I began to list all the reasons I had for never wanting to move back home and live a small-town life like my mother.

1. You don’t want to run the family diner. I’ve run the family diner. I don’t want to continue doing it forever, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d always thought it’d be.

2. You think small towns are small for a reason, in scope and in size. The size was small, but I’d found this summer that small didn’t mean limited.

3. There are no opportunities in Bailey Falls for a classically trained chef who doesn’t want to work in a traditional restaurant environment. Zombie pickles. Jam Class. Potential opportunity at Bryant Mountain House. And the idea that’d been percolating since the Fourth of July: an Airstream food truck.

4. If you don’t go back to Los Angeles and redeem your whipped cream disaster, that town wins. This one was tougher. Did LA beat me? Worst-case scenario? Yeah, it beat me. And?

The and was the tough part. I’d never shied away from a fight. But it couldn’t be a fight if one corner wasn’t willing to participate, right? I’d likely always wonder what if, and what would have happened . . . But who didn’t look back, revisit, and wonder about past decisions? The question was, could I live with knowing that Mitzi St. Renee and her Mean Girls had won?

Cortlandt.

Peekskill.

Manitou.

Somewhere between Manitou and Garrison, I had a sudden realization: someone like Mitzi St. Renee always wins. And you can’t live your life fighting against everyone else’s expectations. And sometimes the deck is stacked, and people with power over your career are assholes, and there’s nothing you can do about that.

Excited for the first time in a very long time, I sat forward in my seat, pushing my right foot against the floor as if that would speed the train along faster. The Hudson sparkled blue on my left, sailboats and kayaks dotting its surface. Huge homes high on the ridge and smaller, simpler homes shared the gorgeous view.

Picturesque towns with tiny train stations, within easy distance of the grandest city on the planet, filled with people who chose to live a world away just an hour up the Hudson. The bright lights and the fast pace were close enough if you wanted it, but far enough away that you could never miss it.

My thoughts danced on, seeing endless opportunities that I’d never bothered to see, to an opportunity with a certain farmer and his daughter. I only hoped that opportunity was still available to me.

The train pulled into the Poughkeepsie station.

I got off. And drove straight to the farm.

When I got to Maxwell Farm I parked, raced inside the main barn, and started looking for Leo’s long and lean frame everywhere. I thought I spotted him when a Screaming Trees T-shirt came around the corner, but it turned out to be one of his interns.

People who knew me and knew of my relationship with Leo said hello to me, and judging by the way they said only hello and kept on walking, they knew I’d left him standing in the middle of the road. They were protective. I got that.

I headed into the farm store, but no Leo. I checked the barn, I checked the silo, and I checked the kitchen garden out back. No Leo.

“Looking for my dad?” I heard from behind me, and I turned to find Polly sitting on a wheelbarrow, sorting seed packets.

“I am, yeah. How are you, Polly?” I asked, kneeling down.

“How are you?” she asked pointedly. I reminded myself that she was only seven years old. But based on my actions lately, likely years ahead of me emotionally. “I heard you went away.”

“You did, huh?” I asked, wincing a bit. “I’m back, though. I just went into the city for a day or so.”

“You mean Manhattan?”

“Exactly. Have you been there?”

Shuffling the seed packets, she finally answered, “I have—it’s nice. Grandma’s apartment is pretty, you can see really far up that high! It’s fun running up and down the hallways and riding the elevator, but she was mad when I pressed every single button.”

“Oh, I bet. I did that too once, when I was a kid.”

“And I like going to the museums, especially the dinosaur exhibits. But . . .”

“But?”

“But I like it here lots better. Daddy grew up in the city, you know.”

“I did know that,” I replied, watching her look carefully at me.

“He loves it here. He says we’ll never leave here and live somewhere else.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”

“I saw you kiss my daddy.” She looked at me, unblinking.

I blinked. A bunch. “Um, yes. You did. Was that weird?”

“Yeah, at first it was. But now, I think . . .”

I held my breath.

She laid out some of the packets face up, arranged like a vegetable full house.

Leo was in for it with this kid. I smiled, hoping that I’d get to watch it happen.

The smile from me was what she needed.

She smiled back, her pensive face turning bright. “I’m going to go see the hogs. Daddy’s in the apple orchard.”

And then she was off, running pell-mell across the field.

And I was off to the orchard.

Parking next to Leo’s Jeep, I peered through the rows of trees, looking for him. I thought I saw something moving several rows down, so I entered the orchard and made my way toward him.

As I walked, I became aware of two things.

One, my skin tingled. I was excited to see him! I wanted to see his face and kiss his lips and hold him close and hear his voice in my ear and feel his hands on my skin, after I told him, ‘I’m here to stay if I can still be yours.’