“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

A chilly wind tugged at strands of hair she’d attempted to tame earlier with a French braid. But her quick work in the airport bathroom was no match for the seaside’s heavy gusts.

Floorboards creaked as they climbed the porch steps and crossed to the front door, a dog’s bark sounding somewhere in the distance and the nearby echoes of the ocean reaching over the lawn. Wilder plunked her suitcase onto the welcome mat and rapped on the door.

No answer.

“What if she’s not home?”

“Maggie doesn’t tend to stray that far from the farm most days.” Another knock. Then, with a shrug, he tried the door handle. Unlocked. He grinned again and picked up her suitcase.

“We’re barging in?”

“It’s not barging in when you’re practically family.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “And in your case, maybe legit family.” He went inside, lifting his voice. “Hey, anyone home? Maggie?”

If anyone answered his call, Sydney couldn’t hear it. Not with her heart thudding as she crossed the threshold, her gaze drinking in too many details at once. Polished hardwood floors—cedar, maybe?—and an entryway table that had to be an antique. Off to one side was a living room with gaping windows and an old off-white couch and matching overstuffed chairs. The smell of the house, cinnamon and vanilla, enveloped her.

She caught a glimpse of a dining room past the open staircase that jutted into the entryway. So far the home’s interior seemed as dated as the outside, but there was nothing hollow or neglected about it. Framed photos crammed the wall along the staircase and blankets packed the quilt rack near a rocking chair piled with pillows.

Every detail was a hint at this house’s history and evidence of a lived-in, well-loved home. Of family.

“Okay, now you’re just scaring me.” Wilder leaned against the staircase bannister, still holding her suitcase. “You’re so pale I’m surprised I can’t see through you.”

“I—I shouldn’t be here.” Because this wasn’t a fairy tale. It was real life. And there were real people here, and the chances that she belonged to or with them were so very slim and—

“Little too late for that.” Wilder lowered her suitcase.

“No, it’s not. We could return to the car and you could take me back to the airport and—”

“Can’t do that. If you’d heard the hope in Maggie’s voice when I talked to her the other day, you wouldn’t want to do it, either.” He shook his head. “Listen, why don’t you take a minute to freshen up. There’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs. Have a moment to yourself, and I’ll try calling Maggie’s cell—not that she ever remembers to take it with her. She’s probably just out back, but if nothing else, maybe I can get Neil or one of the girls on the phone.”

“Okay.” Her voice came out reedy and cracked. She’d lock herself in a bathroom, maybe splash some water on her face, re-braid her hair. And perhaps when she emerged, a miracle would happen and she’d find herself composed and ready to meet this woman who’d sent a private investigator to fetch her.