If there were, maybe that explained how closed off she’d become to life outside the farm. Maybe there was some unexplainable fear or lingering anxiety that held her here. But if that were the case, could she really consider selling the farm? Maybe she doesn’t plan to sell the whole place. Sell the land, keep the house—isn’t that what Ansel had suggested a couple of weeks ago?

Maggie reached for the bowl of grapes and indicated with a nudge of her head that Neil should get the pan of roasted vegetables. “Perhaps everything will smooth out over dinner.”

“Maggie, before we go in . . .” Now probably wasn’t the best time. But he had to ask. “Tatum Carter’s offer—have you, um . . . made any decisions?”

Please say no. No decision other than no sale.

He knew he couldn’t put off showing her the treehouse much longer, not after knowing how much it’d pained her being left out of the loop on the rest of it. But he was hoping he could at least wait until Saturday, buy himself enough time to get the interior of the house set up and looking nice.

But if she’d made a decision, then he wouldn’t be able to wait. He’d need to show her—tell her everything—as soon as possible in hopes of changing her mind.

“Not yet.”

Maggie’s reply wasn’t as reassuring as he’d hoped. It was that dangling “yet.” The hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “It’s not off the table, is it.” Statement, not a question.

“I don’t want to sell, Neil. But I also don’t want you wearing yourself out year after year trying to make ends meet.”

“I’m not—”

“I realized when I was listening to Tatum give his pitch that no one ever even asked you if you wanted to take over the farm. It just landed in your lap.”

“Of course I wanted it, Maggie. I’ve always wanted it. Since I was a little boy visiting from Scotland. This place is in my blood.” Even if it wasn’t his name attached to it. Even if he’d been born an ocean away. “Listen, what are you doing Saturday evening?”

She squinted at the change in subject. “Well, you know me. Going out on the town. Hitting up the pubs.”

“More like watching Lawrence Welk on public television and falling asleep before nine.”

“Tease me like that, son, and I’ll march right on over to Carter Farms and sign whatever papers he wants.”

Son. Maybe a thirty-four-year-old man shouldn’t need to hear that word as much as he did at times. But tonight, especially after the week they’d had, it meant the world. He leaned down to kiss Maggie’s cheek. “I just want to show you something that night. Can you make a little time for me? We could make it late afternoon so you don’t miss Lawrence. Before supper.”

“I can always make time for you, Neil. Now grab the veggies, will you? We’ve been keeping our guests waiting long enough.”