Sydney lowered into the chair beside Maggie’s hospital bed, the quiet of the room, a hovering stillness, tugging on the fatigue that clung to her after a nearly sleepless night.

Maggie wasn’t expected to awaken for another couple of hours, at least. It was why Neil and the girls had finally returned to the house earlier this morning.

It was why Sydney had slipped away. Finally made herself come to the hospital, walk into this room, face the woman who’d come to mean the world to her.

Who was going to be okay. At least, that’s what Neil had said when he’d texted in the middle of the night after Maggie had made it through her emergency surgery. It’s what a nurse had confirmed when she’d spoken to her minutes ago.

“Dr. Lakeman expects a full recovery. Might be a few weeks before she’s up for a long walk on the beach, but she’s one strong lady.”

Strong. Yes. That was Maggie—even as she lay here, pale and unconscious, white hair billowing behind her head, blending into the bedsheets. Every day that Sydney had spent at Muir Farm, Maggie had shown her what true strength looked like.

It looked like hope that kept searching. It looked like faith that didn’t give up. It looked like opening your door to a stranger, letting her in and loving her . . . even when she didn’t turn out to be the person you’d hoped.

“I’m not Cynthia.” The strained murmur caught in her throat. She’d have to say these words again later, when Maggie was awake to hear them. Because Neil was right—she couldn’t leave without having this conversation, hard as it might be. Maggie deserved to hear the truth from her. “Tate Carter is my father and he . . . he said CarleeAnn is . . .”

The tears she’d refused to let herself cry last night when she’d attempted to say goodbye to Neil sprang to her eyes now. She blinked them back.

“The thing is, I’m still so glad I came here. Which is probably selfish of me because I know how much you were hoping to find little Cindy. And the thought of hurting you kills me.” She leaned forward, curling her fingers around Maggie’s. “But I just can’t bring myself to regret coming here. I’ll never forget these two weeks.”

They’d changed her. Stretched her. Reminded her . . .

That she had more to give. That somewhere down deep, underneath years of hurt and regret and just trying to get by, she was still the Sydney Rose who knew how to dream. How to find the blessings in life as it was while not being afraid to imagine life as it could be.

And maybe the things she’d imagined in these two weeks weren’t going to come to pass. Maybe after Sunday, she wouldn’t wake up in the yellow house by the sea. Maybe Maggie wasn’t her grandmother. Maybe Neil would never be . . . whatever he might’ve been.

She swallowed and a lone tear slipped free.

But the point was, she’d imagined. She’d hoped. And even now, as her heart broke at the thought of saying goodbye to Neil and Maggie and everyone she’d come to care about in Muir Harbor, there was still a hushed whisper breaking through, beckoning her . . .

Assuring her life could be good even when it didn’t look exactly as she’d imagined. She could return to Chicago and her job and Micah and find joy and purpose and peace. She could seek out new challenges, dream new dreams. She could search for God and find Him in unexpected places.

And on the hard days, she could remember these two weeks and the woman who, in the wake of loss and grief, had created a family and poured herself into it, day after day after day.

“You’ve given me more than you’ll ever know, Maggie Muir.”

She leaned closer and kissed Maggie’s cheek like she’d seen Neil do so many times before.

“By the way,” she whispered, “Neil’s treehouse—it’s amazing. I know it’s not my place but . . . maybe when you’re well, could you just let him show it to you again? Please? I know he can make a success of it. Just don’t let him try to do everything on his own, okay? And especially don’t let him mess up my website. Maybe Lil or Indi can—”

From the hospital room doorway, a clearing of a throat interrupted her. With Maggie’s palm still encased in her own, she glanced up.

Tate Carter stood under the shadow of the doorframe, uncertainty written all over his face, two Styrofoam cups in his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . I just . . . I got coffee.”

He’d been like this since the moment he picked her up at the house this morning, an almost endearing awkwardness in his every move. She stood and rounded Maggie’s bed, accepting the cup he held toward her.

“It’s from Trinna’s. I ran downtown real quick. Thought you might need the extra caffeine as much as me.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip. “For this. For the ride here. For last night. Especially for that.”

