By the time the Sentinel emerged from his own shower, Blair was settled on the couch with a bagel and a cup of fresh-brewed coffee, nursing Laurene. Jim wandered into the kitchen to inspect the work going on there.
"How are you this morning, James?" Mrs. McGinty asked, smiling knowingly.
"Just great, Flo," Jim smiled back. "Um, can I ask why you're using our kitchen to fix your Thanksgiving dinner?"
"Oh, isn't it obvious, dear?" the old woman clucked. "I don't have anyone at home to fuss over anymore, and you don't have anyone to fix you a special dinner. We're going to have more than enough, if you'd like to invite over some of your friends."
"What do you say, Blair? Who do we know that isn't spending time with their own families today?"
"Megan," the younger man answered. "I'll give her a call. Oh, and how about Simon and Daryl? Were they going anywhere, or was Simon cooking this year?"
"He said something about taking Daryl down to the homeless shelter to help serve Thanksgiving dinner there. They'd probably welcome a good, home-cooked meal after their shift."
"Okay. I'll call them, too. When will dinner be ready?"
"Around four o'clock, dear," Mrs. McGinty answered.
"Thanks, Flo." Blair smiled warmly at their neighbor who still bustled around the kitchen with her preparations.
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