offering you bacon? Is that—”
“It’s fine.” He smiled. “My family isn’t Muslim. I love bacon. But don’t go to any trouble for us. Seriously.” He gestured at the sandwich fixings. “Ham and cheese is perfectly fine for me.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Okay, good.” She touched his arm. “Sometimes I get ahead of myself and don’t think. But I do try to be considerate.”
“Don’t sweat it,” he said.
She glanced at the soup pot. “Oh, I need to stir that. But I…” She looked at the sandwich fixings, then the soup pot again.
“We can put the sandwiches together,” I said. “What do you want on yours?”
She met my gaze, and for a second it didn’t seem like she’d heard me right, but then she smiled. “That would be very sweet of you, honey.” She gave my arm a little squeeze, then headed for the stove, throwing over her shoulder, “Just a little turkey and cheddar with some mustard is all I need.”
While Armin and I made sandwiches and poured some drinks, Zoe stirred the soup, and she apparently decided it was done. After she’d moved it off the hot burner, she scooped some of that amazing-smelling soup into three bowls.
We sat at the table, which was beside a picture window overlooking the river. The weather was too nasty to see across the river, but I was pretty sure Canada was on the other side. Shame we didn’t have time to go over. I’d never been to Canada before. But I also hadn’t brought my passport, and I mean, I was at the house of a world-renowned artist whose work I’d admired for years, so I wasn’t too brokenhearted about skipping Canada this time.
As we ate, I noticed the bowls she’d used were ceramic, and they looked like they’d been hand-thrown and hand-glazed. Since she was an accomplished potter, that wouldn’t surprise me at all.
Oh my God. Am I eating out of a bowl made by Zoe Neelan? Faint.
I tapped mine with my finger. “Is this your work? The bowl, I mean?”
Smiling, Zoe shook her head. “No, these were gifts from some of my pottery students back when I used to teach.” She peered down at her own. “They really are pretty, aren’t they?”
They were, and I was suddenly envious of however many students had taken classes from her. I’d have made the trip back up here in a heartbeat to take a class from her.
“So,” Zoe said in between bites of her sandwich, “how was the drive up here? You said you were hung up by the weather.” She frowned. “I feel bad having you boys come all this way when it’s so nasty out.”
“It’s all right.” Armin smiled. “My dad is really excited to have your work in the gallery, so we didn’t want to wait. And the drive wasn’t too bad. It was wet and there was a lot of traffic, but at least it wasn’t snowing.”
Zoe nodded solemnly. “You don’t want to be coming up here when it’s snowing. That’s why I’m so glad I have my workshop and studio here at the house now instead of renting space in town. Even when it’s ugly out, I can still work.”
My heart did a little flutter. I knew her studio was in her home, but something about knowing I was in the building where all that amazing art was made… What could I say? It brought out my inner giddy fanboy.
Across from me, Armin suddenly jumped. Then he looked down. “Oh. Hi.”
I craned my neck to see the black cat standing on its hind legs beside him. From the way he’d jumped, it must have clawed him.
“Oh, that’s Raven.” Zoe laughed. “She’s terrible about begging.”
“It’s okay.” Armin glanced up at her as he petted Raven. “Is it okay to feed her?”
“Just meat.” Zoe tsked. “She’ll eat almost anything you offer except pickles, but I’d rather she didn’t eat bread or cheese.”
Armin started tearing a small piece of ham off his sandwich. To the cat, he said, “Hold on, hold on. I’m… Here.” He offered the piece of ham, and Raven almost bit his finger in the process. As she dropped back onto her haunches and chewed, I could hear her purring from here. Armin shook his head as he said to her, “No, your mom said you could have some meat, but I don’t think she wants you to have too much.”
From beneath the table came a little meow, and Armin’s shoulders dropped.
“You are so manipulative,” he told her.
Zoe smothered a