Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(55)

“Yes,” Zoë said gently. “It’s fine.” At the periphery of her vision, she saw Alex looking at a pan of muffins on the counter, and she gestured for him to take one. He complied without hesitation. Zoë went to pour him some coffee, while she said on the phone, “I’d better get busy now.”

But the minor mistake had made Emma anxious. “Someday I’ll look at you,” she said, “and I’ll think ‘that’s the nice girl who makes me dinner’ and I won’t know you’re my granddaughter.”

The words caused a painful tug in Zoë’s chest. She swallowed hard and poured some cream into Alex’s coffee. “I’ll still know who you are,” she said. “I’ll still love you.”

“That’s awfully one-sided. What good is a grandmother who doesn’t remember anything?”

“You’re more to me than what you remember.” Zoë slid an apologetic glance to Alex, knowing that he disliked to be kept waiting. But he seemed relaxed and patient, his gaze averted as he ate the muffin.

“I won’t be myself,” Emma said.

“You’ll still be you. You’ll just need a little more help. I’ll be there to remind you of things.” At her grandmother’s silence, Zoë said softly, “I’ve got to go, Upsie. I’ll call you later today. In the meantime, you’d better start packing. I’m coming to get you the day after tomorrow.”

“The day after tomorrow,” her grandmother repeated. “Bye, Zoë.”

“Bye. Love you.”

Ending the conversation, Zoë slid the phone into her back pocket and stirred some sugar into Alex’s coffee. She handed it to him.

“Thanks.” His face was unreadable as he looked down at her.

Zoë’s throat was so tight that she wasn’t sure she could talk.

Seeming to understand, Alex filled the silence by saying easily, “I’ve already loaded the boxes into the pickup. I’ll take you and Justine to the cottage, and you can start putting away the dishes and books and that stuff. When Duane gets there, we’ll hitch up the trailer and move the furniture from storage.” He paused to take a swallow of coffee, his gaze sweeping briefly over her.

Zoë had dressed in a pair of jeans, a shapeless T-shirt, and a pair of old sneakers. And unlike Justine, who was slender and long-stemmed no matter what she wore, Zoë didn’t have the figure for baggy clothes. On a woman with her br**sts and hips, anything that didn’t fit well was unflattering.

“This outfit makes me look dumpy,” Zoë said, and was instantly annoyed with herself. “Forget I just said that,” she told him before he could reply. “I’m not fishing for compliments, I’m just feeling insecure. About everything.”

“It’s normal to feel that way,” Alex said, “when you’re facing a lot of challenges. But ‘dumpy’ is never a word that could apply to you.” He drained the coffee cup and set it down. “And if you need a compliment … you’re a great cook.”

“Can you tell me one that’s not about my cooking?” she asked wistfully.

That almost made him smile—she could see the subtle deepening at the corners of his mouth. “You,” he said after a moment, “are the kindest person I’ve ever known.”

Before Zoë could recover from that, he started for the door. “Get your bag,” he said in an offhand tone. “I’ll take you to Dream Lake.”

The cottage on Dream Lake Road was spotless and light-filled and beautiful, the rows of new casement windows glittering in the sunshine. It smelled agreeably of fresh paint and scrubbed wood. They carried boxes inside, Alex taking two heavy crates of dishes to the new kitchen island. Following him, Zoë was surprised to see the retro dining set, finished with a gleaming coat of new silver chrome, the chairs reupholstered with liqht aqua vinyl that approximated the original hue. She set down the box she was carrying and stared at the dining set in amazement. “You restored it,” she said, running her fingers over the shiny white tabletop.

Alex shrugged. “Just gave it a few shots of chrome spray.”

She wasn’t fooled by his nonchalance. “You did a lot more than that.”

“I worked on it now and then when I needed distraction. You don’t have to use it, by the way. You can sell it and use the money for another dining set.”

“No, I love this. It’s perfect.”

“It goes with your bowling lockers,” he agreed.

Zoë grinned. “Are you making fun of my decorating style?”

“No, I like it.” Seeing her dubious expression, he added, “Really. It’s cute.”

Her smile lingered. “I suppose your decorating style is very tasteful.”

“It’s impersonal,” he said. “Darcy always said that no one would ever be able to tell a thing about either of us by looking at our house. I kind of liked it that way.”

Noticing a couple of objects in the center of the table, Zoë picked one up. It was a little plastic strap with a buckle, and something that looked like a miniature transmitter. “What is this?”

“It’s for the cat.” He retrieved the other object on the table, a tiny remote control of some kind, and showed it to her. “This goes with it.”