She moved away from the window, bending to read the scribbled labels of several boxes nearby. “Who knows, perhaps seeing them will spark a memory. Unless—” She glanced to Sydney. “Perhaps the house already has? Or the shore? Or . . . or even me?”

There was hope in Maggie’s eyes. So much it almost hurt to see. “Did Diana and, uh, her daughter spend a lot of time here?”

Maggie looked away. “I’m afraid not. Diana and I . . . you see, we . . . when she left Muir Harbor at seventeen, I didn’t see her for almost two and a half years. She only called twice. Made me promise not to come looking for her. I didn’t keep it, of course. That’s when I first hired Harry Monroe. He only got as far as tracking her to Atlanta.”

Maggie lowered onto a plastic tub. “I hadn’t even known she was pregnant when she left. Not until she finally came home. Just one weekend. That’s when I met . . .”

You, her eyes said, even if her mouth didn’t.

And oh, how Sydney wanted to believe it in that moment. Wanted to believe the answer to every question she’d ever had, the fulfillment of every longing she’d ever harbored, was right here in this house by the sea. With this woman whom she felt inexplicably drawn to.

“Sometimes a feeling is just a feeling. Other times it’s truth wrapped in undeniable knowing.”

“Maggie?” She had to ask. She’d waited long enough. “Do you remember anyone named JP?”

Neil didn’t even bother calling Ansel Barrett this time. He knew a busted generator when he saw one.

Hadn’t stopped him from spending all morning and half the afternoon trying to coax the thing back to life in between the rest of the day’s to-dos.

He trudged toward the house, wanting nothing more than to soak his sore muscles in a hot shower. He could only hope he’d taken the brunt of Sydney’s fall through the loft floor this morning, because if she was anywhere near as sore as he was, then she was probably regretting coming here in the first place.

Last night that thought might’ve given him some inkling of satisfaction. But somewhere between leaving the house this morning and returning now, he’d stopped thinking of her as an imposter.

Had mostly stopped thinking of her at all, what with his failed attempts to fix the generator. After he’d finally given up on it, he’d spent another hour setting up a small, battery-operated air-conditioning unit in the cooling room.

Not that there were all that many berry-packed crates still lining the room’s shelves. Most had been sold with the usual September rush. But enough remained that he didn’t want to risk the room getting too warm during the day. Every once in a while, October surprised them with a bout of summer temps.

Anyhow, there’d be no shower at the moment. Not with several hours of daylight left and a list of to-dos as long as his arm. Both arms and then some. He rounded the side of the house, headed toward the front and the hedges Lilian had been calling an eyesore for weeks on end. Now was as good a time as any to do the trimming.