She smiled at the reference to Fleetwood Mac, one she heard often. There were worse things to be serenaded with at age fourteen. She had known a girl named Mandy who definitely got the short end of the stick.

“When you got off the elevator, it was me and Valerie, but then two people got on. Two… well. Yeah. People.” She made a wry face and watched a man scoop an armful of bleached whites into his basket. As he sorted through the socks and undershirts, he fished out a necktie that had wound up in the mix.

‘Son of a…!’

Rhiannon clamped her lips together and tried not to smile. "And you are...?"