She suddenly felt her humor slip away. She’d been gabbing away with lighthearted banter, and suddenly there was this serious question. “Uh, sure. I guess. Someday.” She took a breath. “Do you?”

“Yes. Absolutely. An army of them. Six boys and three girls.”

“What?” She laughed, hoping he was joking. “Boyfriend, you are barking up the wrong tree.”

He laughed. “I love your American sayings. So vivid. Well, then, I’d settle for an heir and a spare.”

“Much more reasonable,” she said, glad to have tiptoed past that subject. “I was fortunate to have some help. There were times I was at my wits’ end. Cara couldn’t even come by to visit, and poor Hope was so homesick. But John’s been great.” The moment she said the words, she knew she’d made a mistake. Gordon’s eyes sharpened and he had that worried furrow in his brow. She wished she could take the words back.

“John? John who?”

She cringed. Linnea tried to make her voice sound casual. “John Peterson.”

His brow rose even as his voice lowered. “Ah. Your old boyfriend John Peterson?”

“Yes,” she answered as though it were nothing. “He was visiting his mother—she lives next door,” she reminded him.

“I remember. And you just… ran into him?”

“Well, sort of. When he arrived, he learned that a colleague of his tested positive for the virus. So rather than try to fly back to California, he went up into the carriage house and straight into quarantine.”

Gordon mulled this over, while Linnea stroked Luna’s soft coat.

“So, if he was up in the carriage house in quarantine,” Gordon began, “how was it he was such a help?”

Linnea curled her toes in tension. “Paper airplanes,” she replied with a light laugh.

Gordon didn’t laugh. She watched him reach out and grab his glass, filled with a brown liquid she was quite sure was scotch. He took a long sip. “How’s that?”

“Oh, Gordon, it’s a long story.”

“I have a lot of time.”

She took a breath and forced a smile. “Oh, it’s all very innocent. John saw Hope and me from that tall window up on the second floor, you remember…”

“Yes. Moroccan. Exotic. I remember. Go on.”

“Well, he saw us, whistled, and when we looked up, he flew a paper airplane down to Hope. She was enchanted. It’s hard to believe she’d never seen a paper airplane before. Another generation.” She laughed and thought it sounded too high. “She started sending him notes, and he sent notes back, then little gifts. It went on for a while. It was very sweet and totally distracted Hope from being homesick.” She smiled. “See? Paper airplanes.”

“Ask him how he is at origami. Now, that takes talent.”

She laughed. “It was very nice of him.”

“Is he well now? From the virus?”

“He never contracted it, thank heavens. Or if he did, he was a silent carrier. But the quarantine is over.”

“Oh, good. Glad to hear it. Hallelujah.” He took another sip.