Amelia Clarke turned to leave.
Viola Harris quickly grabbed her, pleading, "Okay, okay, I won't talk anymore, OK? Come help me see if there's something wrong with my calculations for this piece of fabric. I can never seem to cut it right…"
Before they knew it, it was eleven o'clock.
Amelia checked her phone and asked Viola, "Wanna have lunch together later?"
Without stopping her work on the mannequin and without looking up, Viola said, "I don't want to be a third wheel. I'll just order some takeout later."
Amelia didn't insist.
When she got home and opened the front door, the fragrant smell of food hit her.
She paused, walked a few steps inside, passed through the foyer, and saw the man in the dining room serving soup to the table.
There were three dishes on the table, two meat and one vegetable.
Amelia was surprised; this was the first time she had seen Owen Moreland cook. The other two times, he had made noodles.