He waved his hand. “I only did what any person would’ve done. Though, from the little I saw when I first got there, you were doing a fine job of self-defense.” He attempted a smile.

“I don’t just mean jumping in and knocking that guy flat. I mean coming to the house in the first place. And all the time you took to talk yesterday.” Any other person would not necessarily have done that.

No, another man might’ve turned her away before she’d had the chance to open her mouth. Refused to see what was right in front of him. Or worse, acknowledged the truth of their situation but rejected her anyway.

But not Tate Carter. And as he stood in front of her now, she realized this was another gift Maggie had given her. Perhaps unintentionally, but in bringing her here, Maggie had opened the door for Sydney to meet her father.

She wouldn’t take credit, though. She’d say it was God who led me here. Who knew all along what was waiting for me in Maine.

Just as He knew what was waiting for her in Chicago.

“How is she, by the way?” Tate nodded toward Maggie.

“She’ll be okay. Might be a slow recovery but she’s going to be fine.”

Tate took a drink. “My father was an idiot about things yesterday. I hope you know I know that. He’ll come around eventually. He’s just hard-headed. Anyhow, I don’t really know where we go from here. Especially if you’re still leaving tomorrow.”

She was. She had to. For Maggie. For Micah.

Tate cleared his throat again. “But I don’t want it to be the way it was with CarleeAnn. I don’t want to let you leave and never see you again. Can we maybe . . . stay in touch, at least?”

“I’d like that.” And there was something else she’d like. “Do you think sometimes you could tell me more about CarleeAnn? I haven’t thought the best of her over the years. But you knew her, you knew who she really was. I guess . . . well, I’d like to know . . . whatever you want to tell me.”

“I can do that, Sydney. I’d be happy to.” His unease seemed to lighten. “You have a half-brother, too, you know.”

Yes, somewhere in the craziness of the past day, that thought had flitted in the back of her mind. “It’d be nice to meet him . . . sometime.”

For now, she had another brother waiting to speak with her. She looked back at Maggie once more. Thank you, Maggie. I’ll be back later. And maybe by then she’d have figured out how to say goodbye.

“What d’ya think is up with that?” Wilder pointed his thumb over his shoulder to where Indi stood with her fiancé on the porch—not arguing, but not looking all that comfortable with each other either.

The midmorning sun failed to provide any warmth, the only benefit to the sharp seaside wind needling Neil being its shock effect, enough to rattle his exhaustion and shake him into alertness.

He hadn’t meant to sleep for three hours. Had only come home to change clothes, maybe grab a shower, then return to the hospital.

But he’d made the mistake of lowering onto his bed, thinking he’d simply rest his eyes for a few minutes. The next thing he’d known, he’d awoken to a blaring sun and the sound of Lilian and Wilder having it out in the hallway. Apparently Wilder had come by with muffins and coffee for everyone and Lil had found some reason to bite his head off for it. Not unusual.

What was unusual was the man who’d slept on the couch downstairs—Indi’s fiancé. The man currently shaking his head at Indi while the clanging wind chime hanging from the corner of the porch spun.

The guy wasn’t what Neil had anticipated. With a name like Bennington Foster, he’d expected slicked-back hair and a sharp suit. Instead, the man still wore last night’s wrinkled clothes, he hadn’t shaved, and if he’d done anything more than shake his fingers through his hair after waking up, he didn’t look it.

“Something’s off with those two.”

Neil didn’t disagree, but he didn’t have time to parse out Indi’s love life just now. He needed to get back to the hospital, check on Maggie.

Find Sydney. He’d knocked on her bedroom door after waking up, and when she didn’t answer, he’d peeked in. Not there.

At least her suitcase was. Which meant she hadn’t changed her mind overnight. Which meant maybe there was still time to . . . what? Convince her to stay?

But what if she was right? What if Maggie’s hurt at learning Sydney wasn’t Cynthia proved detrimental to her health? What if—

“I’m telling you, man, it’s another gut feeling. Something’s weird about that Bennington guy. Lil thinks so, too.”

