“No, credit where credit’s due. You did the work. And this is delicious.” He dug in for another bite before holding the pie plate toward her.

Her hair tangled in the wind, but she made no attempt to catch it and pull it back. Just swallowed another bite and went in for more. “I guess you probably want to know how the conversation with CarleeAnn’s brother went.”

“Only if you want to tell me. Although, fair warning, Indi says it’s hard not to tell me things.”

Those crinkles at the corners of his eyes—maybe even more charming than the dimples. Or how steadily he was shoveling in bites of the pie. Her pie. And it just spilled from her—the whole story, every piece of the encounter with Creighton. Every doubt it’d planted in her mind.

“I don’t know, Neil, I was just sitting there thinking no matter which woman is my mother—either way, they’re both dead. And nobody knows any JP, and now Wilder’s talking about drugs and the accident and maybe CarleeAnn actually kidnapped me and . . . I gave myself two weeks to come here and get answers but I’m honestly beginning to think there aren’t any answers to be had.” Oh goodness, she could feel tears again, pricking the backs of her eyes.

But she wouldn’t cry again. Not in front of Neil. Not when she wasn’t the one who would end up hurting the most at the end of this. Maggie.

She blinked and lifted her eyes to Neil. “Why’s she doing it, Neil? Why’s Maggie still searching? Why’s she so willing to bring a stranger into her house and invest and give of herself when . . . when there’s no guarantee she’ll ever get anything more than pain and disappointment in return? She already has you and Lilian and Indi.”

Neil looked away. He had stopped eating at some point during her retelling. A quiet moment passed as his gaze wandered into the distance, moonlight tracing his profile. “Because that’s what love does.”

He said it so quietly she wasn’t even sure she’d understood him correctly. “Hmm?”

“It’s something Maggie said earlier tonight,” he murmured. “About pie, actually.” He turned back to her, slid the dish in between them out of the way, and scooted an inch closer, their knees almost touching. “I think Maggie would say that’s what love does. It keeps hoping even when the answers don’t come easily. It invites strangers in. It doesn’t give up. Love keeps searching.”

The boat’s gentle sway gradually stilled her distraught spirits. More, the impact of Neil’s words. “Like in the Bible. The story of the shepherd going after the one lost sheep.”