Does Grandpa Al know what happened last night too? Or maybe he just senses something is up between Logan and me. Either way, I wish I could click my heels together and magically transport out of this conversation.

“I don’t think you should leave just yet,” he says finally. “Give it a day to really decide. I don’t think your work is finished here, even if it’s not going according to plan.”

I want to tell him that I didn’t come out here with a plan. That my only plan was to get Logan to agree to meet with me, to get his anger issues under control and get him back on the ice.

But Grandpa Al is right about one thing. I think I have some unfinished business here in Lost Haven.

“Fine.” I sigh, reaching down to grab the basket of eggs. “One more day. Just one.” I hold up my pointer finger to further drive my point home. “Okay?”

Grandpa Al’s satisfied smile is as wide as a country mile. “Deal.”

Well, if I accomplish nothing else today, at least I made an old man smile.

We bring the eggs back to the house, where Logan has disappeared and Jillian has already moved on from breakfast and brought out her stand mixer to start baking bread.

“Want to lend me a hand, Summer? If you’re not in too much of a rush to get to the airport, that is.” She gives Grandpa Al a wink, and it’s never been clearer that there’s a full-family effort taking place to keep me here.

But for some reason, I don’t mind. It feels good to be wanted, to be part of a family, even if it’s not mine. I feel at home here. And that thought is as troubling as it is comforting.

“I’ve never made bread before,” I say, swapping out my coat for an apron. “But I’m ready to learn, if you’ll teach me.”

“Oh, sugar.” Jillian squeezes my arm, her rosy cheeks lifting as she smiles. “I’ll teach you anything if it means keeping you around another day.”

My heart gives a little squeeze at her kind words. To feel needed, wanted . . . well, it’s a very powerful thing. Back in Boston, I’ll be alone much of the time in my little apartment. And while that’s never bothered me before, the idea of it now doesn’t sit well.

While Grandpa Al settles back into his chair, Jillian flips on the radio. Before long, I’m up to my elbows in flour, learning to knead bread the right way, as Jillian keeps saying. I can’t help but laugh at the idea that there’s a wrong way to knead bread that would end with the oven exploding or something worse.

As we work, Jillian treats me to plenty of family gossip about her sons.