There was the slightest beat of silence before she looked up and started laughing. He joined her, but his laughter wasn’t quite as convincing. He couldn’t screw their friendship up by chasing some feelings. No matter how tempted he was.

CHAPTER TWO

ZOEY WAS HUNCHED over her coffee when Hazel came down for breakfast the next morning. Her daughter stopped in the doorway.

“Do you want me to get you a straw for that caffeine juice? Or maybe an IV?”

“Ha ha.” Zoey straightened in her chair. Mornings were not her happy time. “I’m just trying to appreciate the complete magic bean experience—the way it swirls in my mug. The amazing aroma. The jolt when it hits my bloodstream. And before you ask, yes, it’s organic fair-trade coffee. I won’t let my caffeine addiction harm the planet.”

“Good job, Mom.” Zoey pulled a box of all-natural granola from the cupboard. Between saving the planet and eating organic foods, their grocery bill was probably double what it would be if Hazel wasn’t such a passionate little activist. It was okay, though. Zoey was proud that her daughter cared enough to take a stand on global issues at such a young age. And Zoey kept a hidden stash of junk food out in the workshop for herself.

Hazel settled at the table with her cereal and a glass of juice and began her ritual of scrolling through her phone. Today’s fashion was a colorful tie-dye T-shirt with a smiley face on it—apparently those were making a comeback—with baggy white capris and Roman-style sandals.

In both grade school and high school, Zoey had taken a fair amount of grief from classmates about her denim and flannel wardrobe and her father’s home with his so-called sculptures in the yard. Kids could be jerks, but the McKinnon twins always had her back. Mike and Mary were part of a well-known local family, with lots of cousins who also welcomed Zoey into their circle. Their grandmother, Maura McKinnon, would often have the family and all their stray friends come to her home on Sundays for a big meal after church.

Those noisy gatherings had been a revelation to Zoey, who was used to having a quiet meal with her dad at the little kitchen table, or more often, in front of the television, eating from TV tables. Her dad was a loving man, but in a quiet way. She knew he’d never intended to be raising a little girl on his own, but he’d done the best he could after her mom died so suddenly. She’d grown up following him around the shop and riding along on house calls, so it wasn’t surprising that she’d developed the same interest in tinkering that he had.