Neil pulled his keys from his pocket and started toward his truck. “When did she say that? Before or after you guys woke me up with your bickering?” Lilian had left ten minutes ago, insisting they drive separately so they’d have multiple vehicles at the hospital and could easily come and go as needed.

Keeping stride with him, Wilder flashed a smile. “She was mad I brought banana nut muffins. Said I should know by now she’s allergic to bananas.”

“You do know she’s allergic to bananas.”

“I also know she’s hilarious when she’s mad. And I figured the madder she is at me, the less headspace she has to worry over Maggie.”

Neil opened his truck door. “You two have a weird friendship, you know that?”

“Not sure Lil would call it a friendship. But listen . . . before you leave, we need to talk.”

“I’m not blind, Wild. I know something’s off with Indi’s fiancé, too. But she’s smart. We don’t have to interfere—”

Wilder shook his head. “Not that.”

Neil glanced to his friend, took in his rumpled clothing, his mussed hair. Wilder might not have spent the night at the hospital, but he must not have slept any more than the rest of them. “What is it?”

“Whoever was riffling through your treehouse last night—some friend you are, by the way. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about that place earlier and—”

“Wild.”

“It wasn’t Micah Porter.”

Neil closed his truck door. “Just because he denied it to the cops—”

“He denied it to me, too. I went to the jail first thing this morning. He swears it wasn’t him. Went by the treehouse, too, took a look at those prints. They don’t match up with Micah’s shoes or that other guy’s.”

“They could’ve changed shoes.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so. I think the kid’s telling the truth. Lil told me about the footprints in the yard last week. An unknown car on your property. And now the treehouse.” Wilder rubbed his chin. “I’ve got another gut feeling, man. A strong one. It’s all connected—it has to be. It has something to do with Diana, her accident.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Neil’s keys jangled as he waved his hand. “The accident was twenty-eight years ago. All the weird stuff at the farm . . . it’s probably just Tate Carter’s kid, and as for the treehouse—”

An image slipped in then—of Maggie staring at the treehouse last night, her eyes going wide, a panic he didn’t understand taking over her expression. The pinch in her voice . . . “I remember.”

“What makes you think any of this has to do with the accident?”

Wilder let out a puff of air. “Like I said, it’s a gut feeling. And I know the last time I had one, it was about Sydney and that didn’t pan out but—”

Neil was the one to shake his head now. “No, I think your feeling was right then. Maybe not the facts of it. Not your theory about her identity. But she was supposed to come here.” He could hear the conviction in his own voice. Realized, right in that moment, that even if she left tomorrow, even if he never saw her again—please, God, don’t let it be like that—he meant what he’d said.

There was no mistaking the curiosity on Wilder’s face, but to the man’s credit, he let it go. Probably because it wasn’t curiosity at all. Wilder wasn’t any more blind than Neil was. And Neil was too tired this morning to go to the effort of masking his feelings. Still, he was grateful Wilder didn’t push or prod.

“So what do we do now? We’ve had a prowler—or prowlers—and you think they’re somehow connected to Diana. What do we do with that?”

Wilder scratched his chin. “Well, right now, you go to the hospital and I do what I do. Keep digging. And then when Maggie’s doing a little better, maybe we talk to her. See if there’s more she can tell us about Diana or the night of the accident.”

There might be. “I remember . . .”

“Meanwhile,” Wilder went on, “we all pray that if I’m wrong and there’s nothing to this, God would knock me over the head or something.”

“If He doesn’t, I’m sure Lilian would be willing to do the job.”

Wilder let out a laugh. “Don’t I know it.” He sobered in the next instant. “I don’t know, Neil. I just can’t shake it. I think . . . I think we’ve only scratched the surface of this thing.”

His friend’s words followed him into the truck and down the lane and all the way to the hospital. Along with Maggie’s voice from last night and his own dogged fatigue . . .

And thoughts of Sydney—so many of them, all swirling together into one giant knot of desire. He just didn’t know what to do about it.

Maybe there was nothing to do. Maybe she planned to avoid him until leaving tomorrow. If that’s what she wanted . . .

“Neil.”

Lilian’s voice greeted him the moment he walked into the waiting room that had become their family’s campsite last night. She was just emerging from a hallway.

