“Yes, sit down, Flora. You’re not planting any pots. This is your night off. When it’s the three of us we eat at the breakfast bar, but we’ve laid the table in your honor.” Jack gestured to the table that was laid neatly with mats and napkins. He didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange about Izzy’s behavior. Flora wondered if she was being oversensitive. No one was entirely themselves the first time they met someone, as she knew only too well.

She sat down at the table and glanced at Jack, desperate for a hint of warmth or connection, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“What would you like to drink?” He was friendly, but that was all.

She admired his self-control and understood it, but still she missed the intimacy that had become part of the time they spent together. It felt strange not to touch him, not to slip her hand into his and feel the warmth of his grip. There was a different kind of tension in the air. She wasn’t sure if it was expectation or threat. The house seemed to be holding its breath.

Maybe Jack had accepted that tension was inevitable. She was the one at fault for assuming this would be easy. Families weren’t something an outsider could easily join. She, of all people, should know that.

Still, she was determined to try. Blending in and pleasing people was something she was good at. She could do this. She knew how to do this.

“I made homemade lemonade.” She produced the bottle from her oversize bag.

“Delicious. Thank you.” Jack reached into a glass-fronted cabinet and pulled out tall glasses. “Girls? Lemonade?”

“Not for me, thank you.” Izzy’s smile was polite as she busied herself preparing food. “I’m avoiding sugar.”

It was the sweetest cut. She’d had worse injuries handling roses, but for some reason this barb hurt more. It reminded her so much of her aunt. Why did you waste time and money making that?

Jack seemed more amused than annoyed. “I didn’t see you holding back on the chocolate yesterday.”

“Which is why I’m not eating or drinking sugar today. I’ll have water.” She strolled to the fridge, glass in hand, and filled it with ice and then water. Virtue shone from her and Jack pushed Molly’s glass toward Flora.

“Lemonade is Molly’s favorite. You’re going to love this, honey.”

Molly didn’t mirror his enthusiasm, but she didn’t reject the idea either so Flora poured the lemonade and held her breath. Was there a scarier audience than a seven-year-old?

Molly sipped cautiously.

Flora didn’t breathe until she saw the child take a second sip.

Molly gave a tentative smile. “It’s yummy.”