“Maggie, as a property owner in Kinship, Idaho, you are required by law to know that, way back in 1865, a coach left Kinship on its way to Boise when it was robbed by three bandits about twenty miles south of here. The bandits took the coach and everything in it—except the people, of course.”

“Of course,” she said.

“They were gentlemanly bandits and didn’t shoot a soul,” Silas promised. “Anyway, the bandits took off. And a couple of hours later, the passengers and driver were found walking in the canyon. Turns out there was gold on board—a lot of it—heading to a bank. It was never seen again.”

“So Kinship’s claim to historical fame is a hundred-and-fifty-year-old-plus robbery that happened not here?” she clarified.

“It’s the West, Maggie. Every drop of history is important.” He guided them across the street and around the corner to the sunny yellow awning of Frosty Peaks.

The memory—her own drop of history—hit her hard and fast. Cones, chocolate-vanilla twist. The melt and drip, the race to not waste a single drop. Her mom’s laugh, brighter than the summer sun. Being here, walking down these memory lanes, made her feel closer to her mom than she had in years.

“Do they still have the lemon cheesecake hand-dipped?” she asked.

Silas stopped and looked down at her. “You’ve been here before?”

“Once,” she admitted. “When I was a kid. And that’s one of the things I don’t want to talk about.”

“Then I guess I won’t be pointing out the fact that that’s one of those signs I was telling you about.”

“Guess not,” she said, fighting a smile.

He leaned in and peered into her eyes. “You didn’t used to be a pretty eighteen-year-old snowboarder named Sun-mi, did you?”

“I think I would have remembered if I were.”

“Best winter break of my high school life,” he reminisced.

“Bet it was pretty great for Sun-mi, too.”

“I like to think so. Anyone catch your eye when you were in town mysteriously?”

“Not that first time, but this time around there’s someone I can’t stop thinking about.”

“Maggie Nichols, I swear to God, if you say Travis, I am going to ship him off to summer camp.”

She laughed her way into the shop.

15

15

Maggie drove herself home with Poison and then Pearl Jam blaring. It had been one hell of a night. She wondered if Silas and his siblings were texting about it. Then wished she had someone to text about getting recognized at the restaurant, learning what finger steaks were, and that kiss. Or was it kisses? Where did one kiss leave off and another begin?

Feeling philosophical, she gave thought to what it meant that one “almost fight” left her with zero people to talk to. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe she did need to make more of an effort to make and keep friends.