“Yes,” she agreed simply, not looking at it. She opened the refrigerator door.

“He was proud of you, you know.”

She recognized that for what it was, a platitude. Because how would he know what her father felt for her? “No, he wasn’t. But I knew he loved me anyway.”

He watched as she brought out bread, turkey, bean sprouts, and cream cheese. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch since Friday.”

Willa set the sandwich stuff on the counter, then reached to the open shelf above her and retrieved a purple plate. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“It was a shock, seeing that skull. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Of course.” She paused as she brought out a knife and smeared some cream cheese on two slices of wheat bread. Without looking at him, she added, “Woody Olsen came to see me on Sunday about it.”

“He did? Why would he do that?”

He sounded surprised. She looked over her shoulder at him. He didn’t know about Woody suspecting her grandmother. That probably meant Paxton hadn’t told him about Agatha claiming responsibility for the skeleton, either. She suddenly had hope that she and Paxton were on the same page about this—say nothing until they knew more. “He wanted to know if my grandmother ever talked about anyone being buried on the hill. She didn’t.”

“Is that why you brought down the boxes?”

“Yes,” she said, then changed the subject as she went back to constructing her sandwich. “You look tired. You must have had a rough weekend.”

That made him laugh. “I’m still trying to get a good night’s sleep. It keeps eluding me. But my weekend wasn’t nearly as rough as Paxton’s. What exactly happened that night she slept over here?”

“She didn’t tell you that, either?”

“Either?” he said. “What else didn’t she tell me?”

“Nothing.”

Colin hesitated before he asked, “I know you and Pax aren’t exactly friends, but you didn’t get her drunk on purpose, did you? Like a prank?”

She turned around. He thought it was her fault? “I didn’t even …” She paused, not knowing how to explain herself and not give Paxton away. She finally said, “No, it wasn’t a prank. And now I’m confused. I thought your belief in my latent wild nature was what you liked best about me.”

“I like a lot of things about you.”

She turned back around and finished making her sandwich, flustered now. “You shouldn’t come to see me when you’re so tired. I think you say things you probably wouldn’t otherwise.”

She heard the scrape of the chair legs as he got up. “Did it occur to you that that’s why I come to see you when I’m tired?” he asked as he approached her.

He appeared beside her, watching her as she put the lid back on the cream cheese and brushed some stray sprouts into the sink. He reached out and pushed some hair behind her ears. The gesture was tender, but it hit her with an unexpected force, like when you’re in the ocean and a wave hits you. It’s so soft and cool that it surprises you that it has such strength. Water seems so harmless that way.

“Come to the tree planting tomorrow,” he said.

She finally looked up at him. Bad idea. There were those tired, dark, sexy eyes, looking at her and seeing someone she didn’t think she was anymore. “Why?”

He smiled. “It’s all part of my seduction.”

She let that penetrate, thinking of the way he’d pressed against her that day the ground shook at the Madam. “So this is a seduction now?”

Slowly, he leaned in to her, his eyes open, searching her face. Obviously, he found what he was looking for, because he leaned in farther and touched his lips to hers. She could feel herself sigh, immediately swept up in his current. It took no effort on her part. The force of whatever it was he was feeling overtook her. He angled closer, his hands cupping her cheeks as he deepened the kiss. She loved the rush, how it filled her, how it made her heart race in a way that wasn’t fear or anxiety—which was how she used to achieve this feeling—but simple, raw pleasure.

She was now leaning back against the counter, her hands in his hair, trying to bring him closer, wanting more of this. She shifted slightly, and the knife she’d just used suddenly clanged to the floor.

They broke apart at the sound.

For a moment, they just looked each other in the eye. Colin’s hands were still on her face. His thumbs brushed along her cheekbones once before he stepped back. “Yes, this is a seduction now.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be seduced.” After what had just happened, they both knew she was lying, but he had the good grace not to call her on it.

“Then what do you want, Willa?” When she didn’t answer, he smiled and said, “I’ll look for you tomorrow.”

Then he left.

Just days ago she’d had the answer down pat. She would have said that what she wanted was to put the past behind her and live a nice, quiet life.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

How exactly do you seduce a person with a tree planting? That, ultimately, was what made her go. Willa left Rachel to man the store, then she drove to Jackson Hill, only to have to park at the base of it and walk up, because the road had been blocked off to traffic. That was surprising.

Even more surprising were all the people there. Lining the hill all the way to the Madam were onlookers, photographers, and even a television crew, waiting for the tree to arrive.

How many people was he planning to seduce today? This was obviously a bigger deal than she’d thought.

When she reached the top of the hill, she stopped and looked up at the house. She tried to imagine her grandmother at seventeen, living here in genteel poverty, when this charming con man moved in and promised to save them all. Had Georgie fallen in love with him? Had he gotten her pregnant? No, of course not. Her mind simply wouldn’t go there. But what if Agatha had fallen in love with him? What if she and Georgie had become rivals? Maybe that’s why she killed him.

The mound of dirt where the peach tree had been was still clearly visible. It suddenly occurred to her that her grandmother had to have known what happened. Hadn’t the newsletters said she’d disappeared from society that summer? That meant she’d been here, watching everything. She knew what Agatha did. And she’d never said a thing.

Still surveying the house, her eyes landed on Paxton, who was talking to a counselor from one of the surrounding summer camps subsidized by the Osgood charity trust. The camp kids were all waiting with banners they’d made, welcoming the tree.

Paxton saw her there but turned away. Willa couldn’t look at Paxton now and not see a little bit of Agatha, not wonder what had happened between their grandmothers that summer.

The beeping of some machinery drew her attention to the gigantic hole in the side yard of the Madam, and the scores of men and equipment surrounding it. She finally found Colin, pacing around the yard on his cellphone. At one point he said something into the phone, hung up, then went to the precipice of the hill.

Willa followed his stare and realized he was looking out over the highway. The call was probably an ETA on the tree. Sure enough, the tractor-trailer soon appeared, slowly coming down the highway, which had been closed to traffic just to transport it here. There were actually police cars as escorts, their blue lights on. It was an unexpectedly resplendent sight, something that made her chest feel full. There was a majesty to this old tree, standing proudly on the back of a modified flatbed.

It took almost forty-five minutes from the time she’d spotted it on the highway until the truck appeared at the base of Jackson Hill and heaved its way up, groaning with the monumental weight of its load. It was even more regal up close, this oak that had lived for more than a century. Nearly forty feet tall, with a branch span that had to be at least eighty feet, it evoked cheers and applause from the people lining the hill as it passed, people who seemed to be as affected by this as she was, this crazy, noble effort to save a tree that had probably been planted during the Civil War.