Tate’s words replayed through her mind. “I was pretty much paralyzed. Didn’t know what to do. You were cute—I remember that. I guess she thought showing up on her parents’ doorstep with their grandchild would be too much of a shock. Apparently wasn’t as worried about me.” There’d been a pained tinge to his wry half-smile. “I don’t know what happened with her folks. Only that she returned later that night—it was a Friday—and took you out of my arms with hardly a word and then she was gone. And I was too dumb to go after her, to ask questions, ask when I’d see you again. When I realized she’d left town entirely, I thought . . . I thought it was for the best. I was only twenty and I had my whole future ahead of me and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Neil was quiet after she finished the recounting.

“He doesn’t know why she went to Illinois. Or why she ultimately decided to give me up for adoption.”

He caught a lingering tear with the pad of his thumb, then lowered his arms to encircle her.

“At least now we have some new details for Wilder’s investigation. Diana’s accident happened Sunday night. Tate’s pretty sure CarleeAnn was long gone by then. But also, he confirmed that CarleeAnn was living in Atlanta before she came back. She told him that much. And there’s something else—he thinks there was another person traveling with them that weekend. Something CarleeAnn said about needing to ‘leave before they realized.’”

“Couldn’t she have been talking about her parents?”

Sydney shook her head. “He doesn’t think so. He said there were other comments that led him to believe she was talking about Diana and someone else. But who really knows? Regardless, we should call Wilder.” She began to pull away, but his arms tightened.

“We don’t have to call him right now.”

So she stayed there, her head nestled against his chest, letting quiet moments stretch until his low voice finally broke the silence. “Sydney, just because Diana Muir wasn’t your birth mother doesn’t mean you don’t belong here.”

They were almost an echo of words she’d said to him only two nights ago right here in this magical treehouse. And here, with his arms around her, she could believe he was right.

But at some point, she was going to have to leave. His arms, this treehouse . . . the farm.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he spoke again, voice huskier than before. “And while I don’t know what CarleeAnn’s story was back then, you are very much wanted now.” He lowered his head and kissed her lips, soft and reassuring, then whispered against her. “I just hate that you’re hurting. And I wish I knew what to do about it.”

“You could keep kissing me.”

He chuckled and acquiesced, quiet seconds passing as she let herself forget everything else, just for these few minutes.

But reality refused to let her free. She pulled away. “No, I know what you need to do.”