“Wilder. And he didn’t say anything about it because I didn’t show him the photo because I don’t know where it is. I looked everywhere I could think of but . . .” She shrugged.

Nikola slapped her rag to the counter. “You can’t shrug at a time like this, Syd. You might have a family out there.”

“I already have a family. I have Micah.” He’d been her family since his first day at the Jacobsens’, when he’d walked into their entryway with stooped shoulders, clutching a ratty old teddy bear and a neon green duffel. She’d been eleven—already an expert at sleeping in new places; he, only eight.

By that time, she’d given up on old hopes of finding a forever family. She’d heard her social worker talking about her more than once, saying it didn’t make sense. That she should’ve been easy to place. Some kids just don’t get lucky.

Micah’s case had had its own set of challenges with legal issues surrounding his availability.

Seven years in and out of the same foster homes and she and Micah had formed a bond tight enough that when he’d shown up at her freshman dorm room years later, nowhere else to go, she hadn’t even hesitated to welcome him in.

Of course, eventually she’d realized she couldn’t keep paying for school and support her teenage foster brother. And he couldn’t live in her dorm. So she’d traded community college for a job at Mezzani’s and eventually found her apartment where, up until a few years ago, Micah had lived in the second bedroom.

“No, don’t be like this.” Nikola shook her head. “Don’t be passive and . . . and too pragmatic for your own good. Don’t refuse to even consider the possibilities that might be waiting for you just because you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

Nikola rounded the counter and slid onto the stool next to Sydney. “I know how much it hurt you when you got all hopeful about meeting your birth mom and it didn’t turn out the way you imagined. But there are too many intriguing details here to just ignore this.” She draped her arm around Sydney’s shoulder. “And it’s Maine. Who doesn’t take the opportunity to go to the coast when it’s offered? If that old woman wants you to come badly enough, you probably won’t even have to pay for your trip.”

Oh, she knew she wouldn’t have to. Wilder’s business card was in her computer bag even now, taunting her in sync with his parting words in her head. “I’m flying back tomorrow night. If you want to come, just say the word and I’ll get you a ticket.”

Sydney’s gaze lifted to the mirror behind the counter, catching her friend’s reflection as a slow grin stretched Nikola’s rosy cheeks. “You want to go, Syd. I can see it plain as day, written all over your face.”

So maybe she did. Maybe she wanted to pull that card from her bag and call Wilder and tell him she’d meet him at O’Hare. Maybe she wanted to see that big yellow house in person and gaze at the Atlantic Ocean and meet Margaret Muir.