Sydney lowered her mug. “I’m not sure what’s so obvious about it. The whole thing’s absurd.”

This is what she got for not taking the time to cake on some makeup in an effort to hide the purple-ish circles under her eyes before making her usual weekend trek to the bakery. Nikola had taken one look at her when she’d walked in and had immediately demanded to know what was wrong.

What was wrong was that two cups of coffee in, she was still a frazzled wreck. What was wrong was that she’d tossed and turned last night for what felt like forever, mulling Wilder Monroe’s crazy theory and his befuddling request that she let him drag her off to Maine.

What was wrong was that Micah was supposed to have met her here half an hour ago and still hadn’t shown up.

The sticky-sweet smell of the bakery wafted around her, the buzz of chatter and the light jazz always playing in the background filling the air. Of course, she’d ended up spilling the whole story to her friend—the private investigator, the woman in Maine searching for her missing granddaughter, the possibility . . .

She clamped her laptop closed. No, it wasn’t a possibility. She couldn’t go to Maine. She couldn’t hop on a cross-country flight solely on the nonsensical hope that maybe she’d find a . . . a family when she landed.

She’d gone on a treasure hunt like that once before and look what it’d gotten her.

“At least I did the right thing. Leaving you . . . at least I did that.”

Nothing more than a broken heart and a wasted day off work, that’s what meeting CarleeAnn had gotten her—and a photo she’d spent hours tearing apart her apartment looking for last night. Never had found it.

Nikola tossed a rag over her shoulder and leaned toward Sydney, arms propped on the counter. “How long have I known you, Sydney Rose?” Sunlight poured through the generous windows at the front of the small shop, reflected in the long mirror behind Nikola.

“Eight years.” On a whim, Sydney had stopped in the bakery one day after spotting a Help Wanted sign in the window. An hour later, she’d had herself an extra part-time income and the makings of her first real adult friendship.

Nikola nodded. “And in all that time, have you ever done anything spontaneous?”

“Yes. We both colored our hair that one time.” The green streaks had looked amazing in Nikola’s dark hair, but Sydney’s had been a complete fail.

“Fine. Not spontaneous. Have you ever done anything . . .” Nikola’s voice trailed as her gaze roved her bakery, until her gray eyes landed on Sydney once more. “Have you ever done anything because deep down, you knew you had to? Because maybe, just maybe, there was a happy ending out there waiting for you if you’d just run for it. Have you ever done anything like that?”

Sydney couldn’t help a small smile. “We’re not all as fanciful and dreamy as you, Nik.” Her grin faltered. “We’re not all . . .” Brave.