She grinned, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The basement smelled damp and musty. She tried to think of the last time anyone had been in here. A lone light bulb dangled from the ceiling, and Ethan went to turn it on. A glow filled the dark and shadowy space, exposing a collection of ancient camping gear stacked in the corner beside a banana-seat bike.
Ethan whistled. “It’s even better than I imagined!”
“Are you serious?”What was she missing?
He nodded. “This place is great.” He wandered into the next room. “Why isn’t Mrs. Lickel using this?” His words floated out to her.
She trailed after him. “Well, it takes money, of course. And time.”
“Yes, but she could make her money back in a few months and everything after that would be gravy.” He returned to the main room. “This could be the living room. You could have two bedrooms—maybe three—and a bathroom.”
“We’d have to share the laundry room with another person.”
“Would that be such a big deal? We could even put a washer and dryer down here when we put in the kitchen.” He laughed. “Listen to me. It’s not as if we can do anything. It’s up to the mysterious Mrs. Lickel.”
Again, another perfect opportunity to tell him. Again, she let it slide. “But how would that work? If you paid for the renovations, what would you get out of it? Other than a convenient babysitter, of course.”
He pushed his fingers through his hair. “Mrs. Hancock is like family.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, laid her head on his chest, and listened to the gentle beating of his heart. “I think it’s sweet the way you try to keep Hannah’s life as painless as possible.”
“Dad!” Hannah shrieked.
Ethan looked at the ceiling and grinned. “Do you think she could hear you?”
Above them, Hannah’s footsteps pounded.
“You better go and see what’s up,” Zoe said. “Why don’t I call Mrs. Lickel?”
“You’d do that?”
“Dad!” Hannah’s voice carried panic.
“Do you think she’s hurt?” Zoe asked, concerned.
“Probably not physically,” he said, “but with girls that age, there’s a lot of emotional wreckage.”
#
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER, when the renovations were nearly complete, Zoe sat in the bakery with Courtney and Grandma Lillian. Grandma Lillian had a faded beauty, like a rose that had wilted and crumpled around the edges. She wore flimsy clothing that floated around her, as insubstantial as the perfume she wore. Her gray curls framed her face and her makeup never bled into her wrinkles the way it tended to do on other women her age.
“The basement apartment is looking amazing,” Zoe said.
Blueberry lemon muffins and steaming cups of tea stood between them.
“I’m more interested in this man than the renovations,” Grandma said.
Courtney winked at Zoe. “So is Zoe.”
“Much more interested than she’s letting on,” Grandma said.
Zoe grew warm and uncomfortable beneath their scrutiny. “You know I don’t have time for romance.”
“It’s a good thing he’s so close, then,” Courtney said. “Wouldn’t want to waste any time commuting.”
“Guys! Focus!” Zoe picked up her teacup to hide her flaming cheeks. “When do you want to come and inspect the renovations?”
“I can’t believe he just paid for all of it out of his own pocket,” Grandma said.
