He placed the kettle back onto its stand, then indicated the kitchen cupboards. “Mind if I…?”

“Go ahead.” She watched as he fetched two mugs from an upper cupboard and a jar of instant coffee from the rows of bottles beside the fridge. He was familiar with the kitchen. She wondered how many hours he’d spent in there, if he had a favorite seat at the small, white-painted table, if one of the mugs was his. He wasn’t family, but he belonged in the space so much more than she did.

She struggled to put a smile into her voice. “It’s kind of weird to be asked permission in a building I don’t even know.”

“It’s only polite.” He gave her another glance. “Your house after all.”

She leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, the prickling ache filling her throat all over again. “I mean…is it? Probate won’t finish for another few weeks, so I’m pretty sure the court owns it right now.”

It had been an attempt at humor, but when she tried to laugh, the sound came out ragged and uncomfortably loud. She clamped her mouth shut to quiet it. The silence that followed was painful.

“It was Hugh and Maria’s house,” Kant said gently. “They’re gone. And that means it’s yours now. No one would argue with that.”

She didn’t know where to look and fixated on the worn rope rug beneath the table. “You’re sure? I’m not… I mean, I don’t exactly belong here. In this town. I don’t even remember what the place looks like.”

Kant’s hand flicked aside in a cryptic gesture. “House is still yours. Both the good and the bad parts, I suppose. D’you drink coffee, Margot?”

“Yes. Thanks.” She watched him as he opened a draw to retrieve a teaspoon, then shifted slightly, pulling her shoulders higher. “How do you know my name?”

“You don’t remember me, I guess.” The spoon clinked as he dropped both it and its load of instant flakes into the mug. “But I knew you when you were small.” He held a hand at waist height, indicating her size.

Margot’s stomach dropped, her heart beating too fast for the conversation’s gentle tones. Her early childhood had felt like such a thoroughly separate, thoroughly detached event that she’d never considered that Kant might have been present for it. “Oh?”

“You’d follow me around while I did my work, asking questions. So many questions. I used to pretend to be exasperated.” A hint of a smile entered his voice, but it vanished as soon as Margot detected it. “I didn’t really mind it, though. Things felt too quiet once you left.”

Once I left. As though it had been her decision. As though she’d had a choice.