Pleased, she smiled as she slathered butter on the bread and handed him a slice. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I’m bringing nothing to this party,” he complained.
“You’re hosting. Plus, I sort of invited myself. I didn’t mean to do that. This was to be for you and Hannah.” Her gaze landed on a ceramic statue of an apple-shaped apron-wearing woman. “Did you make that?” She pointed at the figurine.
“No, my wife did.”
“Oh. I didn’t realize she was an artist as well.”
“She liked quirky things. She used to say that everything and everyone should have a sense of humor.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
He lowered his head as if he found something interesting at the bottom of his bowl. “Me too, because then she’d be here.”
Probably not, Zoe thought. If Allison had lived, Ethan might still be painting and he and Hannah would be living in a mansion at the top of the hill instead of in her mom’s house trying to pay off Allison’s medical bills.
“Do you mind talking about her?” Zoe asked.
“Do you mind listening?”
“Not at all.”
“Have you ever lost anyone close to you?”
“My father, but I’m not sure he counts since I never really knew him. Still, I mourned for him and all those unrealized dreams.”
He nodded. “Losing Allison was hard, but the death of all our hopes and plans was almost as bad. The children we were going to have, the trips we were going to take, the house we were going to build—those dreams all died when she did.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hand over his.
His gaze met hers. “They say everything happens for a reason, but I can’t think of one good reason for Allison’s death.”
She nodded, not because she understood, but because she wanted to. “What happened?”
“It was just a cold—or so we thought. It happened really fast. They discovered the lung cancer too late.” He stirred his soup and didn’t meet her gaze.
Was he crying? Her heart twisted.
“Lung cancer?”
“She didn’t even smoke...never had.” His lips tightened. “But her parents had. I’m trying to forgive them, for Hannah’s sake.”
“They lost a daughter,” Zoe said softly.
“I know.” He looked up. His eyes were dry but wounded. “How about you? Have you ever been married?”
She shook her head.
“Engaged?”
“Engaged in growing my business.”
“Ah, I don’t really see you as a businesswoman.”
“But I am.” She took a sip of soup. “I’ve been so busy—the bakery isn’t conducive to a social life. Besides, I have Laurel and Courtney to keep me company.”
“Did you always want to be a baker?” He seemed to relax now that the conversation had steered away from Allison.
