“This might be the first time I’ve ever not appreciated this house’s thousand windows.” The wind whipped Indi’s ponytail behind her, her burgundy earmuffs coordinated perfectly with her matching scarf and mustard yellow coat.

A far cry from Sydney’s same old getup: Neil’s coat, someone else’s boots, that striped scarf. But no knit hat today—she’d left it at the treehouse last night.

Last night when her world had seemed to tip right over in the very best of ways until she’d realized that no, maybe it’d been tilting off-kilter all along. Before. And maybe with one kiss—one heart-stopping and perfect and unforgettable kiss—from a man she’d known all of ten days, it’d found its true axis.

But oh, that was more than one kiss. And ten days might as well have been ten years.

“Sometimes a feeling is just a feeling. Other times it’s truth wrapped in undeniable knowing.”

How could she have known a week and a half ago, when Maggie had first said those words, how fully she’d come to experience them in the coming days?

“Earth to Syd.” Indi waved a tube of outdoor window caulk in front of her.

Sydney hadn’t even realized the youngest Muir sister had come home last night. Of course she hadn’t. She’d been . . . distracted. But here Indi was, bundled up with the rest of them on Thursday morning—well, the rest of them with the exception of Neil.

But it was Neil’s handwriting on the note in Lilian’s hand. Something he’d apparently written up for them this morning before heading to the barn for chores.

“Do you guys always help get the house ready for winter?” According to Lilian, that’s what this list of tasks included—to-dos to winterize the home.

“Oh no. This is completely new.” Indi pulled on a pair of gloves that matched her earmuffs and scarf. “What do you think possessed him to actually let us help with something for once?”

Sydney bit back a smile and leaned closer to Lilian, scanning the list a second time.

1. Caulk around the windows outside, especially anywhere you see cracks.
2. Weather-strip the doors.
3. Replace the furnace filter.

Several more items completed the list, but at the rate they were going, they’d be lucky if they completed the caulking before Neil returned from the barn.

Just the thought was enough to set her nerves spinning. She hadn’t seen him since the treehouse last night, had felt like maybe he needed some time alone with his sister when she’d seen what he’d built. But the memory of the regret in his voice when he’d told her goodnight—more, the swirl of desire and delight in his eyes that matched her own—had wooed her to sleep better than any lullaby.

“Maybe brother dear just wants to see if we’re capable of figuring out how to do any of this.” Lilian folded the note and stuffed it in her pocket.

“Or he figured if the both of you were taking the morning off work to spend time with me, he might as well put you to work.” Maggie laughed and pulled the cap off her tube of caulk. “Although I feel badly putting you to work, Syd. But I think you’ve been here so long now, we’ve stopped thinking of you as a guest.”

It was just about the nicest thing Maggie could’ve said to her. And how wonderful it was to see Maggie looking happier today, the shadows from yesterday gone, the pallor of the day she’d fainted a thing of the past.

And when Sydney had walked into the kitchen half an hour ago, arriving downstairs later than usual, Lilian had whispered that she’d walked in on Maggie and Neil having a quiet discussion at the table earlier.

“I think things are better now,” Lilian had said. “Or getting there, at least. I wonder if she’s made any decision about Tatum Carter. I hope he tells her about the treehouse soon.”

She’d itched to ask what Lilian thought of the treehouse and Neil’s plans. But Indi had walked in then and announced that her fiancé would be driving down from Augusta this evening to join them for dinner. Déjà vu, that.

“I think the most efficient way to get this done is to split up.” Lilian pointed to the porch. “We only have two ladders and three tubes of caulk. I can start on the windows at the side of the house. Sydney, you want to start in back? Indi hates ladders.”

She nodded. “Sure thing.”

Indi took the third tube of caulk. “Maggie and I will get the windows on the porch and then move on to weather stripping.”

Why did it feel so good to be a part of this? To have a simple job to do and such lovely people to do it with. This was the kind of contentment she’d been trying to find for years at Mezzani’s. Why did it come so much easier here?

Maybe because Neil was right. Maybe she wasn’t only here because Wilder had come up with a theory and Maggie had insisted he act on it. Maybe she wasn’t only here because Nikola had urged her or because she wanted to show Micah what it was like to choose something new.

