Page 19 of Royal Agenda

Nancy paced the front of the conference room as the rest of the Secret Seven chatted. No one who worked for The Palms ever used the meeting space, and it became the Secret Seven’s headquarters early on. She loved the large table with seating for everyone and the board they’d turned into a murder board. It flipped from one side to another so they could turn it around, and no one would be the wiser to what was on the other side. The functionality in this space was familiar to her corporate-loving heart and drew out her creative problem-solving side.

Samantha sat at the end of the table, her laptop open in front of her. The event organizer was overworked and underpaid.

Nancy wished Samantha would listen to her about asking for a raise. The woman not only organized events on and off-site—like their weekly visits to the local amusement parks, rotating parks, of course—she gave classes on everything from cell phone etiquette to organizing your closet. There was no helping it, though; Samantha was a giver, and she truly loved The Palms’ residents. Which probably would make her feel guilty for asking for more money. Why was it so hard for people to see their own value?

Polly and Rosa talked about the latest romance movie they’d watched together. Rosa loved to fall into the romance and Polly liked to explain why the romance between the two characters with opposite personalities worked. She’d heard rumors that Don had read a romance novel with them but she wouldn’t believe it until she heard it from the man himself.

Walt and Harry discussed the upcoming golf tournament. The big event wasn’t sponsored by The Palms. Several of the residents had bragged about their low scores and a heated arguments ensued. The only way to settle it fairly was to have a competition to establish who was actually the best golfer.

There was, of course, a catch.

Since no one wanted to lose forever, they decided it would be a quarterly event with a trophy that stayed with the latest winner. If the last winner died while in possession of the trophy, it would be buried with him and a new award would be found. Harry was in process of locating said trophy, scouring local thrift stores and online markets.

Don had yet to arrive which was understandable considering the last meeting where she’d decimated his oatmeal cookies.

She’d offered to pick something up from the local bakery for today, and Don would have none of it. He’d promised them a new treat but wouldn’t reveal it until they’d gone through their agenda.

Nancy bit her cheek. She could really use a treat right now.

Grace was the only one of her granddaughters who drove her to sugar.

Elizabeth was just like her—driven, organized, and settled with Chad, The Surf Shop owner.

Maisie was a whole other story. She was also just like Nancy but in a different way. She’d married right out of high school and wanted to settle down and make babies. Nancy had also married young . . . because she was going to have a baby.

God had other plans for Maisie, and she was lost–trying to find her way.

Nancy wanted to set the Secret Seven on her during the next round of matchmaking. The girl’s heart was full of romance, and when her husband passed away, he seemed to take it with him. Her only hope was to find someone to love her back to life. Maisie needed the Secret Seven—she just didn’t know it yet.

None of their targets knew they were matched by a group of retirees.

“Are you okay?” Polly asked quietly. “You’re tapping your foot like a bunny rabbit.”

Nancy shook out her shoulders and sat down, her back straight. “Grace stresses me out.”

“What? But I thought the makeover was a success.”

Nancy flicked her hand. “Indubitably. Her hair is stunning. I couldn't get that kind of color when I was younger—and she has my blonde locks.” She fluffed her hair. “We need to go shopping, but every time we start out the door, her phone rings, an email arrives, or,” she shuddered, “Stephán distracts her.”

Polly’s reassuring smile faltered. “Stephán.” She spat the name out like a curse. “Did you know he once told Samantha that she dressed like an old lady?”

Rosa glared and mumbled what sounded like a jinx on Stephán’s head.

Samantha often wore 50s-style dresses made with themed fabrics. If Nancy had half that much style as a twenty-something, she would have rocked it.

Samantha snorted derisively. “I took it as a compliment, by the way. The man is as fashionable as a doorknob.”

Her comment drew a round of chuckles.

“He’s horrible.” Nancy pressed her fingers to her forehead. “He leaves his swimsuits everywhere. How many trunks does one man need?” she asked Walt.

Walt tugged on his mustache as he thought. His navy polo shirt was buttoned up and appeared pressed. “Two. One for wash day and the other for swimming.”

“Exactly!” Nancy threw a hand out. “He has at least a dozen. And he wore one out to dinner with Grace last night. I wanted to die for her.”

“Did she mind?” asked Polly diplomatically.

Nancy huffed. If it didn’t bother Grace, it shouldn’t bother her, but it did! “She didn’t say anything about it in front of me. Why didn’t Ryker ask her out? There was chemistry in that barber shop.”

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