“Is she okay?”

Blaire smiled, but her eyes were clouded with tears. “She’s great,” she promised.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m great, too,” she said, squeezing his arm. She led him to the rotunda and stopped at the foot of the stairs.

“Any last-minute advice?” he asked.

She cupped his face in her hands. “I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

“That’s not advice,” he told her through smooshed cheeks.

“I trust you to know what to do to be happy,” she said.

“And that’s too vague for advice.”

She smiled up at him. Her eyes glittered with tears. “Thank you for being exactly who you are. I will never doubt your signs again.”

“Are you really okay? Did someone put something in your drink?”

“I’m wonderful,” she promised. “Now go find your girl. I’m going to go slow dance with Morris on the terrace my son built.”

“Okay, weirdo.” She released his cheeks. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, Silas.”

He took the stairs slowly, uncertain of what waited for him above. Instinct told him Maggie wasn’t on the second floor, so he climbed to the third. There was a faint glow visible from the doorway of the guest bedroom. The closet door was open, and the velvet ropes were set aside.

“Maggie,” he said, stepping into the secret room. She looked beautiful, ethereal. And maybe a little crazed. God, he loved that about her. He loved every fucking thing about her. Even the parts that drove him nuts.

“Silas.”

Yeah. He especially loved the way she said his name.

She reached for his hands, and when he held them out, she towed him farther into the room. She’d lit candles.

Candles were a good sign, right? She wouldn’t light candles to break up with him. Unless the overhead light had malfunctioned, and she needed the candles. But still, there were other more convenient ways to break up with people.

“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the armchair.

He sat. “Maggie, I—”

“Me first,” she said. “Please. I have something for you.”

Nude photos? Something to remember her by? Shit. If it was a forwarding address, he was going to go downstairs and get very, very drunk.

She handed him a roll of papers. “These are for you,” she said, pulling the desk chair over and perching in front of him.

He removed the blue rubber band and watched her face while he unrolled them.

She was biting her lip, her hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t look devastated, but he could definitely smell fear.

He turned his attention to the plans in his lap. “Is this your barn?” he asked, studying the blueprint. It looked like she was planning to renovate the entire structure with storage and garages on the lower level, workshop space on the main floor, and office space in the hayloft.

He flipped to the next page.