head. “I don’t see how unless your rent is close to nothing. Either that or you only eat at Sunday brunch. Why won’t you let us see your place?”

Ginny made praying hands, begging for their patience. “I will, I will. It’s just not ready yet. But, I promise, you’ll love it when you see it. In fact, I’ll spend this free time wrapping up a couple of last projects, and then I’ll have everyone over.”

Her family member’s faces held matching worry lines.

“You’ve been saying that for years,” Sadie said. “And you’re always so vague. You won’t even tell us where it is.”

“We could come help you, you know,” Grant said. “I’m good at lifting heavy stuff, and I think our filming schedule is light this week.”

“I can paint and organize things,” Sadie said.

Monique swished her hands through the air as if waving away a bad smell. “Don’t volunteer me for house projects. I’ll pay for a handyman, but I don’t DIY.”

Ginny gave her well-meaning family a look of practiced patience. “Thank you, but none of these projects require lifting or organizing that I can’t handle. And, Monique, I promise I will let you know if I ever need money. You know I don’t like the stuff.”

“I’ve never known anyone so allergic to it,” Monique said.

Ginny shrugged. “Nine out of ten historians say money is the leading cause of war and climate destruction. I know I need some money, but I don’t need very much, and I’m good with that.”

What she did need was two weeks with no outside expectations. Two weeks to do whatever she wanted. Two weeks to be left completely alone so she could putter around her house finishing up the last remaining projects. Two weeks of blessed, lonely heaven.