Even as Zander had hunted for available flights to Washington, the ruling thought in his head had been,This can’t be right. Frank can’tbe dead. His subconscious was determined to pick a fight with reality.
The reality: Uncle Frank had been hardworking, reliable, humorous, and devoted to his wife, twin daughters, and two nephews. Uncle Frank had also been found dead in the driver’s seat of his truck this past Saturday, apparently killed by a heart attack.
“How’s Carolyn doing?” Britt asked.
“As well as can be expected.”
“And you?”
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“You haven’t gotten yourself into trouble lately?”
“Not lately.”
“You’ve been behaving?” A note of disbelief marked his question.
“I didn’t say I’d been behaving.” She shot him a wry glance. “I simply said I hadn’t gotten myself into troublelately.”
“Ah. Dating anyone?”Please, God, let the answer be no.
“Not at the moment.”
They’d kept in regular contact with each other through texts and FaceTime calls, but he’d purposely avoided asking about her boyfriends, because he hadn’t wanted to know.
“I was dating this guy named Anthony, but we broke up three months ago.”
“You’ve been single for three whole months?” The average interval between Britt’s boyfriends: 2.5 seconds.
“I know! I’m proud of myself.”
“What happened with Anthony?”
“He was an interrupter. I could never finish my sentence.”
He held Sweet Art’s back door open so she could pass first, then entered the kitchen that occupied the rear of her shop’s square footage. Here, the rich scents of chocolate and coffee hung in the air. Walls of white subway tile gave way to counters of stainless steel. Open shelves held ingredients as well as turquoise, gray, and white mixing bowls.
Britt waved him toward one of the stools that framed her large central island. “Sit.”
“I can help—”
“You’re jet-lagged and sleep-deprived. Sit.”
Zander did so while she moved around the room, cleaning her work space and updating him on her family. Her older sister Nora was busy planning her wedding, which would take place in six weeks. Her oldest sister, Willow, had married last summer and was living with her husband in nearby Shore Pine. Her parents were finishing a two-year stint in Africa as missionaries.
Kitchen clean, Britt washed her hands, then grabbed a small plate off a shelf. “Hang on a sec.” She vanished through the swinging door into her shop and returned carrying four chocolates on the plate. She stood at the kitchen’s side counter for a moment, studying the white Easter-egg-shaped chocolates assembled there, no doubt debating whether to add one to his plate.
Even when still and quiet, Brittradiatedenergy. He could feel the life in her, the suppressed movement.
She added an Easter egg to the assortment and set the plate before him.
He studied the chocolates. “What do we have here?”
