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"Maybe it blew away in the wind," I suggested.

"I think we have a kleptomaniac among us." Poppy lowered her voice dramatically. "I think it's that new guy in the RV with the Michigan plates. He keeps walking around at weird hours, looking in windows."

The washing machine finished its cycle with a mechanical groan, and I transferred my clothes to the dryer. The warm,clean scent provided a momentary comfort amid the chaos of my thoughts.

"Or maybe it's someone we'd never suspect," Poppy mused, warming to her detective role. "Like that sweet old lady who feeds the raccoons. You never know what people are hiding."

Twenty minutes later, I balanced my laundry basket against my hip as we walked back toward my van, Poppy skipping beside me with boundless energy.

"I still say it's Michigan plates guy," Poppy declared, her ponytail bouncing with each skip. She stopped mid-skip and pointed toward my van. "Who's that?"

My heart stuttered. Leaning against my van's rear bumper, hands shoved deep in his pockets, stood Dylan. His golden hair caught the sunlight, and even from this distance I could see the determined set of his jaw.

"Oh God," I breathed, nearly dropping my laundry basket.

"Friend of yours?" Poppy asked with obvious curiosity. "He's cute!"

I couldn't speak. Dylan had found me. Here, at the campground, surrounded by the evidence of exactly how far I was from the person he'd thought I was.

"Bernadette?" His voice carried across the space between us, uncertain but relieved.

I forced my feet to move forward, Poppy trailing behind like an eager audience member at a particularly dramatic performance.

"How did you find me?" I managed when we were close enough for normal conversation.

"I've been to five different campgrounds," Dylan said, pushing himself away from my van. "Happy Trails was my last stop before giving up." His green eyes searched my face. "You've been avoiding my calls."

"I—yes." There was no point in lying anymore. Shame burned in my chest. Here I stood in my faded jeans and wrinkled t-shirt, holding a basket of laundry, while Dylan looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine advertisement for the Kentucky bourbon lifestyle.

"This is embarrassing," I whispered.

"It shouldn't be," Dylan said firmly. "You shouldn't be embarrassed. Not with me."

Poppy cleared her throat loudly. "I'm Poppy, Bernadette's neighbor."

He smiled. "Nice to meet you. I'm Dylan."

"Ohhh," Poppy said with obvious delight. "You're the bourbon prince. Bernadette talks about you constantly."

"I do not," I protested, but my cheeks were flaming. "Poppy, don't you need to be somewhere?'

"Not really," she said, grinning. "But I can take a hint. Bye, Dylan."

"Bye, Poppy."

Dylan's mouth quirked in what might have been a smile. "I wish you'd told me," he said quietly. "About why you came to Kentucky, about your father."

"Would it have mattered?"

"Of course it would've mattered. I want to know everything about you, Bernadette."

His sincerity caught me off guard, and for a moment I almost believed that someone like Dylan could genuinely care about the complicated mess of my actual life.

"I won't lie to you anymore," I said carefully. "But I need some space right now. Everything's so complicated. I'm following a lead right now and I'm trying to figure out how to approach the man… or if I even want to."

Dylan nodded slowly. "I can give you space. Actually, I'm going back to Texas for a couple of weeks. Another internship at the craft distillery. It's going to count toward one of my classes."

"That's nice," I offered.