Maybe she was here because God had led her here. Laid a path for her feet and whispered for her to walk. Maybe He hadn’t forgotten her, after all.

At the back of the house, she propped the ladder against the wall and climbed until she could reach the frame of the first window, then pulled out her phone, watching just enough of a YouTube tutorial to know what to do with the caulk. She squeezed the tube and ran it along the seam between the siding and the window frame.

“You look good up there.”

Neil’s voice drifting on the breeze surprised her enough that she dropped the tube of caulk. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl on a ladder.”

“Try not to fall.”

She’d have sent him a mock glare if she were anywhere near capable of it. If her toes weren’t curling inside her boots this very moment. Instead, she twisted on the ladder, hoping against hope her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “Already teasing me and you haven’t even said good morning yet.”

“Well, come down and I’ll say it.”

God bless Lilian for suggesting they split up. She clambered down the ladder, sure her eagerness must show in her movements. Not even minding. And then she stood in front of him, wearing what had to be a too-wide smile, convinced he’d somehow become even more handsome overnight.

“Morning, Sydney.”

“Good morn—”

He cut her off, pulling her to him and into a kiss every bit as perfect as last night’s. And yet, nothing like it. Because where that had been a tentative, tender touch, this one burned with intensity, his lips claiming hers with so much wanting, there was nothing else she could do but hold on to him and return the kiss. His hands, somehow warm, cupped her cheeks before one moved to her neck, his fingers knotting in her hair.

Finally, surely needing air every bit as much as she did, he broke away. One arm wrapped around her waist, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

“Holy cow, Neil, what are we doing?”

Another kiss on her opposite cheek. “If you don’t know, lass, I’m doing something terribly wrong.”

Lass. “We’ve only known each other for ten days.”

“I think today makes it eleven.”

“Well, in that case . . .” She was the one to kiss him now, pouring every feeling, every speck of undeniable knowing into it, clinging to his shirt and wishing—desperately—that there wasn’t a tiny voice in the back of her head murmuring that she needed to do this while she could.

Because even if God had led her here, wouldn’t He eventually point her back home? Where her jobs and Micah and her whole life up until now were waiting?

“I don’t know how I should feel about you calling me ‘lass.’” Her voice was a whisper. “Not when it’s apparently what you call your sisters, too, when you’re trying to talk them into mucking out the barn.”

He shook his head, his breath warm against her face and his low chuckle almost as alluring as his grin. “No, I call them ‘lassie.’ World of difference in those two letters.” He touched his forehead to hers. “But speaking of . . .”

“Maybe best not to shock anyone.” So why didn’t she step away?

Why didn’t he? No, he did the opposite, his arm tightening around her and his head dipping once more—

Until the sound of footsteps around the side of the house pushed in. And he released her at once, stepping back, but not so far she missed his panted mumble. “I really wish people would stop interrupting us.”

She would’ve laughed as she turned around, if not for the sight of the person rounding the corner. The look of shock on his face. Micah?

Neil’s only hope of keeping his concerned gaze away from Sydney and the man she’d introduced as her former foster brother as they strolled the shore was to go inside.

But he’d been inside for almost thirty minutes now. And still, his ears were perked for any sound that might be footsteps on the porch or the latch of the front door. Never mind the two sisters gabbing from behind the desk in the office—Lilian in the chair and Indi balanced on its arm.

“You’re saying she built this entire website in a day?” Lilian’s eyes reflected the glare of the computer screen as she fiddled with the mouse.

He’d pulled the pair of them away from their outdoor work when Maggie had disappeared into the kitchen, saying something about throwing a batch of cookies in the oven to be ready whenever Sydney and the brother—Micah—returned to the house. The time had felt right to finally tell them about his hopes for shoring up the farm financially, especially considering Lilian had already seen the treehouse last night.

But he hadn’t told her the full scope of his plan then. He’d been too flustered, brain entirely muddled after finally having given his heart what it wanted.

Was it really “finally” though? Sydney had said it herself—they’d only known each other a week and a half. How could that possibly be enough time to . . . to feel the things he’d felt last night when he’d fallen into bed? And this morning when he’d woken up? And every second since?

“Not even a day,” he replied at last. “She got it done in an afternoon while Maggie napped.”

