He went running up the steps while Annie headed for the kitchen, wanting to know if that Nespresso machine was really there. Not only was it sitting on the counter, but there was a box of pods next to it in a variety of flavors. If it didn’t get any better than this, that was fine with her. But in fact the fridge was well stocked—even with milk and cream that had not yet reached their expiration date—and the pantry as well. Plus, on the kitchen island was a gift basket overflowing with high-end jams and cookies and caramel corn and God knew what else, with a note from Finnegan that read: “Enjoy.”

Charlie came running into the kitchen, breathless.

“Did you find the bathroom?”

He nodded. “Just in time. I nearly exploded. And I found my room.”

“Spider-Man bedspread?” He nodded. “Yep, that’s your room.”

And then he was off again, investigating. He rounded a corner and shouted, “I found another bathroom! A little one!”

Annie smiled to herself as his footsteps carried on. She climbed the stairs, checked out what would be her bedroom, then wandered into what had been the photographers’ studio. There was a height-adjustable worktable, an Aeron chair, a small table already kitted out with paper and pens and brushes and tubes of watercolor paints.

“You bastard, Finnegan,” she said under her breath. Just as she had suspected.

Shaking her head, she turned away to start bringing stuff in from the car. She was at the bottom of the stairs, about to head outside, when she realized Charlie was around the corner, picking up a remote on a living room coffee table and pointing it at the wall-mounted TV. The set came alive.

“The channels are all different,” he said. “I can’t find Nickelodeon.”

“I don’t know what the setup is here,” she said. “Could be satellite, could be cable. Maybe it’s just antenna.”

“What’s an antenna?”

“I’m gonna start unloading. You helping?”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m figuring out the channels.”

Any other time she would have insisted he pitch in, but he was happy. His instant acceptance of their new, if temporary, home had so exceeded her expectations that she didn’t want to be a buzzkill.

She stepped out, descended the three steps from the porch, and happened to look toward the road. She hadn’t seen any other traffic since their arrival. Not a car, not a truck, not so much as a motorcycle, and that was fine by her.

Across the road was a white story-and-a half house in what Annie believed was modeled on the Arts and Crafts style, with its broad porch pillars supporting an overhanging roof.