You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. Those inspirational words by A. A. Milne scrolled across a decorative sign displayed on the bookcase in Leah’s classroom.

Alas, though. The start of a new school year in August always tempted her to deduce that she was less brave than she believed, weaker than she seemed, and dumber than she thought.

By week two, things had started to settle. By week three, the kids gave her reason to hope. And now, on week four, they’d found their rhythm.

When Dylan was at football practice or out with his friends, she kept an eye on him via the phone app that tracked his position. When he was at home in his room, she spot-checked to make sure he wasn’t dead. During their nightly dinners, she forced him to have a conversation with her and to eat healthy meals that contained vegetables.

Blessedly, the dynamic between herself and Ben hadn’t been as uncomfortable as she’d feared after she’d divulged her position on dating him. His laidback, cheerful manner remained intact.

She continued to threaten to set him up because, earnestly, she wanted to set him up. If she found someone for him, she wouldn’t have to feel guilty about her failure to be to him what he’d hoped she might be. So far, he’d evaded her attempts at matchmaking.

Her search for a current address for Jonathan and Trina Brookside had proved equally unsuccessful. They were annoyingly savvy about protecting their privacy online. She couldn’t shake the notion, though, that the Brooksides’ current address must be ripe for the finding somewhere. She simply needed to peek under the correct rock.

She’d revisited the two online articles attributed to Jonathan Brookside at Gridwork Communications Corporation. It very well might be, of course, that another man with the same name had written those articles. But the location of Gridwork, just miles from the hospital where she’d been born, made plausible the possibility that the man who’d penned the articles was, indeed, her biological father.

During quiet moments, she mulled over how best to confirm whether the Jonathan of Gridwork was her Jonathan. And, if so, how to obtain his address from the company without arousing his suspicion. She’d yet to settle on the optimal strategy.

Sebastian continued to visit her in her dreams. Sebastian, lying beside her in the grass, propped up on an elbow, looking down at her. Sebastian, kissing her knuckles.

Occasionally, she indulged herself by driving by his house. Once, she spotted an empty plastic water bottle snagged in a cluster of bushes out front. Since his house was dim and obviously empty—and because she now comprehended that he valued a tidy lawn—she’d darted from her car and confiscated the bottle.