“She’s awake.” Lilian hurried to him, barreling into a hug. “She’s awake and doing well. She wants to see you. And Indi, of course, and she even asked about Bennington. Apparently Sydney’s already been here.”

He stepped back, gaze immediately searching each corner of the waiting room. “Sydney’s here?”

“Was here. About an hour ago, I guess. Before Maggie was fully awake.” Lilian looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “She wants to have Thanksgiving at the farm, Neil. It was one of the first things she said to me. She wants to invite everyone like in the old days. I don’t know why or what changed her mind but she practically ordered me to organize it and . . .” She leaned in for another hug. “Go talk to her. There’s things she wants to say to you, too.”

He didn’t doubt it. After last night . . . the treehouse . . . all he’d kept from her.

He released his sister, trying to keep his tension from showing on his face as he told her Indi and her fiancé would be arriving soon. Minutes later, he stood outside Maggie’s door. Just go in. Tell her you’re sorry about the treehouse. Tell her . . .

That he loved her. That he needed her. They all did. And whatever it took to get her healthy, they’d do—together. Because they were a family and that’s what families did.

“Neil, I wish you’d stop hovering in the hallway and just come in already.”

He stepped into the room, gaze meeting hers in an instant where she lay partially propped up against a pile of pillows. None of last night’s anger or fear in her eyes. Just love and light.

He was at her side in seconds, dropping into the chair where he’d kept vigil off and on earlier, praying desperate prayers and wishing he’d done so many things differently. “Maggie, you . . .” He struggled to swallow his emotion. “You have no right to look so perky.”

“If this is perky, I want to know what you’re going to say when I’m finally out of this bed.” Her voice was soft and tired, but hearing it was a balm.

“Finally? You just came out of surgery eight hours ago. The fact that you’re talking is about enough to make me dance a jig.”

“I think I’d very much like to see that.”

“I won’t stay long. You probably need to rest and Lord knows you’re going to have plenty of other visitors trailing in and out of here all day.” His head dipped. “But I just need to say—”

“I’m sorry, son.”

His gaze lifted to take in her gentle smile. “What? No, that’s what I want to—”

“Last night you showed me something beautiful, Neil. Something you’d poured yourself into. You shared a well-thought-out vision and I rejected it. Just like that.”

Because she had every right. Because it was her land. Because he’d waited too long to tell her, forged ahead without even asking for her input.

He covered her hand with his. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. The farm is yours and I had no right to charge forward with plans of my own when—”

She stilled him by squeezing his hand. “About that, actually. I’ve asked Lil to do a favor for me.”

“She told me about Thanksgiving—”

“A different favor. One she’ll need her lawyer hat for. It involves my will—”

He flew from his chair so quickly it toppled behind him. “There’s no need. Dr. Lakeman said he expects a full recovery so there’s no need to talk about anything like that. And there won’t be for a long time.”

She gave a raspy laugh. “Would you please sit down and just listen for a minute?”

He gave a miserable nod and righted his chair, then sat. Her will? Did she think she wasn’t going to snap back from this? Did she have some horrible feeling—like one of Wilder’s gut instincts? Please, God . . . we need her. I need her.

“The other day Sydney was telling me about her childhood, about how hard it was for her at times seeing other children in the foster care system be adopted and never having that experience herself. At the time, I was sad for her and yet, happy she was opening up to me.” Maggie shifted against her pillows. “But since then, I’ve found myself wondering . . . thinking . . . that I missed an important opportunity years ago. With you.”

Wait, was that what this was about?

“I wanted to adopt you, Neil. I hope you know that. But with all the logistics, I honestly couldn’t afford it. And your aunt and uncle weren’t exactly being helpful from across an ocean and—”

“We don’t need to talk about this. I’m not upset. I’ve always understood.”

“You can understand the facts of something and still hurt over it.” Her eyes roved over his face, as if looking for something, asking a question of him.

Emotion snuck up on him, his voice coming out husky and low. “You’ve never not given me anything I truly needed, Maggie.” But maybe this was something she needed now. Honest, vulnerable words.

