If it had been any other woman pointing to a plate of food and telling her Theodore had made it, Emma would have seen it as showing off. But coming from Anna, it felt completely different.
“Theodore’s a decent cook,” Anna said. “He’s especially good at making cakes.”
Emma managed a small smile. “I know he’s good at making cakes. Didn’t he open that cookie house for you?”
She swore she said it without a trace of bitterness, just a sense of wistful reflection on the past.
But to her surprise, Anna said, “For me? No, I don’t like that kind of thing.”
“Really?” Emma was taken aback.
Anna laughed. “I even told him it was childish.”
Emma suddenly remembered that day when Theodore had explained why the cake shop was designed like a cookie house. He had spoken in their native language.
Had Anna not understood him then?
Anna chuckled. “Oh, here he comes.”
Theodore?
A moment later, he appeared in the frame, smiling. “Emma. You’re back. Was the trip okay?”
“It was fine,” Emma replied, looking at Theodore and Anna together on the screen. It struck her then that they made a perfect picture—a beautifully composed photograph.
The cozy dining table, the meal he had cooked himself, Anna sitting waiting for him, and him standing behind her chair, leaning slightly forward. It was a perfect domestic scene.
Emma took a screenshot. It was a great shot; both Theodore and Anna were smiling, framed within their home with its classic European decor. It looked like an oil painting.

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