Each tick of the clock in the kitchen scratched against Sophie's nerves like a scared cat's nails lashing out. Not even the warmth of the mug in her hand could ease the tension, which had been her constant companion for almost a week now.

Six days with no word about Max.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Sophie took a sip of coffee, forcing the liquid down her dry throat. Sleep last night had once again eluded her, replaced by hours of shedding silent tears. The sheets of Max's bed no longer held any trace of him, just like Finn's repeated enquiries from his Navy friends.

Max had disappeared from their lives.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Sophie rubbed the back of her neck, the tag of her freshly pressed shirt irritating her skin. She stared out at the colourless landscape of the lake house backyard. Last summer she'd sat on a sun-drenched green lawn with Max, teasing him over his food choices, kissing him under red, white, and blue fireworks.

Her fingers brushed her lips as if she could feel his touch. The back of her eyes burned.

Max might never kiss her again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock's consistent beat morphed into the rhythmic pulse of the machine that had kept Thomas alive after his accident. The sound had become the backbeat of her existence during those endless hours she'd sat at his bedside in the hospital, praying for him to come back to her.

He hadn't.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Would Max?

Back then, Evelyn had informed Sophie of the decision to take Thomas away from her. Breaker of the news that ripped her world apart. Would Finn be the barer this time? Or would he pass that burden to Emily?

The messenger didn't matter; the devastation was still the same. All Sophie could do was sit and wait, pass the endless hours in limbo, not daring to hope, never giving up. Until there was no reason to sit vigil anymore.

"Will you hold Lucy?"

Sophie startled at Emily's question, failing to realize her friend had entered the kitchen. Lucy squirmed in her mother's arms and Sophie instinctively took the child and cuddled her close. Over the past week, Lucy had been a lifeline, the need for constant attention, the distraction that kept Sophie from falling into a deep, dark abyss.

"Did you eat?" Emily opened the fridge door.

Sophie huffed at the role reversal. She'd come to the lake house to guarantee Emily ate, got enough nourishment to feed herself and the life she was growing in her womb. Now Emily took up the mantle of feeding Sophie, ensuring she got enough nutrients to stay alive.

"Too nervous," said Sophie.

"When's the interview?"

"Not until 1." Sophie extricated a strand of her hair from Lucy's tight grip. "Plenty of time."

"Sure you don't want Finn to drive you?" Emily popped two pieces of bread into the toaster. "He could use the distraction."

Sophie met Emily's gaze, her grey eyes hollowed by sadness. The lump in Sophie's throat shifted. "I'd rather he stayed here. In case."

"Max is resilient." Emily repeated a version of the phrase she'd regurgitated numerous times in recent days. "He will return to us."

Once again, Sophie offered her friend a smile in feigned agreement. Yet inside her heart bled with the proof that Max's state of mind had no influence if fate had other plans for him. Thomas was evidence of that. Pain steam-rolled over Sophie like thunder on a humid summer evening, low and dangerous at first, then rumbling to an ear-splitting blast that made her hands shake.

In her arms, Lucy wiggled, her tiny fingers patting Sophie's cheek, as if to offer comfort.

The kitchen door swung open and in walked Finn, bags under his eyes the size of elephants.

Sophie sprang forward. "Is there any—"

"Nothing from Campbel this morning." Finn's jaw set.

Her shoulders dropped as Finn kissed Lucy on the top of her head. The contentment and happiness Finn had gained since Lucy's birth had leached away with every passing day at the lack of news about Max. Sophie and Finn became constant companions, hours spent perched at the kitchen table or in the living room, willing their phones to ring with news of Max.

The toast popped up, and everyone jumped. Emily slathered on butter and placed the food in front of Sophie. "Eat. You need strength for your interview."

Sophie chewed on the tasteless bread, forcing herself to swallow. What she needed was for Max to be alive.

***

The restaurant owner smiled and took a sip of her coffee. Her blood red lipstick transferred to the lip of the cup. "Etienne can't say enough good things about you."

"We work well together." Sophie looked away at the dark stain against the brilliant white, her stomach turning. "He's an inspiration." On the other side of the dining area, behind the bar, the man in question gave Sophie two thumbs up.

"Indeed, he is. Our patrons are raving about the tweaks he's made to our menu. We might even introduce a new dish he's suggested." Sophie's stomach lurched. Might introduce. She'd spent the last few months crafting a menu with Simon. One inspired by her talents. A fresh approach born of collaboration, not fighting to try something new. To have to colour within the lines again, prep meals based on someone else's inspiration had her insides twist.

