She filled her lungs with a long breath and exhaled.Does sharing dinner together constitute friendship? As much as it petrified her, she had to admit she’d formed a friendship with Donovan. Though scared, she found a measure of comfort. True friendships had been a rare commodity in her life, and she welcomed a new one.
Especially close to Christmas, and with someone who understood loss. As tragic as her loss had been, her husband, child, and sister hadn’t chosen to leave her. Donovan’s wife made a choice to leave him, and Zoe imagined that incurred a different level of pain. Life could be cruel, and she’d be forever grateful for her sustaining faith in God.
What could she make for dinner? She hadn’t cooked for anyone but herself in years, other than the occasional potluck dish for church socials and she wanted to offer him a better meal than cornbread pudding and mac and cheese. She always made kid-friendly recipes after seeing the lack of options for kids.
She knew Donovan wouldn’t complain about anything she made—his personality wouldn’t allow it—but he deserved a nice dinner for all his help. Damien had loved her shrimp scampi, but that seemed better suited for a romantic dinner.
Which this absolutely was not.
Chicken Marsala would work. She used to make it often, and could recall the recipe from heart—the one her parents’ chef had given her that substituted broth, grape juice, and sherry vinegar for marsala wine, and it tasted better than the real deal. Herb roasted potatoes, a side salad, and garlic bread would complete the meal. She made a list of ingredients and checked off what she already had in her kitchen. Except for the chicken and lettuce, she’d have to pick up everything else.
She should buy a few drinks as well. Other than coffee and hot cocoa, she didn’t know what he liked. If she picked up a few flavors of soda, brewed a pitcher of tea, and bought a jug of lemonade, that should cover most the bases. Whatever she didn’t use, she’d donate to the shelter.
Let’s get this done. The frigid air had been warmed by the sun, leaving the normal cold in its wake. Zoe threw her coat on but didn’t bother with gloves or a scarf. She drove to the grocery store, thinking about everything except tonight’s dinner. Thank goodness she had a list, or she’d forget what she needed with her mind juggling a cacophony of thoughts.
The crowd didn’t help matters. In all her life, she’d never seen a grocery store this busy at three-thirty on a Monday afternoon. Where did all the customers come from? It wasn’t as though tomorrow was Christmas or Christmas Eve.
Advent? But that began last week. Although the park held events every night leading up to Christmas, the big kickoff was on December first. Maybe there wasn’t any correlation between the crowds and an event, and everyone happened to go at the same time. Either way, she rushed through the aisles the best she could and claimed a spot in line. In the seasonal aisle, she added two boxes of candy canes to her cart. The shipment she’d ordered online had been unexpectedly delayed until Wednesday, and she didn’t want to run out tomorrow night.
The line inched forward. She silently estimated the number of items in each cart ahead of her. On any other day, she’d wait without caring, but tonight she had plans. For the first time in years, she’d entertain at her place, and the meal had to be perfect.
As she drove home, and then carried the bags up the stairs, qualms turned to excitement. The thrill of making dinner for a guest made a fresh appearance, and she’d forgotten how much she loved having people over. Why had it taken her five years to invite a guest over to share her table? She’d eaten at Mrs. Jacobs’ house a handful of times and had gone to dinner with the ladies from church on occasion, but no one had come to her apartment to eat.
She set the brown bags on the counter and nudged the cats down when they batted at them. Before she started food prep, she wiped down the counters with a disinfectant spray.Thanks, cats, for having no concept of boundaries.They peered up at her from the cold tile floor with pitiful looks that caused Zoe to laugh. “Yes, you two are cute, but that doesn’t give you free reign of any area that food touches.”
She went to the pantry and retrieved her apron from the hook behind the door. It was a kitschy garment that she’d won in last year’s Sunday school white elephant exchange, but the three-dimensional Christmas bows and ribbon sewn on the apron protected her clothes as she cooked.
Immersed in cooking, arranging the salad in a colorful, artful manner, and setting the table, she lost track of time. She’d just finished changing out the poinsettia centerpiece for a green glass vase with holly berries sticking out when the doorbell rang. She ran to answer it, shocked to see Donovan through the peephole.Eek. What time is it? Glancing up, she saw the time in the thermostat—7:08.How can it be this late already? She hadn’t had time to change her clothes or fix her hair, which surely looked a mess.
It’s not like I’m trying to impress him. With that reinstated confirmation, she unlocked the door and let him in.
His eyes twinkled. “Nice apron.”
Heat rocketed to her cheeks as she yanked the strings and tugged it off. “I forgot I had it on. It was a gag gift.”
“Oh.” His face fell. “My mom has one exactly like it. I bought it for her last year.”
Way to stick your foot in your mouth, Zoe. Great start to the evening. “It’s festive and helps to put me in a Christmassy mood.”
Donovan broke into laughter. “I’m teasing—you don’t have to look so horrified. Mom would swat me if I brought that home to her.”
“That was cruel.” She tossed him the apron. “Just for that, I’m giving it to you.”
His eyes shifted to where it had landed on top of the bakery boxes and grinned. “You really shouldn’t have.”
“You’re right. The punishment doesn’t fit the crime.” She eyed the boxes. “How about you hand over the desserts instead?”
“That’s restitution I don’t mind paying.” He draped the apron over a chair and transferred the boxes to her outstretched hands.
She lifted a lid and inhaled the scent of pumpkin, cinnamon, and cream cheese. “Can we skip straight to dessert?”
“We’re adults.” He wiggled his brows. “We get to make the rules.”
“Good point, but I worked too hard on dinner for it to get cold.” She smiled and closed the lid before she caved and cut a slice.
“Whatever’s cooking smells great. I followed my nose to your apartment.” He sniffed as if to make a point. “What did you make?”
“Chicken Marsala with roasted red potatoes and a salad.”
