I stared at her.
She quickly added,
“I’m not trying to find you a husband.”
Then she gave me an awkward smile.
“I was just trying to be your wingman.”
“You decided to play matchmaker with a stranger?”
“I thought you might know him.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
I looked back toward the photographs.
“You took something personal, opened it, put it on display, and invited the man who sold it here before telling me anything.”
Emma’s face reddened.
She glanced toward the kitchen, where Noah was humming to himself.
Then she said quietly,
“You’re right. I should have asked.”
“I don’t want to meet him.”
The doorbell rang.
Emma and I both froze.
She opened the door before I could stop her.
An older man stood outside carrying a paper bag.
His hair was silver now.
Time had carved deeper lines around his eyes.
