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Lately, her friends have been growing closer with each passing day, but when confronted, their denial is swift. Firm. Short in a way that removes all room for doubt.
The two of them are usually better at hiding their intentions.
For Laura, it's as clear as day.
A tender smile secreted away from view. The soft graze of a hand that lingers. A tangible pull as they fall into each other’s orbit, entirely helpless in the face of gravity.
Watching these two dance around the topic is entertaining enough, but a slight push in the right direction could be just what they need.
Laura languidly sips at her tea. "The county fair is this weekend."
Maria hums a mildly interested note in the next chair over. She sheds her barriers here on the farm. Relaxed shoulders. Casual clothes. Her hair is freed of its usual bun and tossed carelessly over one shoulder.
A half-eaten piece of toast lies within reach, yet the day's newspaper holds her captive.
"You should invite Natasha."
At the name, Maria finally glances up with a flicker of blue eyes, all too transparent.
Laura's growing smile nearly gives her away, subtly hidden behind a porcelain rim.
The paper is set on the table, perfectly folded. "Never took her for someone who'd enjoy that sort of thing."
"She would," says Laura. "If you were the one to invite her."
"Laura." Her chastising tone is in jest, but wariness spoils the intent.
"Maria."
An exasperated huff. "You're trouble, you know that?"
"Have you ever expected anything less?"
Upstairs, a door crashes open, quickly followed by a pattering of tiny feet. Scuffling, yelling, laughter. All signs of life that indicate Laura's day has officially begun.
As she heads up to get the kids ready for school, she accepts the stalemate for what it is. A sticky note in her calendar. A pot simmering on the back burner.
Preserved for another time but not forgotten.
The kids decide to be cooperative for once—by some grace of God or perhaps multiple deities, knowing her luck—leaving Laura without a headache and more than enough time to kill before the drive to school.
As she reaches the bottom step of the stairwell, a voice halts her in her tracks.
"So," Maria starts, all too casually. From this angle, Laura watches her fidget with the newspaper's edge below the table. "County fair this weekend."
Natasha is busying herself on the other side of the counter, tiptoeing for a mug on the top shelf. "Yeah?"
"According to Laura."
An interested hum fills the silence. A shuffling of clothing as Natasha shifts her weight from side to side, contemplating her choices.
"Wanna go?" Maria asks.
Natasha snags one by the handle before turning on her heel with a dancer's grace. Her movements are always efficient, not a single one wasted, but this one is noticeably lighter.
She shoots Laura a knowing look over Maria’s shoulder.
"Could be fun," is her simple answer paired with a one-shouldered shrug, even as a smile plays on her lips.
"Right." Maria clears her throat. "Good. Then it's settled."
"Saturday?"
"At five."
"Works for me."
Laura doesn't mind taking credit for things that involve the people she loves. She likes making them happy, and she makes sure that they know it.
But when the two of them sit closer than usual that night, pressed together on the couch during a spy thriller the kids picked out, chuckling at an inside joke meant only for their ears, she's perfectly fine watching from afar.