The trees didn’t part to reveal civilization so much as log cabins appeared to emerge from the very pines used to construct them. Despite what I’d said earlier, I was curious and counted as many as I could spot, some homesteads blending with the surrounding elements until they all but disappeared into nature.

“This is us.”

He gestured toward a cabin whose flawless symmetry spoke to me. Built of thick, hand-hewn pine logs, its bright white chinking reflected the faint light. The steps leading onto the porch included a handrail that boasted an antler collage instead of spindles. The squat staircase brushed a massive stone chimney that I ran my hand along as we ascended. Rockers nestled either side of a square table covered by a woven red-and-black quilt. Someone had used one of the oversized checkers that completed the set as a coaster to hold a glass half full of what appeared to be sweet tea.

The front door swung open under his hand. Apparently the residents of Silverback Lane didn’t lock their doors. Expecting the heavy treated ceiling beams to make the house dark and cramped, I was surprised by the use of light wall colors to brighten the space. The open floor plan exposed the cozy living room, the casual dining room and a kitchen boasting state-of-the-art appliances at a glance.

Wide-plank floors shone under my feet, and stepping inside felt a little like entering the Three Bears’ house. Shoes three sizes too small lined one short wall beside boots three sizes too large. The contrast of young girl and grown man was a theme continued through every room I examined.

Marie might be gone from this world, but she was not forgotten in this house.

“It’s beautiful.” Rustic had never appealed to me—I enjoyed the sleek shine of my trailer too much for that—but the sense of permanence about this place warmed me. Welcome home. That was what the cabin whispered when you entered. Love had soaked into these walls, and I was tempted to touch them. See if I could read the magic of it, perhaps glean some understanding of the man standing silently beside me. “Nice kitchen. Do you know how to use it?”

A proud grin stretched his cheeks. “You’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t you?”

“Are you serious?” I laughed, nervous. “You’re not cooking.” His smile kicked up a notch. “Are you?”

“Steaks are marinating in the fridge, and there’s a baked potato with your name on it.”

Nice clothes. Buttering up Aunt Dot. Bringing me home. Cooking for me. “What are you up to?”

“I’m just being neighborly,” he protested on his way to the stainless monstrosity that was his refrigerator. “Would you like a drink, neighbor?”

“Yes.” I could use something to wet my throat for when the arguing started.