Chapter Seven
Zoe looked forward to Donovan’s return but prayed he had a great weekend with his son. After having his assistance and company with the candy canes for a week, Zoe discovered she enjoyed his presence. Of course, it took not having him nearby all weekend for her to have this epiphany, but she’d come to a conclusion, nonetheless. What to do with that information was a different story.
Did she dare allow herself to have a friend? A tremble coursed through her. Even friendship meant being vulnerable. She’d had enough heartache to last a lifetime plus infinity. Dare she risk opening her heart?
Her heart? Where did that come from?As a friend, Zoe, as a friend. Don’t jump ahead of yourself.
Weren’t they already friends? In a week’s span, he’d learned more about her than any other person in Nativity had in the five years she’d lived here. She’d told him more than she’d even told Mrs. Jacobs. She trusted him, felt comfortable confiding in him, and it wasn’t one-sided. He’d entrusted her with information he claimed not to have told anyone, and he’d gain nothing from lying.
They brought each other coffee, and hot cocoa, and tea. She didn’t have any social media accounts to friend him on, but they exchanged text messages that increasingly had nothing to do with the candy canes.
That reminded her …
She pushed Snowball from her lap and went to the kitchen and unplugged her phone from the charger. Sent a text to Donovan and hoped she hadn’t overstepped her bounds. —Was at the mall this morning and saw the Freddy Turtle play set in stock. I asked if they’d hold it for you, but they wouldn’t since it’s the number one toy this season. I went ahead and bought it for you.
As she expected, no immediate reply came. He’d mentioned Mondays were meeting day at work, and he set his phone to silent during them. More evidence of their friendship. Though she knew the career fields of most people whom she interacted with at church, she didn’t know their employer, let alone anything about their schedules. Only Donovan’s.
While she was in the kitchen, she fed the cats and gave them fresh water. A black blur jumped down from the top of the refrigerator and pounced in front of her. Her heart skipped a beat until she realized it was Coal, who often hid up there when Snowball wanted to play, and he didn’t. With her extra fluff, Snowball hadn’t figured out how to get that high.
She cleaned her dishes from breakfast and lunch. A defying laugh escaped. Of all the changes in her life in recent years, they weren’t all bad. The old Zoe never would have left a dish in the sink, but the new Zoe understood life’s brevity. Nothing had been hurt, and the world wasn’t worse off for her leaving the dishes until after she’d run errands this morning. The release of perfection came with a high price tag, but she’d glean every lesson possible from the death of her family.
Her phone beeped when she was halfway done sweeping. She finished the chore before checking. Expecting a reply from Donovan, she smiled until she saw her mother’s number and message. —Happy Thanksgiving, Darling. We’re home from Austria and leave for Colombia next week.
She sucked in a long, angry breath. Some things never changed. Happy Thanksgiving? It was over a week ago. No “Can you come visit while we’re home,” or “We miss you.” Nothing. No sign of affection. She shouldn’t be surprised, but the truth stung regardless. After Tori’s death, her parents threw themselves further into work.
Oddly, their reaction told her they did care and needed an escape from the pain. At the same time, she wanted to throw respect to the wind and shake their arms and tell them she needed them to be parents. Just once, she could have used them as a shoulder to cry on, but that wasn’t their style.Hands offbest described their method of parenting. For better or worse, they were the parents God gave her.
Swallowing all her pride and resentment, she typed a reply. —Happy Thanksgiving to you, as well. Safe travels and I love you.
She might get a reply.Mightbeing an optimistic hope. When was the last time her parents had told her they loved her? After Aubrey’s funeral before they jetted out of the country. Before that? She couldn’t remember.
She’d made it a point to tell Aubrey every day of her short life that she loved her. Not a day passed she hadn’t told her those three words that could fill a heart. Knowing wasn’t enough. A person had to hear the words. Another hard-learned lesson from her parents.
When her phone beeped again, she considered not looking. If Mom had replied with another impersonal message, Zoe would throw her phone across the room. Figuratively speaking—maybe. Curiosity got the better of her, and she checked the screen, relieved to see Donovan had replied. —Thank you! I’ve searched everywhere in town and online to no avail. I’ll write you a check tonight. Brody will be a happy boy on Christmas thanks to you!
— No problem. She started to tell him not to bother with paying her back, then thought better of it. Even though she didn’t care about the money, it wouldn’t be appropriate, and Donovan would insist on repaying, anyway.
—Still on for tonight?
—Yes. Why don’t you come early for dinner? My way of saying thanks.
Had she really sent that? No, no, no! Her impulsive behavior was a thing of the past. Apparently not. She’d considered asking him to show her appreciation for his help but hadn’t decided yet if she could. At least she hadn’t thought she’d decided. There had been a miscommunication between her brain and fingers. She gave a resigned sigh. What’s done was done. He’d say yes or no, and they’d go from there.
—Sounds good. What time?
— Sevenish
— Might be closer to 7:15 if this meeting runs late, but I’ll be there. I’ll bring dessert.
—You don’t have to bring anything.
—The wife of our sales manager sent in goodies for everyone. I have six pecan tarts and a pumpkin roll. She owns the bakery off Sixth street, so they’ll be delicious, but goodness knows I don’t need to take them home and eat them all by myself.
Zoe chuckled. Donovan could afford a few treats without impacting his trim figure, and she wouldn’t turn away anything from the bakery. She had a fondness for their almond cake. And their pumpkin muffins. And the pecan tarts. All right, she loved everything she’d ever eaten from there. Fortunately, she’d inherited a great metabolism that allowed her to indulge without gaining weight—if she didn’t do it every day.
—Some of my favorites!
—I have to get to this next meeting. If anything changes, shoot me a text.
