as any distant country or culture.
Zoe walked up beside him. “Let’s go.”
He shot a glance Sam’s way. “Are you okay?” he asked the young girl in the calm, steady voice expected of a foster-care worker. Inside, Ryan struggled with his emotions and was frustrated by his inability to express them.
“I’m cool.” But she held tightly onto Ima and, despite her outward bravado, he sensed she wasn’t as fearless as she wanted him to believe.
“And I’m serious. If you need anything—”
“She knows who to turn to.” Zoe prodded him in the back. “Come.”
He narrowed his gaze. She was a damn pushy woman, but he couldn’t deny he was glad to see her after the weekend apart. Just knowing Zoe was a member of this family eased Ryan’s mind about Sam’s safety. Zoe could be trusted to take good care of her.
“Elena, you will use the locks in the future,” he stated, not asked.
“Yes.”
“I will see to it, Mr. Baldwin.” Nicholas held his hand up in the air. “I promise you Samantha is safe with us.”
Ryan merely nodded and this time allowed Zoe to practically shove him out of the kitchen, then the family room and finally the house.
Once they were in the sunshine, she pasted a bright smile on her face and asked, “My car or yours? Actually, why don’t I drive since you don’t know your way around here and I go to the diner all the time? This way we won’t get lost, and we’ll be eating in no time.”
He already knew Zoe rambled when she was worried and now was no different.
He remained quiet on the way to wherever the restaurant was and let Zoe point out sights and continue to talk. He liked listening to her voice, and despite their odd circumstances, she soothed his nerves.
Too much, considering everything that lay between them.
After Zoe had parked in the graveled lot, Ryan followed her into the local diner. “So your Aunt Kassie owns this place?” he asked.
Zoe nodded. “She’s my father’s sister.”
“I met her that first night.”
He settled into a seat across from Zoe in a tight booth with an individual coin-operated jukebox on the wall by the window. “They don’t have anything quite like this in Boston.” He glanced around at the linoleum floors, the blue vinyl seats and paper place mats printed with various advertisements.
She tipped her head to the side, and those long, dark strands brushed her shoulders. “Oh really? Because they aren’t upscale?”
He read the wariness in her tone. “No, because from my understanding, a traditional diner is a New York/New Jersey thing.”
“We’re Greek. Diners are our heritage,” a female voice said.
He glanced up to see a dark-haired woman standing by the table.
“Hi, Daph. Meet Sam’s social worker, Ryan Baldwin. Daphne’s my first cousin,” Zoe explained.
“Nice to meet you, Daphne.” Ryan shook the other woman’s hand, but his mind was on how seamlessly Zoe had lied to yet another family member, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Need menus?”
Zoe waved a hand, indicating she didn’t. “But I’m sure Ryan does seeing as how he’s never been to a diner before.”
He caught the snicker in her voice and shot her a scowl. “I’d appreciate a menu,” he told Daphne.
The waitress handed him what felt more like a pile of laminated lead. “Take your time,” she said, but continued to stand over him.
He glanced from Daphne, who was beautiful in a more made-up way than her cousin, back to Zoe again.
Zoe let out an exaggerated sigh. “You can go now, Daph.”
“Are you sure he’s just the social worker?” She leaned down, giving him a gratuitous view of her cleavage.
“I’m sure he’s just the social worker.” Zoe shook her head and laughed. “Daphne loves to snoop into her cousins’ lives because she doesn’t have a love life of her own.”
“Aha! So you admit he’s more than a social worker.”
Zoe turned beet red. “I admit no such thing.”
“You just did by the color in your cheeks.”
Ryan had never been around this kind of family teasing, and he took pity on Zoe. “I’ll have eggs over easy and white toast with butter,” he said hoping to distract Daphne from the more personal issues.
“Tsk-tsk, cholesterol heaven. I’ll tell Dad to make it egg whites so you’ll live a long, healthy life.” She snatched his menu. “You’ll have the usual, Zoe?”
She nodded, and Daphne finally left them alone.
“So what’s the usual?” he asked.
“Old-fashioned French toast.”
“What makes it old-fashioned?”
She raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised. “Old-fashioned is made on regular bread, not the