I glance at my watch and groan: 8:17 A.M. My convictions lasted almost twenty minutes. A new record where Shelby is concerned. Maybe she won’t want to come.

SHELBY: I’d love that! It’s been ages since I’ve seen your mom!

SHELBY: What time?

I sigh.

CAMERON: Can you be ready in an hour?

SHELBY: If you can give me an hour and a half, I’ll make it worth the wait!

A shiver goes up my spine, and my groan echoes through my empty kitchen. That’s not what she meant. Obviously.

Eighteen-year-old Cameron doesn’t agree.

An hour and a half later, I’m pulling up the winding gravel road to Shelby’s. I haven’t been out here yet, and I slow to a crawl, taking it in. Thick rows of trees, evergreens and still-bare hardwoods, tower on either side of the long drive up. After a final curve, the property opens to several cleared acres. On one end is a huge state-of-the-art barn, likely her workshop. Opposite is a cozy two-story farmhouse complete with wraparound porch and a pair of mismatched rocking chairs.

It’s amazing—and exactly perfect for her. At least for the new, independent, adult her I’ve been getting to know.

I park on the gravel in between the structures, and a large orange barn cat saunters past, giving me side-eye, before hopping up on the porch and perching on a railing, licking its butt.

Still perfect, I think. Maybe more so.

I climb the steps, noticing her front door is open behind the screen and a delicious smell is beckoning me in. My mouth waters instantly. She needed ninety minutes to bake. Sweet Jesus.

“I’ll make it worth the wait!” she’d said. Not that, but almost better. It’s been years since I had homemade anything.

I rap my knuckles on the door and her voice carries over, “Come in!”

“How’d you know it was me?”

She appears, hands on hips, huffing a long strand of blond hair out of her eyes. “Duh. I heard your truck coming up the drive. It’s not like I get a lot of traffic out here, Cam.”

“Nice cat,” I say.

She grins. “Francine. She likes you. She hisses at the UPS guy. He’s taken to dropping packages on the bottom step and fleeing in a cloud of dust. I don’t necessarily mind. He’s this guy I went to kindergarten with. Used to eat glue.”

“Francine’s clearly a good judge of character, then.”

Shelby’s eyes dance with humor. “If it didn’t mean having him know where I live, I’d love to try her out on Lyle.”

“Please call me if you ever do.”

“First thing,” she agrees and opens the screen door. “Sorry. Come in! Almost ready.”