She nudged her son, who looked momentarily sheepish before clearing his throat. "Where is Dad, Mom?"
"Went fishing. Should be back any moment for dinner, though. Come on. Coffee is ready." She led them both into the kitchen.
Zoe watched Ian from the corner of her eye, trying to figure out the secret behind what his mother had said. When no examples came to mind, she took her steaming mug of coffee and said, "What do you mean all the men in your family have a romantic streak?"
"Well, didn't Ian take you to that house of his?"
"Mom—" Ian started, but Charlene only rolled her eyes.
"He's got no need of that big old house. He works himself sore over it," she said.
Zoe frowned. "I don't get it."
"Me either. I keep telling him he ought to hire out the work, that he has enough to do, but my son is the first one to say he's in no rush."
"Because I'm not in a rush," Ian said, first to his mother and then to Zoe.
"Right." Zoe grinned. "But what's so romantic about that?"
Charlene grabbed a Ziploc container of something that looked like chicken in buttermilk from the fridge then raised her eyebrows. "It's a family home. He wants to give it to his wife when he gets married."
"It's just as much for me as it would be for her. It'd be near you," he said, and Charlene laughed.
"And who can think of a better gift than being nearer to me, I ask you?" She winked at her son. "Now, come on, missy. We're frying up some chicken."
Together they set up an assembly line for dinner, complete with a biscuit station and chicken battering station. The three of them worked in tandem to get dinner rolling. As they worked, Zoe peppered Charlene with questions, first about herself and her husband, but then about Ian, too.
"He was a sweet little boy. Always had new little girlfriends." Charlene nodded and Ian sucked in his cheeks.
"Is this necessary?" he asked Zoe. Then, to his mother, he added, "You know, you don't have to answer every question she asks you."
"Oh, I know. Half the fun is seeing the look on your face." Charlene winked again, and Zoe dissolved into giggles.
The teasing didn't go on much longer after that, but it was more than enough to have Ian glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Funny as it was, though, on those few occasions when she met his gaze, she could have sworn he was smiling. Like, in spite of all his protest, he was actually enjoying himself. Enjoying her company.
There was so much she still wanted to ask him about the house and about his life, how he felt about his parents, and how deeply, madly in love they were. But as the night wore on and Ian's father finally arrived, she found herself sinking deeper into her own thoughts.
Of course with a family like this, he would think pure, passionate love existed. He didn't know what it was like to grow up in a broken household. He'd never seen the downside of love. All he'd ever known was homemade biscuits and gravy with fried chicken and a big side of caring. What a life he must have led. What a dream.
"So, did Ian happen to tell you about Quinn?" she asked over her second helping of chicken.
Charlene's mouth thinned, her smile faltering. "He did, yes."
"And you guys haven't seen her?" She looked from Charlene to Daniel and back again.
Daniel shook his head. He was a handsome older man, still lean and muscular, though his hair was graying in spots—the spitting image of his son.
"I'm sure she'll be fine, though, sweetheart," Charlene added.
"If anything, that girl is resourceful. She'll land on her feet," Daniel said.
Ian glanced at Zoe, and she offered them all a shaky nod.
"Yeah, I'm sure you're right." Her heart went cold as she said the words.
By the time they got back in the truck, night had fallen, and they were both carrying massive bags filled with fried chicken, homemade pickles, and biscuits.
"Oh my God, how are you not a thousand pounds?" Zoe asked then lugged her bag into the passenger seat.