He catches me—again—with a sigh that seems to come from his very soul. "Two weeks," I hear him mutter. "I have to keep her alive for two weeks."
"That's the spirit!" I chirp, secretly delighting in the way his eye twitches. "Though I should warn you, I haven't even started on the chapter about nighttime forest adventures yet."
The look of horror that crosses his face is absolutely worth the lecture about proper trail etiquette that follows. Besides, I think as I add a little more detail to my grumpy bear sketch, he's kind of adorable when he's being all serious and protective.
Not that I'll tell him that.
Chapter Four
Rowan
The early morning quiet of the maintenance shed is usually my sanctuary. Today, it's failing miserably at its one job. I'm trying to focus on repairing trail markers, but my mind keeps wandering to ridiculous sketches of bears in flannel and the way certain hazel eyes light up at the sight of every single woodland creature.
"There you are."
I look up to find Mom in the doorway, holding two steaming mugs. The scent of her signature hot chocolate—the real kind, with melted dark chocolate and a hint of cinnamon—fills the small space.
"I'm working," I say, but I'm already clearing space on my workbench.
"I can see that." She sets down the mugs and picks up one of my finished trail markers, running her fingers over the freshly painted blaze. "Though I notice these are for the east trail. Near Daisy's cabin."
"Those trails needed maintenance."
"Mhmm." She perches on my work stool, wrapping her hands around her mug. "Like the steps to her cabin neededreinforcing yesterday? And the path to her favorite sketching spot needed clearing this morning?"
I focus very intently on my work. "It's my job."
"Of course it is, sweetheart." Her tone is gentle in a way that makes me want to escape into the woods. "Just like it was your job to leave those hiking guidelines on her porch? With the wilderness safety manual?"
"She's going to get herself killed," I mutter, but it sounds weak even to my ears.
"She reminds me of someone, you know." Mom takes a sip of her chocolate. "Another dreamer who saw magic in these mountains. Who used to name all the animals and make up stories about them."
"I was eight."
"You were beautiful." She touches my arm, and I finally meet her eyes. "You still are, when you let yourself be."
I set down my tools with a sigh. "Mom..."
"I know, I know. You're all grown up and serious now. The practical son. The reliable one." She gestures at the perfectly organized shed. "But honey, not everyone needs to be practical all the time. Some people see the world differently. And that's not a bad thing."
"It is when they're wandering off trails and trying to interview groundhogs."
"Ah yes, Gordon the Mayor." Her eyes twinkle. "Liam told me about that. Said it was the first time he's heard you laugh in months."
"I didn't—" I stop at her knowing look. "It wasn't a laugh. It was a sound of exasperation."
"Right." She picks up one of my trail markers again. "You know, these are different from your usual ones. More detailed. Almost artistic."
I don't tell her I spent extra time on them after Daisy mentioned having trouble following the standard blazes. That I added more distinctive shapes and brighter colors, thinking about how her face lights up at anything vibrant or whimsical.
"They're just markers."
"And that collection of wildflower guidebooks you borrowed from the library? Light reading?"
Heat creeps up my neck. "She needs to know which plants are safe."
"And the fact that you spent an hour with Rascal this morning, working on basic trail commands?"