Perhaps in his efforts in the past days and months and years to be dependable, to be strong, to prove his place in the family even if he didn’t have the name to show for it, he had somehow, without even realizing it, pushed away the one woman who’d only ever offered him . . . everything. Love and family and a home.

“But I guess . . . I did hurt over it. I did want . . .” He took a breath. “I wanted something that I know now—always knew, really—that I already had. To be your son. To be in your family.”

“Then I say it’s time we make it official. Although there’s a slight complication in that neither I nor Lilian have any idea what the process is to legally adopt a thirty-four-year-old.”

He would laugh if he was at all capable of doing anything other than taking in the love in her voice and her eyes.

“But a legal name change?” She tilted toward him. “It’s just a little money and some paperwork. So I’m just wondering, dear, how attached are you to your current last name?”

He really couldn’t speak now. Not with tears pricking the backs of his eyes. But Maggie waited, and finally he managed to croak, “Not very.”

“Well, good then.”

He rubbed his free hand over his eyes. “But I thought this was about your will?”

“Yes. Once you’re officially Neil Muir, I’ll need to update the will. Specifically, the part where I leave you the land. The house will go to the girls, but I’m sure by that point your rental business will be booming and you can buy them out.”

Emotion clogged his throat all over again. “Maggie—”

“Neil, you are Muir Farm. Maybe your name didn’t reflect it, but the farm and what you’ve made of it reflects you. And what you’re going to make of it, too.”

He didn’t know what to say, how to express the gratitude welling inside him. “I love you, Maggie.”

“I know you do.”

“And I’ll only do the treehouse thing if it’s truly what you want.”

She let out another quiet laugh and closed her eyes. “You’ve already done the treehouse thing. But yes, move forward with it. Build two or three more and show off Muir Farm to the world. I’m done letting the past steal our future.”

Was that why she’d made the sudden decision to host Thanksgiving, too? He wanted to ask—that and so many other questions. Like what it was she’d remembered last night and whether she planned to keep looking for Cynthia. Or did she even know yet about Sydney? Lilian had said Maggie was still asleep when Sydney stopped by, so for all he knew—

“Neil Ian Muir, how can you look so worried after we’ve just shared such a meaningful moment?”

Neil Ian Muir. His heart thumped against his chest. “It’s just . . . Sydney . . .”

“I know.”

“You know . . . what exactly?”

“Enough. I was in a fog but I heard . . . I know she’s not who we’d hoped. But she’s still who we loved.”

Who they loved. Yes, there was no other word for it. “So I guess you’re not going to sell the land to Tatum Carter?” That was another thing he wanted to ask her—what Tate had meant when he’d said Maggie and his father had a past. But that could wait, as could all his other questions.

“Not your smoothest attempt ever at changing the topic.” Maggie sank farther into her pillows, her eyes closing, a peaceful smile on her face.

Someday they’d unravel the mystery of Diana’s accident. Perhaps they’d find the real Cynthia Muir. Someday he’d put the pieces of Maggie’s past together and have a deeper understanding of the woman who’d changed his life before ever changing his name.

But for today, for right now, this healing moment with Maggie was enough.

Sydney slid from Tate’s passenger seat and thanked him for the ride—again. At his nod, she closed the door and turned, squinting against the late-morning sunlight glinting off the metallic sign in front of Muir Harbor’s police station.

What in the world was she supposed to say to Micah when she walked through those glass doors? This wasn’t like the other times. This hadn’t been a bar brawl or a fender bender or some minor instance of being with the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’d broken into Maggie’s house through the back door with the intention of robbing her. Might’ve been fear and desperation pushing him into it, but they weren’t excuses. And even if he somehow got out of this with nothing more than a night in jail as punishment, how would things ever return to normal once they were home?

Home. The word had taken on an edge and it scared her to think of how long it may take to sand it away once she was back in the Midwest.

Inside, she stopped at the front desk and gave her name, waited as the woman behind the counter disappeared for a few moments. She returned soon. “He’s already on his way up. Someone else came to see him and they just finished the paperwork for his release.”

His release? And someone else? Who—

“Sydney!”

