Isabelle’s nose curled. “That’s a matter of opinion. You’re trying to make my cat dress like you.”
Zach’s lips twitched. “Are you saying that I have bad taste in clothes?”
She raked her gaze over his slightly tight through the shoulders shirt. “Let’s just say that I don’t think you should plan to take up fashion as a new career.”
He rubbed his chin, then shrugged. “I guess I’m stuck with my fake boyfriend job.”
Her forehead creased. “You plan to do this again?”
“Nope. You’re my one and only.” Realizing what he’d said, Zach added, “Fake girlfriend, that is.”
Her gaze connected with his. “I’m glad.”
Air lodged in Zach’s throat. “Because?”
She hesitated long enough that whatever her response, it wasn’t what originally popped into her head.
“I’d think it obvious,” she finally said, crossing her arms across her chest. “If you have to trade out being a fake boyfriend for another sewing lesson, then it means I did a terrible job teaching you. I’m not much on being a failure. Speaking of failures, did the photos help?”
On the night of his lesson, afterward, when they’d gotten to her house, he’d stealthily snapped pictures of several photos of her dad while she’d kept her mother occupied in the kitchen under the guise of making hot cocoa.
“They will. I’ve run them through a few of iSecure’s aging programs and uploaded the originals and aged ones into the company’s face recognition program. It’ll take a while, but the program will search out possibilities. Then, I’ll follow up on those leads, along with the ones I got on his Social Security number.”
She bit into her lower lip. “For Sophie’s sake, I hope you come up with something soon.”
For Isabelle’s sake, Zach hoped so, too.
“Now, let’s talk about my being the star of the kissing booth this weekend. As Sarah cleared up that there was no kissing booth, what I want to know is if you were planning to start a private one, just so you’d have an excuse to kiss me?”
Isabelle’s face went as red as the lipstick he’d been teasing her about. “She shouldn’t have told you.”
He arched a brow. “And let me continue to think I would be kissing grannies for ten bucks a smackeroo?”
“For someone who claims to be great at figuring things out, you shouldn’t have needed Sarah’s clarification on that one.” Her hands went to her hips. “Besides, you deserved to be taught a lesson about volunteering for things without knowing what you’re getting into.”
He shrugged. “I’m used to being given orders without knowing what I’m getting into. At least, I was.”
Her expression became pensive, and she surprised him yet again by asking, “You miss being a soldier?”
“I’ll be a soldier until I take my last breath, Blondie.” His stomach grumbled and, determined not to fall down a dark hole, Zach picked up a piece of ham.
Isabelle slapped his hand. “Stop that. We haven’t said prayers yet.”
“Then someone better get to praying because I’m ready to eat.”
*
“Is that athird helping of banana pudding?” Isabelle asked when Zach returned to the card table that was one of many scattered around her Aunt Claudia’s house to accommodate the thirty-plus dinner guests. Family and friends filled every nook and cranny and laughter sounded frequently.
Zach grinned. “Will you tell me no more if I say yes?”
She shook her head. “I’m not your mother.”
“No, but this reminds me of my grandmother’s. I’d not thought of it in years, but this has the same topping.” His lips wrapped around his spoon.
“Meringue,” she said, clarifying further at his blank look. “The topping. It’s called meringue. It’s how my Grandma Belle made hers, and none of us would ever dare make ours any other way.”
Zach’s gaze met hers. “You made this?”
