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Prologue

The street is erays, as she looks out theand waits She has been waiting for months, years, her whole life And she does not knohen—or if—the waiting will end

She understands that promises can’t always be kept, and she knows better than to ask or expect words put to paper, not when the whole world has been held in the balance, life itself no more than a dandelion clock in the wind

Still, she cranes her head to look down the street; the only signs of life she sees now are two raggedy children chasing a cat, and a charworay, the world dispirited

It has been three months since the victory in Europe, nearly a month since the war the world over has ended, and yet no one seems able to summon much effort to celebrate, never otten how to hope

As she scans the empty street, she does not know if she hopes or not Her belief feels more certain than that, a hope with a sure foundation, and yet even so she does not knoill happen

He will come, she thinks

As the sunlight is leached froht at The Berkeley, when they danced and drank charound, and then again in the narrow little hall, when she handed hiot how to breathe

Every meht have He has not written since September last year, not one word Perhaps he is dead She thinks she would know that; fancifully, she believes she would feel it, but perhaps she wouldn’t Perhaps she’ll never know

The possibility sits inside her like a stone, a lifetis, she tells herself practically, and of course she knows there could be Far worse The news has coraphs she can’t bear to look at, and yet neither can she make herself look away Yes, far, far worse than this

She puts one hand on the cool glass and spreads her fingers wide as a sigh escapes her, a sound of acceptance rather than defeat Darkness is starting to fall, like ain Not today, then, but perhaps tomorrow

She will keep waiting No , no matter how futile, she ait

Part I

Chapter One

ABBY

Abby Reese watched the dust rise fro the car that was causing it, although she kneas driving At least, she acknowledged as she stood on the farmhouse’s front porch, one hand wrapped around a weathered wooden post, she knew of the driver She’d never o Yet noas almost here, and she had no idea what to expect—a flicker of curiosity was championed by a deeper sense of trepidation, born from experience Abby didn’t like the unexpected

The dust cloud grew larger as the car continued down the drive, a straight shot of dirt road that Abby knew like her own hand All thirty-two years of her life had been spent on Willow Tree Orchards, in the southern heartland of Wisconsin, the gateway—or at least one of them—to the state and its many lakes

She straightened, her hand tightening around the post, fingers pressing into splintered wood Next to her, her golden retriever Bailey’s tail thumped a staccato beat on the weathered boards of the porch, both of the as the car pulled up in front of the far a stillness behind like an echo She couldn’t see hih the darkly tinted s, and she had no idea what he would look like when he opened the door—old or young? Tall or short? All he was to her at this point was a name

Three weeks ago, Sih the orchard’s website, utterly out of the blue, asking to visit her and her father here in Wisconsin The only other time she’d communicated with him o days previous, when he’d sent a confiro all the way froive her—or, really, her father—so neither of them had even known about, or so her father said

The car door opened and Abby stepped down fro at her heels A smile flirted with herwith a curiosity she couldn’t suppress, even though at least part of her wanted to

“You ed frolasses, and kind eyes—brown and warany, like chocolate The war its way back The nerves settled down and her curiosity, although still wary, sharpened just that little bit

“Yes… and you h, because he was sht it would be “Welcome to Willow Tree Orchards”

“Thank you And who is this?” He nodded towards Bailey, as sticking to Abby’s side

“This is Bailey You’re all right with dogs?” Not th

at Bailey could do irl