Indi tugged off the earmuffs that’d been around her neck since they came inside. “Wow, this puts the Bits & Pieces site to shame. Wonder what she’d charge me for a redesign.”

Probably nothing, he guessed. But she should charge something. On a whim, the other day he’d looked up the website she’d built for that bakery. Every bit as good as this one. Not that he was any real judge of graphic design or webwork, but even his layman’s eyes knew she had talent.

She’d used the same creative skillset to help Lilian set up their market booth last weekend, and he’d begun noticing little touches of hers around the house, too. She’d reorganized the dishes in the hutch so it no longer looked crowded and had completely rearranged all the books on the shelves in the living room, grouping them by colors—some upright, some stacked—so they became as much a part of the décor as Maggie’s throw pillows. How Lilian hadn’t yet gone crazy from the idea of them no longer being in alphabetical order, he didn’t know.

Then again, maybe she’d taken to Sydney’s presence here every bit as much as he had.

Well, probably not as much.

And it hit him then that it wasn’t just that kiss in the treehouse or those too-brief minutes this morning out back or even that almost-kiss the other day in the pantry that had him feeling as if Sydney didn’t just belong here with their family, but here with him.

It was how gifted and smart and funny she was. How quickly she’d thrown herself into life on the farm, helping Maggie around the house, joining them at the Autumn Market and church and even one of those silly Heritage Society meetings. And, yes, of course, it was her gorgeous hair and gorgeous smile and gorgeous everything.

Mostly it was just . . . her. Only there was no just about it. And maybe for the first time since he’d first heard Maggie reminisce about her Robert, he could understand how a man might be willing to put his whole heart on the line in only a matter of days.

“So the treehouse is just the beginning?”

Lilian’s question pulled him away from the thoughts that both thrilled and terrified him. Thrilled for obvious reasons. Terrified because for once in his life, he wanted something more in his future. He loved this farm and his people and his simple life by the sea.

But in eleven short days, Sydney Rose had opened his eyes to other possibilities, too. Only he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. Maybe they could try dating long-distance for a time. But could he really make that work while keeping up with the farm and beginning a new side business?

“Neil, what is with you this morning? You’re almost as spacey as Syd.”

Lilian smirked at Indi’s remark. Shouldn’t surprise him. She might’ve pretended last night not to have realized what exactly she was interrupting when she showed up in the clearing, but his sister was plenty perceptive.

“Uh, right. The treehouse. Just the beginning, yes—at least, that’s my hope. It’s all going to depend on what Maggie says.”

Because as he’d been reminded in stark detail this week, this land was hers. Going behind her back to build the treehouse was plenty questionable as it was. At least he’d used his own savings, but if he really wanted to invest in this idea and build two or three more rentals around the property, he’d more than likely need to take out a small business loan. And he’d probably need to do it in Muir Farm’s name rather than his own.

Which meant everyone needed to be in on this, Maggie most of all.

“Well, I think it’s genius.” Indi rose from her perch. “I love the idea. Even if you did show Lil the treehouse first—before me.”

“Wasn’t the first.” Lil gave him that knowing look again. One of these days he was probably in for a full interrogation. But she spared him now. “I love the idea, too. What’s more, you love the idea. I think that might matter even more than however much money this venture can bring in.”

A surprise tenderness had entered Lilian’s voice and she went on. “Don’t think I don’t know you skipped college so Maggie could save more toward my and Indi’s education.”

“I skipped college because I knew I’d be taking over the farm.” Because he’d known he could learn whatever he needed from Maggie and her uncles and a few online classes. And, well, yes, he’d known even back then that Lilian—president of her freshman debate team and star mock-trial competitor—would need and want years with her nose in textbooks more than he ever would.

“I wouldn’t have my stores without you, Neil.” Indi rounded the desk. “You didn’t just support me financially. You helped fix up the place. You helped haul inventory. Most of all, you encouraged me and made me believe it could be a success. So this is me—us—telling you we believe this can be a success, too.”

“You really think so? I haven’t exactly done a stellar job making a success of the farm.”

Lilian rose. “Don’t say that. Broken equipment and financial struggles? Farmers from one coast to another would tell you that’s completely normal. But you’re not in it alone—not the farm, not wherever we go from here.”

