Oh. Now he saw what he hadn’t from a distance. Red-rimmed eyes. A mark on her bottom lip where she must’ve bit down. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes. “Why do you have that?”

He held it up. “I paid for it fair and square. Just felt like if it was really the first pie you’ve ever made, you should at least get to try it.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Why in the world are you being so nice to me? You didn’t even want me here. And you were right. It’s all so much messier than I thought. I’ve been here almost a whole week and we’re nowhere closer to answering anything and the longer I stay, the more it’s going to hurt Maggie. It’s what everyone’s thinking.”

Sydney lifted her cup, but he intercepted it before she could take a drink. “Oh no, you don’t. That stuff’s lethal.” At least it didn’t look like she’d taken more than a sip or two so far.

He dumped the punch in the grass and tossed the cup in a trash bin, then reached for her hand and towed her to her feet. “Come with me.”

“Come where? To do what?”

“To eat this pie, of course.”

When had it become second nature to follow Neil with no clue where he was leading her?

Through a veiled grove on a cool morning. Across a pitch-black field at night.

And now, away from the lights of the town square. “Why couldn’t we eat the pie back at that picnic table?” Did Neil realize he still held her hand?

And how had he managed to turn up just when she’d needed someone? The moment she’d sent Wilder away after that flop of a conversation with Creighton, the emotion had slammed into her.

More than that, the unforgiving truth. The possibility that a week from tomorrow, she might go back to Illinois without one single answer about her past.

Neil tugged on her hand. “Got somewhere better in mind.”

What else was she supposed to do other than let him pull her along? The music of the market faded as they crossed the cobblestone street, rounded a corner, and passed the First State Bank, down another block . . .

Her eyes widened as the view unfolded in front of her. The ocean—but not as she’d seen it before. Streetlamps and port lights lit up the harbor, dots of yellow and white rising and falling in the blue-black water. Boats of every shape and size crowded together around a series of docks that lined the waterfront.

“I guess I see where Muir Harbor gets its name.”