The owner glanced at her tablet. "Looks like you've been at this for over a decade. Any desire to open your own place someday?"

Sophie bit the inside of her cheek. That was every chef's dream. The opportunity to work with Simon may not have been perfect, but the freedom he offered came close to a semblance of her own place. Now that the cat was out of the bag, could she cram herself back into the confines of someone else's vision?

Bracing her shoulders, Sophie replied, "If the right opportunity came along. However, for now, I'm more interested in perfecting my craft and mastering dishes that keep customers coming back."

From the owner's smile, Sophie supposed she'd given the right answer. The next half hour passed mostly in the same fashion, general questions asked about Sophie's qualification, philosophy, etc. replied to with polite and accurate answers.

Another smile from the owner. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Oxygen caught in Sophie's airway as a vision of her in the kitchen at Wainwright Winery sprung to life before her like Athena from Zeus's mind. A row of plates spread across the prep-table's surface, waiting for her to add the main dish. Staff in crisp black uniforms stood at attention, ready to serve the meal to a room full of customers as the aroma of rosemary swirled in the air. Sophie felt the heft of the spoon in her hand. Her gaze lifted to find Max leaning against the doorframe of her office, a smile on his face. Warmth not from the ovens overwhelmed her heart.

Sophie blinked, and the vision melted into an image of her sitting alone at a kitchen table in a small, dimly lit apartment. Mug of coffee in hand, she flipped through envelops of bills and Christmas cards featuring the smiling families of her friends, decked out in winter gear. A functional calendar hung on the fridge, a date circled in red. Inside, the thin line was marked "Max home." The warmth from earlier leached away.

The crash of a glass shattering against tile yanked Sophie into the present. The room sharpened into focus as a server in white scooped up the broken shards of a cup into a dustpan. Sophie shook her shoulders and focused on the restaurant owner. "In five years, I hope to be doing what I love. And convincing you to add my newest dish to your menu."

Interview over, Sophie left the table and walked into Etienne's outstretched, burly arms.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"She said she'd reach out soon." Sophie absorbed the extra comfort her friend offered.

"I know she'll hire you." Etienne set his hands on her shoulders. "I basically told her I refuse to work with anyone else."

"Don't say that. There are plenty of talented chefs in this town."

"Sure." His mouth quirked to the side. "But none of them are you. You're one of a kind."

In her bag, Sophie's phone vibrated against her hip. She dove for the device, her blood pressure skyrocketing at the text from Finn.

They found him.

There was no need to ask who the him was. The room spun and her knees gave way. Max had returned to them. To her. The endless void of not knowing was over. At last, the reality, no matter its outcome was here. Sophie's heart beat for what felt like the first time in over a week, one strong pump in dread of bad news, the next thrum pushing hope into her veins. Etienne said something as he caught Sophie around the waist and deposited her into a nearby chair. In her hand, the phone shook so badly she could barely hit the call button.

She didn't wait for Finn's greeting. "Is he alive?"

"What? Yes." Finn didn't elaborate, and a boulder lodged in her throat.

"Finn? Tell me."

The pause on the other end lasted an eternity. Sophie dug her nails into Eitenne's palm and he made a sandwich of his their joined hands. "Why didn't he call me? Or you?"

There was a rustle on the other end, like shoes scuffing across a carpet. "The evacuated him before Campbell had a chance to see him." Finn drew in a long breath. "They sedated Max and put him on a plane."

Dark spots swam in Sophie's vision. "Sedated? Why?" She struggled for air, but the room seemed to lack any. "What plane? Where are they taking him?"

"To Andrew's. Here in Washington, Sophie. That's a good thing. If his injuries were life-threatening, he would have been sent immediately to Germany. Him coming home means he'll recover."

Recover? She closed her eyes, but they offered atrocities occurring to Max, to his handsome face, his strong body, his beautiful mind, and she forced them open again. "How soon can we see him?"

"I'm working on that." Finn sounded more confident now, like he had a mission to work on. "Emily suggests you stay in Washington at her condo. She's packing a bag for you. As soon as I know anything, I'll come into town."

"Finn?" His name burst from her, accompanied by a sob.

"He's coming home Sophie. We'll know more soon."