She heard the voice before she saw Nikola rounding a corner. What in the world? “Nik?”

Nikola hurried across the lobby and pulled her into an easy embrace. Over Nikola’s shoulder, she saw Micah in her friend’s wake, his steps hesitant and heavy.

“I don’t understand what you’re doing here. How did you know . . . when a-and . . . why?”

Nikola released her as Micah reached them. The circles under his eyes had deepened to a dark blue and his clothing was rumpled. “Uh, I was allowed a phone call after they booked me.”

“And you called Nikola? Why would you—”

“Micah,” Nikola interrupted. “Give us a sec, will you?”

Sydney shook her head. “No, we need to talk. We need to figure out . . .”

But Micah was already following Nikola’s instructions, not even looking at Sydney as he moved off to a far corner of the lobby.

She turned to her friend, shock and confusion warring for prominence. “What’s going on? It must’ve been after eleven when he called you. How’d you get here so fast? And why would he—”

“You’ve been gone for almost two weeks, my friend. A lot can happen in that time.” Nikola grinned, two dark braids framing her face, only the slight puffiness of her eyes betraying her tiredness from what had to have been both a late night and an early morning, considering she was here right now.

“I wish I could see the humor in this, but if you knew everything that’s happened in the past few days . . .”

“Then I’ll take pity on you, Syd. And you’re right—Micah’s situation isn’t funny. He’s stopped at the bakery a few times while you’ve been gone. I have to confess, the first time I saw him standing outside the front door before I’d even opened up for the day, I had the urge to go into the back office and avoid him. Got the distinct feeling he’d come only to complain about you leaving town.” Nikola paused. “But then I remembered the way someone else looked standing outside the shop a long time ago, staring at a Help Wanted sign. Like she had the whole world on her shoulders.” She nudged her arm. “A little like you look now, come to think of it.”

In an instant, she had the urge to spill everything to her friend. She wanted to tell her about Maggie and CarleeAnn and JR who was really Tate Carter, Jr., who was really her father.

She wanted to tell her about Neil. But knew even if this were the time and place for it, she’d never be able to find words to do any justice at all to how deeply and fully he’d captured her heart in such a short timeframe.

It was uncanny.

It was undeniable.

It was . . . impossible. Micah. You’re here to talk about Micah.

“So, I guess you didn’t hide away in the back office, then?”

Nikola chuckled. “No. I let him in and we talked a little. And then he stopped by a couple of days later. Eventually I knew the whole story about the loan shark—kept waiting for him to ask me for money but he never did.”

That surprised her. Surprised her even more that Micah had sought out Nikola in the first place. All these years, she’d told herself she was all Micah had, his sole support system.

Just like Neil, trying to save a farm singlehandedly.

“But to fly out here at the drop of a hat, Nik. It’s too much. You didn’t have to come. What did you do? Pay his bail? I’ll pay you back and—?”

“There’s no bail, Syd. He’s been fully released. No charges.”

She slumped against the wall. “I’m . . . I’m so confused.”

“Apparently you’ve done a bit of a number on that family, Syd. The guy called the station hours ago and said they didn’t want to press charges.”

The guy? Did she mean Neil?

“Now, the other man who was involved, apparently he has outstanding charges in two other states. So he’s not going to be roaming the streets for a while. They’re handing him over to an agency in Illinois.”

A small comfort in everything. Still, somewhere back in Chicago was a man named Harmon who wasn’t about to let Micah off the hook. Micah still owed twenty-five thousand dollars. She still . . . didn’t know what to do about that.

“I don’t know how to help him this time. Every time I try to think about it or come up with a plan, I can’t focus. All I can think about is how I don’t want to go home at all, let alone go home and try to figure out how to come up with more money than I’ve ever had at one time in my life.” Tears slid down her cheeks. She’d held them back at the hospital, but she couldn’t escape them now. “I don’t want to go. I love it here. I love the people here. I love . . .”

One face after another floated through her mind, but one lingered in clearer, more colorful detail than all the others.

But what about all the noble things she’d told herself only hours ago at the hospital? About how life in Chicago could be good. About how she’d keep hoping, imagining—

“Oh, Syd, this is just the best.”

