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worms so we could fish off the pier. I know what you’re thinking before you say it, and I know who you are deep inside, where you’re afraid to let anyone go.”
    Sam’s heart kicked into third gear.
    “You’re more than my best friend. You’re my soul mate. I’m not sure when it happened.” He looked down, then back up. “But I love you, Sam. Not the way a brother loves a sister, but the way a man loves a woman.”
    Her throat clogged up with a big knot, and she sat, unable to move.
    “I love the way you brush your hair back from your face, I love the way you don’t care what anybody else thinks, I love your strength and your vulnerability and your brutal honesty.”
    He leaned back a bit as if to read her face. She wasn’t sure what he’d find.
    Her emotions wrestled on the surface, a dangerous place for them. She loved Landon, there was no doubt about that. At the moment, she was terribly afraid she loved him the same way he loved her. She was even more afraid he’d see it in her eyes. She looked away.
    “You’re scaring me,” he said.
    “I don’t know what to say.” She whispered the words over the wind. She couldn’t tell him she loved him, even if it were true. She’d never said those words to anyone, except maybe her mom and dad when she was small, but she didn’t remember for sure.
    “I guess that says it all.”
    Sam felt him withdraw and breathed again. She could hear the pain in his voice, and she hurt for him. She glanced at him in time to see his Adam’s apple bob. Why did he have to go and tell her he loved her? Why change things when he was about to leave? Last year she might have reveled in his admission, but he’d just proven he was like everyone else. All he cared about was his own goals. He didn’t love her any more than her mom had. It made her angry, a feeling she was much more comfortable with.
    “Let’s just leave things as they are.” It’s what he should have done to begin with.

Five
    “M iss Biddle.” Sam’s neighbor stood on the porch in a flowing leopard print tunic, black pants, and earrings that dangled halfway to her shoulders. Time had hollowed her cheekbones and aged her parchment skin.
    Sam stepped out the door and let the woman embrace her. Miss Biddle’s short jet-black hair spiked out at the nape like the tail feathers of a duck.
    “Samantha Owens, just look at you.” Her wrinkled hands held Sam’s as she leaned back for a better look. “My word, you’re a grownup, aren’t you?”
    “With all the responsibilities that come with it.” The last time Sam had seen her, Miss Biddle was stuffing a wad of cash in her palm and telling her to take care of herself. “Come in. Meet my daughter,” Sam said loudly, remembering Miss Biddle’s hearing impairment—a residual effect of her days playing guitar in a traveling band.
    “Caden, this is Miss Biddle. She lives next door.”
    “Hi,” Caden said, curling on the sofa in her pj’s.
    “Hi, honey.” Miss Biddle turned, the tails of her tunic swaying. “She has your beautiful hair and your mom’s petite size.” She tsked.
    They caught up over a cup of coffee, and Miss Biddle filled Sam in on the details of Emmett’s death, something she could have done without. She told Sam that Emmett sold his car not long ago and had taken to riding his bike again. Sam was beginning to get antsy, when Miss Biddle announced she was late for a luncheon.
    After she left, Sam cleaned up the yard, putting the old Adirondack chairs out back until she could paint them, then taking down the rose trellis in preparation to paint the house.
    Later that afternoon, she found her old bike in the shed. The dark building was missing a lightbulb and had a broken doorknob—two more things for her to-do list. She repaired her old bike, pumped up the tires on Emmett’s, and rode with Caden to the grocery. Sam had cleaned out the fridge the day before, tossing the spoiled milk and moldy leftover pizza.
    After they shopped, she