“Right.” Indi leaned in to hug him. “Come to the store. We can pick out some pieces for the treehouse.”

“And stop spending your savings on farm repairs.” Lilian’s hug was next. “I may not be a big-city lawyer, but I make a good enough salary I can chip in there.”

“Lil, no—”

“Argue with me and I’ll tell Indi what else has been going on out at the treehouse.”

“What else has been going on?”

Great, from the overly innocent look on Indi’s face now and the complete lack of surprise in her question, obviously Lilian had already been talking. Just how much had she said? Or, well, seen? “I don’t know what you think you saw, Lil—”

“Didn’t have to see anything other than the look on your face when you came down those treehouse steps.”

He ruffled her hair. “You and Wilder are two peas in a pod, you know that?”

An instant scowl took over her face. “How could you ever say something so cruel? After I just offered to throw money at you . . . to compare me to Wilder? I take back every nice thing I just said about you.”

“Love you, too, sis.” He draped one arm around her and the other around Indi. Sydney had been right about telling these two. She’d been right all along. “Now, how do I tell Maggie?”

Half an hour had passed and Sydney still hadn’t figured out what Micah was doing here.

Crisp sea air folded in and around her as they strolled across patchy grass and sand, the whoosh of the waves, capped with white and fierce against the rocks on this windy day, calming her just enough to keep her from bulleting questions.

Why didn’t you text or call? How long are you planning to stay, or don’t you have a plan? How did you afford a plane ticket and car rental?

And the question looming above them all: Why was he here? There had to be a reason. There was always a reason.

Not that she wasn’t happy to see him. Nineteen years ago, on the day he walked into the Jacobsens’ house, that limp, little bear clutched in his fist, he’d claimed a permanent piece of her heart. She’d taken him under her wing and he’d been there ever since.

“I know it’s killing you not to ask, Syd.” He combed his fingers through his hair. The same stylish camo jacket he’d been wearing that day at the bakery now flapped in the wind around him. Had that really been not even two weeks ago?

“Well, I know you didn’t come here just to bring me that caramel roll from Nikola.” Though she’d enjoyed every bit of the thing after they’d hugged and started walking. It was just like Micah to bring a roll from the bakery, cart it in a to-go container through two flights, a layover, and a drive in a rental car.

He was a sweetheart—always had been—despite the trouble that always seemed to follow him around.

Or, well, much of the time she was worried it wasn’t so much trouble following him as him seeking it out. And she couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that maybe he’d brought it here with him. Into this idyllic world that had begun to feel a little like a bubble, so far removed from her life back home.

Not that Muir Farm wasn’t without its struggles. She’d witnessed Neil’s daily stress. She’d seen the ongoing effects of all the loss in Maggie’s life. Lilian and Indi had their woes, too, she was sure—take that absentee fiancé of Indi’s, for one. She might’ve even glimpsed a crack in Wilder’s carefree façade once or twice.

But even so, with every day she passed here, she felt more and more rooted to the land, to the sea, to Maggie’s yellow house. What would Maggie say if she asked to stay? What would Neil say?

Maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all. Maybe—

“So I did see what I thought I did.”

She blinked, realizing she’d stopped walking and Micah now stood a pace or two ahead of her. Staring again. And it wasn’t the cold ocean air she felt now, but a warmth in her cheeks that let her know her straying thoughts must show on her face.

“I didn’t realize you moved so fast, Syd.”

“Micah—”

He lifted his hands, palms out. “Hey, whatever fun you want to have on your vacation, I’m not judging.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone or what you’re insinuating.” Or his calling this a vacation. But that’s how he would see it, of course. Two weeks off work, a trip to the coast . . . he couldn’t know about the bond she’d formed with Maggie or the unlikely friendship with the sisters who hadn’t wanted her here in the beginning.

Or that however much he’d seen when he walked around the corner of the house was, in reality, so much more than the fling he obviously assumed.

“Okay, I’ll go ahead and ask. Why’d you come, Micah? I told you I’d be home on Sunday.” Just saying the words dug a pit in her stomach but she did her best to keep her voice lighthearted. “Figured you’d get in on the tail end of my trip? Have your own little vacation?”

Oh, that it’d be something that silly and inconsequential. A frivolous whim and nothing more.

