Spending time with him at work and sitting across from him now filled her with an uneasy combination of pining and animosity. The important thing, she kept reminding herself, was to take the high road. She refused to abandon her five-step plan for Luke because of her resentment. No, indeed. She was made of sterner stuff than that.

Sugar Maple Kitchen was currently providing him with food. Step one of the Restoration of Luke—check! And it offered additional conditioning to the town, its people, and the social practice of a shared meal. Step four—check!

A plate of pork chops and veggies sat before Luke, though his attention was currently captured by the Brothers book in his hand. With his blunt masculine fingers, he made his way to each of the pages she’d noted. His dark head bent as he read, and she longed to reach out and run her fingertips through the brown strands of his hair, which curled slightly at the tips—

Geez, Finley! No.

His hazel gaze flicked up to hers. “Which of the places you marked do you think is most likely to hold a clue?”

The power of his attention affected her like a flame licking her belly. After we kissed on Valentine’s night, he said it meant nothing. Never forget that. “I’ve narrowed it down to three that I think are most likely.”

“I’m listening.”

“In one of the stories, the author mentioned riding bikes with his brother when they were young. My dad often rode bikes with Robbie. In fact, Dad’s childhood bike is hanging in the garage at his house. If we go there, and search the bike and its vicinity, we might find a clue.”

Luke set the book aside.

“It feels unlikely,” she admitted. “All of these feel unlikely.”

“You said you narrowed it down to three possibilities.”

“In another essay, the author talks about playing in an abandoned mine. My dad loved history. Over the years, he took me to every one of the old mines in northern Georgia that are open to the public. His favorite was the Big Cedar Mountain Gold Mine near Dahlonega. It’s the only one we visited twice.”

“You’re thinking that if we go to the mine, something there will hold meaning for you.”

“Yes. Again, it’s a stretch.”

He didn’t look hopeful.

She gave a long-suffering sigh.

“What’s with the sigh?” he asked.

“I was just thinking that you don’t look hopeful. But then I thought, When has Luke ever looked hopeful? And that made me sigh.”

“At my despair?”

“Cut me some slack. I’m a heroine for putting up with your despair as well as I do.”

“What’s the third possibility you found in the book?”

“One author wrote about pancakes. Buttermilk pancakes were special to my dad and me. Holidays, birthdays, long weekends . . . pancakes were our go-to celebration breakfast.”