“I love to draw.” Encouraged, Flora reached into her bag and pulled out the art pad and pencil she carried everywhere. “What’s your favorite animal?”

Molly stared at her. “A fox.”

Izzy frowned. “It’s a giraffe.”

“It’s a fox.” Molly was firm and Flora quickly sketched a fox, including a few trees in the background.

“There. You can keep it and color it if you like.” She pushed the sketch across the table, hoping to tempt the little girl, but before Molly could grab it, Izzy snatched it up.

“Molly doesn’t like coloring.” Izzy walked the picture across the kitchen. For a moment Flora thought she was going to dump it in the recycling but then at the last minute she seemed to change her mind and put it down on the countertop. “Fetch the salad, Molly. It’s ready in the fridge. And grab the ketchup. These are nearly ready.”

What had she done wrong? Why wouldn’t Izzy want Molly to color the picture?

Izzy toasted burger buns and put them on a plate in the center of the table, along with bowls of salad and the burgers themselves. “I didn’t put them together—that way everyone can take what they want.”

Flora decided that the best thing she could do with Izzy was make a fuss of the food.

She was about to reach for a bun when Izzy spoke.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want one, Flora. My mother never ate the bun. She avoided carbs.”

Flora redirected her hand to the burger and salad and served herself. “I don’t eat the bun, either.” Her stomach argued loudly with her decision. Her brain argued, too, although a little more quietly. Was she really going to do this? Was she going to change her habits to please this girl? Yes, she was. She could hear Julia’s voice in her head, telling her to be more assertive, but there was no point in being assertive if it destroyed all chances of developing a relationship. It was just one burger bun, that was all, and it wouldn’t hurt her to skip the carbs.

Molly took a bite of burger, complete with toasted bun. “Are we having ice cream after?”

“We were, but you drank all that sugary lemonade so now we’re having fruit.” Izzy served herself, leaving Flora to deal with the full force of Molly’s disappointment.

She was the killer of ice cream moments. The death of comfort.

Meanwhile, Izzy was cool and composed.

Flora studied her, trying to work out which emotions were bubbling beneath the composure. Resentment? Misery? Nothing was on show. And then she saw Izzy’s hand tremble as she put a plate in front of her and realized she was nervous.