The Prodigal Comes Home. Kathryn Springer

only she were finding it as easy to forgive herself.

      She pulled a wooden chair out from the table, a gentle reminder to Gran that she was in charge of kitchen duty.

      “You’re having company for supper tonight?” Zoey asked as she zeroed in on one of the kitchen cabinets and opened the door. A set of powder-blue stoneware dishes was stacked neatly on the other side, the way she remembered. Strange how she now found comfort in the things she’d spent years trying to forget.

      “We’re having company,” her grandmother corrected. “Matthew has a standing invitation every Thursday night.”

      Zoey stifled a groan. By now Matt—the pastor—would know everything about her. And she doubted he would be as forgiving as her grandmother. “I don’t want to intrude on your time together. I can eat upstairs. Or in the family room.”

      Anywhere but at the kitchen table.

      Liz brushed aside the suggestion. “You won’t be intruding, Zoey. I’m sure Matt is anxious to get to know you.”

      Probably to make sure I’m not stealing your silver spoon collection, Zoey wanted to say.

      To hide her dismay, she lifted the lid on the Noah’s ark cookie jar that still occupied the corner next to the sink. Sure enough, it was filled with molasses cookies, the crisp tops sparkling with sugar. Gran had shared them with the people who stopped in for a visit as generously as she gave of her time. And prayers.

      Sometimes Zoey wondered if Gran’s faithful prayers had been instrumental in leading her back to faith.

      “I couldn’t keep that cookie jar full when you lived here. Help yourself.”

      Hearing the amusement in Gran’s voice, Zoey blinked back the unexpected tears that stung her eyes. The time she’d lived in Mirror Lake had been so short, she hadn’t realized how many memories remained cradled in her heart.

      She tried to match her grandmother’s tone. “Aren’t you afraid it will spoil my appetite if I eat dessert first?”

      “Then we’ll call the cookies an appetizer.” Gran winked and held out her hand. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

      Zoey dipped into the ceramic jar and pulled out two cookies, one for Gran and one for herself. “Do you want me to heat up one of the casseroles for supper?”

      “Oh, no. Thursday is pizza night. Matthew started it a few months ago.”

      Matthew again.

      She forced a smile. “I don’t mind making dinner but I think that you and Pastor Wilde…well, you know what they say, Gran. Three’s a crowd, right?”

      “I always liked ‘the more, the merrier’ myself.”

      Zoey froze at the sound of a voice behind her. The voice belonging to the man who’d already managed to sneak up on her twice in one day. She was afraid to look at him. Afraid to see censure or—even worse—disapproval in the hazel eyes that had been full of concern earlier that morning.

      “You’re right on time, Matthew,” Gran sang out. “Yesterday I have to admit that I was feeling a little sorry for myself and tonight I’m having supper with my two favorite people.”

      Zoey dared a glance in Matt’s direction. He wasn’t glaring at her in disapproval. He wasn’t glaring at all.

      “I didn’t stop by for supper,” Matt said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “You just got home from the hospital yesterday and you have your granddaughter visiting. That means I’m officially releasing you from the burden of my company tonight.”

      Zoey was immune to his smile. She really was. And it wasn’t as if it were directed at her.

      “Don’t be ridiculous, Matthew,” Gran clucked her tongue. “Your company isn’t a burden. Is it, Zoey?”

      Zoey hesitated a split second too long. “No, not at all.”

      Matt sauntered in, altogether too attractive for Zoey’s peace of mind. He peeled off a fleece-lined leather jacket that emphasized the width of his shoulders and draped it over the back of the chair. “In that case, I’d love to stay.”

      “Wonderful.” Gran clapped her hands together.

      Wonderful.

      Zoey’s knees went a little weak at the thought of spending more time in Matt’s company.

      She made a silent calculation in an attempt to steady them. And her nerves. It only took twelve minutes to bake a frozen pizza. With luck, the pastor would be gone in an hour. Maybe less.

      Zoey scooted over to the freezer, wishing she could crawl inside, and scanned the contents. Towers of plastic containers, neatly labeled, crowded the small space.

      “Where’s the pizza, Gran?”

      Her grandmother chuckled. “You have to make it.”

      “I know.” Zoey glanced over her shoulder and her gaze snagged with Matt’s. The slow smile he aimed in her direction shot through her like a comet. She tore her gaze away and focused on Gran. Much safer. “But I don’t see one to make.”

      “I’m sorry.” Gran looked anything but. In fact, she looked as if she were enjoying Zoey’s confusion. “Matthew and I make the pizza from scratch.”

      “From…scratch?”

      “That’s right.” Matt answered the question. “But don’t worry. Liz and I will walk you through it. It isn’t difficult.”

      Liz lifted her hand and covered a delicate yawn. “Actually, I’m feeling a little tired so I think I’ll sit this one out,” she said. “Let me know when it’s ready.”

      “Gran!” Zoey choked on the word.

      “Don’t worry. Matthew knows his way around the kitchen.” Gran toddled off without a backward glance.

      That’s not what Zoey was worried about.

      “I guess it’s just the two of us,” Matt said.

      Zoey managed a smile.

      “I guess it is.”