But Micah’s silence said enough. He tipped his head, as if attempting to harness any warmth to be had from the sun above, and as she watched him now, she saw what she hadn’t earlier. The faint purple smudges under his eyes. The downward tilt of his shoulders. His hair, usually so copiously gelled, in disarray.

Of course, that could be from the overnight flights. From the blustering seaside wind. But no.

There were days when twenty-seven-year-old Micah didn’t seem all that different from eight-year-old Micah.

He looked away, waited a beat. “I told you before. I owe someone some money.”

How she kept herself from pressing her lips together, sharpening her gaze, she didn’t know. “Okay. How much?”

That expression—she’d seen it so many times. Sheepish, bordering on agitated. “You’ll kill me if I tell you.”

She held one hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun. “How much money, Micah?”

That wasn’t just chagrin on his face now. It was pure panic. “It wasn’t so much at first but then with interest and stuff . . . twenty-five thousand.”

She sputtered. “What?”

He paced several feet away, about-faced, and returned. “I thought I was doing something good for once. A friend told me about this investment opportunity—more of a pyramid scheme, I realize now—but I really thought it could turn into something, you know? But I needed some capital to get started and obviously I couldn’t ask you for that kind of cash and like a bank is going to loan me anything, so I—”

“Not a loan shark. Please say you didn’t.”

“Fine. I won’t say it.”

Her full stomach twisted and churned. Twenty-five thousand dollars. In a daze, she wrapped her arms around her torso, not even Neil’s coat enough to keep a chill from shivering through her now. “I don’t have that kind of money, Micah.”

“I know. I know. I didn’t come here expecting you to hand over a check or anything. It’s just . . . I don’t know what to do and these guys aren’t exactly patient.”

“How’d you even have money to get here if you’re in such a tight spot?”

He looked away again. Of course. That, too—borrowed.

She turned away just to keep from letting loose a lecture that wouldn’t help either one of them, her gaze drawn to the house. She supposed there were people out there in the world who wouldn’t blink at an amount like twenty-five thousand dollars. When she’d first Googled Muir Farm and saw all those old photos, before the years had taken their toll on the house, she’d thought the Muirs were some of them.

Oh no . . . Micah hadn’t come here because . . . he didn’t think . . .

Dread welled inside her and she spun back to him. “I don’t know if I can help you this time, Micah. And they can’t, either. If that’s why you’re here—”

“How can you blame me? Isn’t that why you came here? I know how much you regret dropping out of college. I know how much I’ve cost you over the years. I know Mezzani’s was never your dream job. You came here looking for a new life. Maybe it’s not money you want, but you’re looking for something to make all your troubles go away just as much as I am. That’s probably why you were kissing the guy. They figured out you’re not the long-lost daughter or granddaughter or whoever, so you did the next best thing.”

She couldn’t find words—not one single sentence to refute his awful accusation. How could he think that of her?

She turned away, hurt tussling with anger.

“You’re wrong, Micah. Everything you just said—so wrong. These people . . .” She closed her eyes, giving herself a moment to regain her composure. “They’re the best people you’ll ever meet. And because they’re the best, they’ll offer to let you stay. Neil will probably give you his bedroom and Maggie will make a great big meal tonight and they’ll welcome you like one of the family.”

One of the family. Pining washed over her, so fierce it could swallow her like the sea.

“But if you so much as ask them for a penny, I’ll march you to the car myself.” Drive him to the airport and sit in the seat next to him the whole way home, if that’s what it took. “I want to help you and if I can think of any way—”

His frustrated expression turned into a sneer. “Save it, Syd. I’ll find a hotel.” He spun and marched away, but only made it a few steps before about-facing. He reached into his pocket and thrust something at her. A small rectangular piece of paper, curled at the edges.

The photo! Diana and CarleeAnn and JP.

Micah pivoted once more, steps carrying him away, but his voice reaching her as he yelled over his shoulder. “And it’s JR, not JP.”

Wait . . . what? She flipped the photograph over, stretching and straightening it with both hands, peering at the scribbled handwriting. She moved it closer to her face. Oh. Oh. He was right. There, where the paper was a little rougher . . . the tiniest tail of an R, cut off by the merest scratch of the surface.

JR. Not JP.