“What?” She swallowed a garbled sob. “Do you even see me right now? I’m standing in a police station, crying. I probably still have yesterday’s mascara smudging under my eyes.”

Nikola laughed and gripped both her shoulders. “But don’t you see? Don’t you remember two weeks ago, back in the bakery? I asked you if you’d ever done something because you just had to, because it filled you with emotion, because you knew there was a happy ending waiting for you if you could just run for it. You looked at me like you had no idea what I was talking about. You wouldn’t be crying right now if that hadn’t changed.”

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“But it’s the truth, isn’t it? You found your something.” Nikola squeezed her shoulders. “Or maybe it’s someone.”

Yes, someone whose dedication to the farm and love for Maggie and his sisters had reeled her in until she’d lost her heart to him. Did she really think she could just walk away? Say goodbye to Neil and his thoughtful ways and his quiet faith, his complete and utter goodness?

But there was something too. The sense that she could’ve had a place here. A purpose. When she’d created that website for Neil, when she’d manned the market booth with Lilian, when she’d helped Maggie bake, and even when she’d caulked those windows . . . she’d felt like she belonged.

She lifted her hand to swipe at her tears.

“Listen, if you’re convinced coming back to Chicago and resuming life as normal is what God wants for you, then okay. But if He’s given you a new dream, then how could it be anything but good and noble to chase it?”

“How do I know it’s Him and not just me and my own silly heart?”

“Why couldn’t it be both?” Nikola dropped her arms. “Tell me this: Does staying here and starting a whole new life scare you a little? Because if so, that’s probably a good sign He’s behind it.”

Did it scare her? Yes. Yes, because there were so many ways it could go sideways. There was Maggie and her health to consider. And the girls—what would Indi and Lil say when they found out she wasn’t Cynthia Muir? And how could she just . . . just stay when she didn’t truly have a place?

Maybe she could stay with Tate for a while. But his father wasn’t her biggest fan just yet . . . his father, her grandfather. Oh goodness, that hadn’t even gelled in her mind yet. And though Tate said he wanted to get to know her, did that really mean he wanted her lingering in his life after disrupting it so suddenly?

And Neil. Good, kind, caring Neil. He’d come right out and asked her to stay but . . .

But what?

But what if I’ve built this up in my head to be more than it is? Just like when she’d gone looking for CarleeAnn.

That had led to so much hurt.

But it’d also led her to the photo, and the photo had led her to accepting Wilder Monroe’s theory, which had led her to Maine in the first place. From her place of deepest hurt, God had brought something amazing. Something she never could’ve expected.

He’d brought her here.

“But . . . Micah.”

“He’s going to be okay. I’ve already been talking to an uncle of mine—he’s a cop who’s dealt with this kind of thing before. Given the under-the-table shadiness of this whole thing, this Harmon guy might not have a leg to stand on as far as legally demanding repayment. But even if he does—”

“Nikola, no.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to give him twenty-five grand. I’m just saying, he’s going to be okay. My uncle has already recommended a lawyer who does pro bono work here and there. We’ll work together and figure something out.”

“But—”

“You need to listen to her, Syd.”

When had Micah walked over? His dark eyes burned with intensity despite the circles underneath them.

“I made a horrible mistake. I know that. When Harmon sent his goon after me, I . . . I should’ve gone to Nikola’s uncle but I didn’t because I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. I just know it was stupid. But it would be an even worse mistake to watch you give up everything you want for me. You’ve already done that once before.”

“Micah—”

“No, don’t argue.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “If you want to do something for me now, then . . . then let me go. It’s time. We both know it.”

Her tears were back. “You’ll always be my little brother.”

He did her the favor of rolling his eyes when she hugged him, lightening the moment, easing the weight that had settled in her stomach since the moment he turned up in Maine. And making room for something else.

Something warm and hopeful and nerve-wracking and maybe a little terrifying. Something that might be God’s voice or perhaps her own heart . . . or probably both. Because maybe Nikola was right. Maybe there were times when her deepest desires were the echoes of divine whispers.

And maybe it was time she finally listened.