“You are a sweetheart, Neil MacKean. But I’ve got my phone and my GPS app to get me there. It’s all of fifteen miles away. I’ve got your nice, warmed-up truck to drive. I’ve got coffee and one of Maggie’s scones.” She stopped at the truck. “I’ve got everything I need, and I’m going to be fine.”

“The photo?”

She patted her purse.

“Syd—”

She surprised him then. Leaned into him—no, practically threw herself against him, arms wrapping around his waist. No words, just holding on.

He held her back, encircling her in his arms and kissing the top of her head and wondering how he was supposed to let her leave. Not now, but in a few days. She still hadn’t explained what was going on with Micah, but the feeling in his gut told him there were things in her world trying to yank her home.

“When you get back, Syd, can we talk? We haven’t really discussed . . . haven’t really talked since the treehouse. I feel like we need to figure things out.” Figure things out. Sounded too businesslike. And there was nothing businesslike about this. It was pure, heady, life-changing emotion.

“What things?”

If he hadn’t heard the thread of a tease in her voice, her question might actually worry him. Instead, he smiled with his chin on her head. “Well, things like chores.”

She lifted her head, her pert nose wrinkled.

“What? If you were serious about not being scared of cows, you could take the milking off my plate.”

She laughed and pulled away. “I should hit the road.”

He tugged her back. “But there’s other things, too. To talk about, I mean. I should probably tell you how I feel about you. And you should tell me how you feel about me. And then”—perhaps after he’d spent a minute or two or more showing her how he felt—“we should talk about where we go from here.”

“That would be the mature thing to do.”

Her eyes were on his lips, which seemed like an invitation to him. So he kissed her—a soft, short kiss for the road. A promise for later. A wish . . . “Whatever you find out today, I’ll be here waiting.”

He let her go, opened the truck door for her, waited as she climbed in.

“I tried calling Micah last night,” she said as she buckled in. “He didn’t answer, of course. So I texted him a little bit ago. Let him know I wouldn’t be here this morning. I don’t think he’ll show up.”

He nodded, tucking the end of her coat against her leg so it wouldn’t catch in the door.

“Two weeks?”

He glanced up. “Hmm?”

“It was only two weeks ago that Wilder found me in Chicago. I never would’ve thought . . .”

He reached in to squeeze her hand. “See you when you get back.”

Seconds later, he watched as she eased his truck down the driveway in reverse, angled and pulled onto the lane leading away from the house. He released a frustrated sigh and turned, retracing his steps up the porch and into the house.