His kiss was cool and minty. Not a bad welcome. “What a nice surprise. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever escape the hospital.”

“Yet here I am, unscathed.”

She dropped her backpack at her feet. “Where are we going?”

Draping an arm over the back of her seat, he twined his fingers in the little curls escaping her messy bun. “You’ll see.”

She pooched her bottom lip. “I changed my mind. I hate surprises.”

Chuckling, he massaged a gentle circle into the notch at the base of her skull. “I’ll give you one hint. They don’t serve mussels.”

“Rats.” She sighed. “I brought my tiny fork for nothing.”

The SUV nosed onto Route 45, heading west toward the roadside stand where she gathered intel just a few weekends before. Speeding by, she strained for a glimpse of Esther King. The woman perched behind the cash register, cooling herself with a paper church fan. The afternoon was a classic “three H” scenario as the Pennsylvania weathermen were fond of saying: hazy, hot, and humid. Despite the air-conditioning, perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades.

Just beyond the stand, Richard veered onto a winding, back road.

She knew these roads so well she could drive them blindfolded. No restaurants of any kind stood in their path. She shot him a glance. “Where are you taking me?”

He bumped the radio and shook his head. “What’s that? I can’t hear you over this crazy rock-and-roll music!” Beaming, he drummed his hands on the steering wheel and bobbed his chin to the beat.

His entire demeanor radiated smug satisfaction—a welcome sight after the sudden and tense end to their date. She grinned and sank into the seat. Might as well enjoy the ride.

He skirted fields and farms, driving deeper into the country until he stopped at a crossroads.

Through the tinted windshield, she spied two of her favorite old buildings. To her left loomed a behemoth, gray barn with a stone foundation and a red tin roof. Though the boards looked old and weathered, the structure stood strong, a faithful companion to the house across the street.

Seeing that house again was like running into an old friend. Out of place among the neighboring shiplap and brick homes, it was shaped like a farmhouse but constructed like a log cabin. The exterior walls were made of massive, squared beams, stacked one atop the next and interspersed with thick, white mortar. Dark red shutters bordered multi-paned windows, topping window boxes bursting with geraniums. The simple front porch lacked the intricate woodwork of her own home, but it was inviting in its rustic simplicity. Smiling, she tapped her knuckle on the window. “I love this house.”

“What?” he shouted over the radio.

She clicked off the music. “This house. It’s so unusual. I love it.”