He tore his gaze away from the imposter. Even now, Maggie’s eyes shone with moisture. “Sydney.” Her voice was soft. “I’m so happy you’ve joined us. I was a little worried you might be scared off by the size of our crowd.”

“You could’ve sent Wilder home,” Lilian mumbled.

Wilder only chuckled.

Maggie continued as if oblivious, moving around the massive oak table to go to Sydney’s side. “We’re not all here yet. Indi should arrive soon, I hope, but we won’t wait on her. She’s used to us starting without her. Lord love her, but that girl’s never been on time in her life. Anyhow, I hope you like lasagna. Oh dear, for all I know you could be a vegetarian or one of those—oh, who are the folks who don’t do eggs and such?”

To her credit, if Sydney was taken aback by Maggie’s rush of words, she didn’t show it. Only offered a brief smile—one that almost came close to hiding her nervousness.

Almost, but not entirely. Did anyone else notice the slight tremble of her hands as Maggie led her to the table? Wilder jumped up, pulling out the chair across from Neil. Sydney thanked him, casting a furtive glance to Maggie, who was currently reclaiming her spot at the head of the table, then to Lilian and on to him.

And for one unsettling moment, a sudden and stubborn curiosity grabbed hold of him. Whatever he might have expected to see in her brownish-green eyes, it wasn’t this. Something like wonder, maybe even awe.

Couldn’t be because of her surroundings. There was nothing fancy about this dining room. Though polished and clean, the wood floors were as scratched up as any other room in the house, and too many dishes and figurines crowded the built-in hutch. The brass fixture overhead was outdated, as was the light lavender wall color and probably the line of canvas prints hanging behind Maggie, not that he was a good judge of home décor.

But he’d never cared that the old house wasn’t modern or HGTV-ready. It was comfortable. It was home.

But if it wasn’t the house causing the glint of near-astonishment in Sydney’s expression, what was it? The spread in front of them? Maybe she was used to freezer food and take-out meals.

“I love it,” she surprised him by blurting, her focus darting to Maggie. “Lasagna, I mean. I love it. I, uh—I work in an Italian restaurant back in Chicago. And I’m not a vegetarian. Or a vegan.”

Maggie spread her napkin on her lap. “Shoot, you’re probably sick of Italian food. I should’ve gone with a roast.”

Sydney shook her head. “No. No, I really do love lasagna. Although I hope you didn’t go to any extra work because of me.”

“She didn’t.” There was an edge to Lilian’s cool words, and Neil didn’t have to look at her to know her expression likely matched it. “Maggie always makes a big Sunday evening dinner so—”