Of course, a week and a half ago when he’d used the same excuse to leave the room, the pitcher had at least been half-empty. The glass jug was completely full now. She set it on the kitchen counter hard enough that water sloshed over the edge.

“Syd.”

He’d followed her. She let out a raspy sigh as she turned. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been able to beguile anyone who comes across you. Why couldn’t you turn on just an ounce of that charm tonight? Did you see that meal out there? Do you know how much work Maggie went to?” And now it was growing cold in an empty dining room. “She fainted earlier this week. I watched it happen. Scared me half to death. We’ve all been trying to get her to take it easy ever since, but she refused to take her usual nap today just so she could make that meal for you.”

Well, not only for Micah. The effort had been just as much for Indi’s fiancé.

Why did it cause such a pang—not being up there with the others? Between Lilian and Neil and Maggie, Indi had all the support she needed for the disappointment she was facing now. But she’d begun to feel so much a part of this family. And they were up there with each other and she was down here with . . .

With the person who was supposed to be her family. And he was hurting. Somewhere underneath that stylish and stubborn exterior, he was still the eight-year-old boy with the teddy bear.

“I don’t charm everyone, Syd. You’re forgetting the Jacobsens.”

No, she wasn’t forgetting them. How could she when he looked at her like that? Almost . . . bereft.

I’m the only one he has. It’d been the truth since the day the Jacobsens had kicked him out.

Or, well, the reality of it wasn’t that black and white. It’d taken Micah a good two or three weeks to ’fess up to her that he’d left the foster home of his own accord. He’d actually made a deal with the couple. He’d show up at their house for scheduled meetings with his child services case manager and they could keep their government checks if they let him leave without reporting him.

Fifteen. He’d been only fifteen. And he’d said the words that had convinced her that dropping out of college and switching to full-time at the restaurant was the right thing to do. “You’re the only one I have, Syd.”

Maybe the real problem now was that he wasn’t the only one she had.

“I want to help you, Micah. I don’t know how, but I want to. It just can’t be at the expense of the Muir family. They don’t deserve your sullenness or rude insinuations or—”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

She kept her voice even. “This isn’t a lecture. It’s me, for once, putting my foot down and telling you how it has to be. I think you need to head back home and—”