Zach followed Bodie into the kitchen. Sophie stood at a kitchen island and was removing the lid from a dish. Seeing him, she smiled. Back to him, Isabelle peered into the oven.
“The rolls are almost done, Aunt Claudia.” She turned, saw him, and took a deep breath. “You’re not Aunt Claudia.”
Zach found an open spot on the packed counter and set the containers down. “Nope. Happy Thanksgiving, Isabelle. You, too, Sophie.”
“Aww, that’s sweet. Thanks. You, too.” Sophie took Bodie’s containers and placed them on the counter. “Zach, would you mind keeping my sister company while I take Bodie to talk with Cole? We’re thinking about knocking out a wall to make two small upstairs bedrooms into one larger room. Bodie is our go-to guy for handyman advice.”
Not waiting for an answer, Sophie hooked her arm with Bodie’s, then led him out of the kitchen, leaving Zach alone with Isabelle.
“Your sister is about as subtle as a locomotive.”
With another glance into the oven first, Isabelle popped the tops on the containers he’d carried. “Sarah’s been busy.”
“She’s cooked nonstop for the past two days.” He glanced around at the island and kitchen countertops packed with a multitude of dishes and tried not to think about what his mother’s kitchen counter looked like. Had she hired the same catering company she’d always used or had Brett’s wife placed the order to make sure all the traditional dishes were covered? No matter the outlandish cost, the spread wouldn’t compare to the one before him. A twinge hit that he wished they were there to share in this feast, that they’d be a part of the happy, noisy activities, rather than the sedate, formal meal. Then again, he couldn’t imagine that they’d have the same appreciation for the mismatched made-with-love ensemble that he did.
Eyeing him, Isabelle leaned against the counter. “I figured you’d be here tonight.”
“But had hoped I wouldn’t?” he countered. Maybe he shouldn’t be. Maybe he had no right to intrude on this happy affair. Not that he belonged with his family, either. He’d never fit there. He’d never fit anywhere other than in the army.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But thought it?”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“What?” He eyed her. “You calling a truce tonight?”
“It’s Thanksgiving. I didn’t want our star kissing booth volunteer left at Hamilton House alone.”
Alone. Being alone had never bothered him, but rolling off Isabelle’s tongue, the word felt heavy and something to be dreaded.
“Then I’ll count my blessings that I’m here instead.” He didn’t consider himself a religious man, but being with Isabelle and her family was a blessing.
A small smile played on her lips. “It’s the holiday for doing just that.”
“Not wearing your lipstick tonight, Blondie?”
She looked sheepish. “I told you the other night that red lipstick was Sophie’s.”
“And I’m sticking to what I said,” he reminded, his gaze dropping to her naturally pink lips. “That I don’t believe Sophie wrestled you to the quilt shop floor and painted your lips the prettiest shade of red.”
Isabelle put her palm to her forehead. “I knew better.”
Dragging his gaze from her mouth, he arched his brow. “But did it, anyway? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“There’re a lot of things that don’t sound like me when I’m around you.”
That she admitted as much didn’t sound like her, either. Had she missed him as much as he’d missed seeing her the past few days?
“Has Bobbin worn his outfit yet?” Why he longed to hear her say that she’d put the tiny uniform on the cat made no sense, but he held his breath while he waited.
“No.” She gave him aduhlook. “It was no coincidence that he wasn’t at the house when we got there that night.”
Zach made his expression one of suspicion. “Unless you texted a warning, I’d say it was exactly a coincidence.”
Her eyes twinkled. “He’s a smart cat.”
“He could be a fashionable cat if you’d just let him.”
