The discovery of the land changed everything for Claudine. Over the next few months, she would drive up to see Mr. Miller every week. At first she’d bring small gifts: little pots of local honey, homemade marshmallows dipped in chocolate, sachets of dried rosemary. She didn’t expect him to be nice. The picture Henry had painted was of an evil old man toiling away on a mountain. That wasn’t the case at all. He was shy. Would say no, thank you, but take her offerings and close the door. Politely.

Then one day Mr. Miller didn’t answer the door. Instead it was a young man.

“You’re wasting your time,” he said in greeting.

“Why, hello,” she said. “And who are you?”

“No. Who are you?” His look and attitude said it all. She wasn’t welcome. “Nothing here’s for sale. You need to leave. The next time you come up here, I’ll have to call the police. Consider yourself warned.”

This didn’t deter her. It motivated her. Made her work harder. She ditched her office attire of heels, fitted blazers, and cigarette pants for wellies and T-shirts and jeans. An attempt to seem more rugged, more like them. She brought more gifts. Better ones. Fancy smoked salmon, small-batch gin, an antique cribbage board. But the other man’s reaction was always the same.

Get off the land.

Stop coming here.

I’ll call the police.

One afternoon, carrying a batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in an antique silver tin, she knocked on the door. A sharp whistle pierced the air from behind, making her jump. Turning around, she was face-to-face with the young man, who by this point she’d deduced worked and lived there.

“You startled me.” She laughed. “Is Mr. Miller around? I have some delicious cookies I was wanting to drop off—”

“This is the last time you come here,” he said. Each time they’d interacted, he’d grown bolder. Got closer. If someone hosed him off and bought him a suit, he wouldn’t be that bad. Strong, tall, cloudy eyes that could pass for sexy. The shotgun was at his side, his dirty fingers wrapped around the barrel. He smelled like a cow. A stench of dirt, shit, and death. “He’s not interested in selling. What don’t you understand?”

“Oh, stop. Who doesn’t need an itty-bitty sweet treat now and then. It’s really no bother.”

“You’re not hearing me,” he said, taking another step closer.

“I’ve also brought some brochures for him to look at. Retirement options. Beautiful places, really.”

“You need to vacate immediately.”

She popped the top off the tin.

“Chocolate chip cookie?” she offered. “Mr. Miller can tell me himself if he doesn’t want to see me. We’ve been having some real nice chats and I know he doesn’t get many visitors. Must get lonely up here.”