With her small shopping basket slung over her arm, Kylie wandered the aisles of Second Time Around, pulling whisks and wooden spoons and a beat-up set of measuring cups out of the tangled piles on the shelves. She’d come down to the thrift store after work with the intention of buying a couple of things for the living room – maybe a lamp or end table – but had somehow found herself in the kitchen area instead.

Ahem. Yeah. Somehow…

She rolled her eyes at herself. She was incorrigible, truly.

Even though she really shouldn’t be buying another large mixing bowl, she told herself that it’d make the Keep Adam Fed project a lot easier if she had two, and snatched the rose-patterned bowl off the shelf. It was gorgeous – a pale pink with hand-painted roses on the side, it would absolutely look at home in Ruby’s kitchen. Even better, it’d look at home in Kylie’s kitchen, what with the shabby-chic vibe she had going on.

Shabby chic was a decorating trend that Kylie was almost positive originated with women who hadn’t been blessed with deep pockets, but had been blessed with a sense of style. It was one of the few trends that was actually friendly on ye olde budget, something Kylie appreciated to the depths of her very empty bank account.

As she continued to browse, looking through the plates for some decent ones that could be vaguely thought of as matching, she spotted a small sign at the end of the aisle and wandered over to take a closer look.

Shopping at Second Time Around helps support the residents of the Long Valley Senior Citizen’s Center. All profits are used to run activities and to provide creature comforts to the elderly in our community. Thank you for your support!

Huh. Kylie hadn’t exactly shopped in Second Time Around as a high school student, and so somehow, she’d missed this piece of information.

She carted her overflowing basket up to the front counter and set it down with a thump. The older woman behind the counter, a cloud of white hair bobbing around her face with every movement, laughed a little as she began sorting out Kylie’s haul so she could ring it up.

“You found some nice items in here,” the woman said admiringly. “I do love shopping at a thrift store. It’s like a treasure hunt!”

“It really is,” Kylie said with a satisfied grin. It was a treasure hunt, and she’d struck gold. “So, I noticed the signage back there about the profits going to the senior citizen’s center. Somehow, I’d missed that before. How long’s that been going on?”

“Well now,” the woman said, ruminating as she separated the items into piles, “a long time, I s’pose. Second Time Around used to be run by the Methodist Church, but they had a hard time finding volunteers who were reliable enough to keep a store like this open.”

She shrugged. “It’s damn hard to find people who want to work for free all the time. Funny that.” She let out a boisterous laugh. “But the gal who runs the senior citizen’s center came up with the idea of taking it over; she said that one thing that seniors miss the most is a purpose in life. Although it sounds like fun to do nothin’ but sit around on your hindquarters all day and play pinochle, you start to get bored after a while. Grandkids and kids…they have their own lives. They can’t spend their days entertaining their grandparents. So, the Methodist Church signed the store over to the center with a real strict contract that it can’t ever be converted to for-profit, and all revenue has to go back to the center. We’ve been keeping it running ever since.”

She’d been steadily beeping the items through the scanner as they’d talked, and once she’d worked her way through the pile, she looked up at Kylie. “That’ll be $39.42, please.”

Kylie gulped, but handed over two twenties. She obviously couldn’t indulge in a shopping spree every day after work, buying up gorgeous mixing bowls, but just this load would be a huge help in making her rental into a home.

As the volunteer was counting back her change, Kylie’s mind jumped back to Ruby, sitting at home, gnarled hands keeping her from doing much, but a real desire to still contribute to the world. “How long are the shifts when you work here?” she asked, dropping the coins into her purse and slinging it over her shoulder.

The older woman shrugged. “As long as you can work,” she said simply. “You tell the director what you’re physically capable of, and she puts a schedule together. They have a bus that runs back and forth from the center to here pretty much all day long. Some people like to sort donations in the back, some people like to stock the shelves, and some like to run the cash register. Up here is my favorite because then I get to talk to people all day long, and not a soul who shops here wants to discuss how many times a day they drink Metamucil to keep themselves regular, either!”

Kylie snort-laughed, her eyes huge as she stared in disbelief at the elderly woman. “Metamucil?” she choked out.

“Some of the topics they talk about over breakfast at the center…” The woman shook her head in disgust. “I try to tell ‘em it isn’t good for digestion, but they still keep talkin’ about it anyway. Working here…I can’t stand too long—” she gestured to a cane in the corner, “but it’s amazing how having something to do each day changes your mindset.”

“Thank you,” Kylie said with a grateful smile. “I appreciate the information, and your hard work as a volunteer here.”

“Sure, sure!” the woman said cheerfully. “Be sure to come on back real soon; we get donations all the time.”

With a wave to the friendly woman, Kylie carted her treasures out to her new-to-her car and loaded it up. After Adam had taken her out on their first real date the day before, he’d cancelled all of his appointments this morning and had spent the day tuning up her car instead. He’d proudly handed over the keys to the Grand Marquis at closing time.

Despite the fact that it was so oversized, calling it a boat didn’t quite do it justice, Kylie still couldn’t believe it was hers. Or that she had a whole house to herself. All the way home, she just kept shaking her head in wonderment. It was like she was a real adult or something, with a car and a home of her own.

Home. What a lovely word. As she began putting her thrift store finds away, she looked around her with a huge grin. The old farmhouse was slowly becoming hers, a reflection of her values and what made her happy.

She ran her hand over her rounded belly and said softly, “You hear that, baby? We’ve got ourselves a home, you and me. I can’t wait to show it to you.”

She grabbed her laptop from the corner and settled down into the worn couch, the springs creaking beneath her weight as she began browsing the internet, doing another round of research on ways to use goat and cow’s milk. She didn’t want to be in charge of pasteurizing the milk or getting a health and safety certificate in order to sell milk or cream to others. But lotion, soap, and other body products didn’t require any certification at all, and as long as she only mixed in healthy ingredients to provide a rich scent, she certainly couldn’t make someone sick from the products.

She pulled up a how-to article and got to work with a piece of paper and pen, taking notes. She’d crack this yet.