He gestures ahead. "Show me what you've learned."
I take the lead, Rascal trotting happily beside me, actually staying on the trail for once. Every few minutes, I find myself looking back at Rowan, making sure I'm reading the signs correctly. Each time, he gives me a small nod that feels like victory.
"You know," I say as I correctly identify another marker, "for someone who claims to dislike whimsy, you're pretty good at making this magical."
"I don't dislike whimsy," he says quietly. "I just forgot how to see it for a while."
Something about the way he says it makes me want to hug him, but I'm pretty sure that would send him running for the hills. Instead, I focus on the next marker, determined to prove I can learn his language while teaching him to remember mine.
After all, the best stories have both structure and magic. Maybe trails do too.
"I can't believe I read that whole section of trail correctly." I'm practically bouncing as we reach the overlook, still high on my newfound trail-reading abilities. "I'm basically a forest expert now. A trail whisperer. A?—"
"Don't push it." But Rowan's tone lacks its usual gruffness. "Youdiddo better than I expected."
"Such high praise." I pull out my notebook, settling on a fallen log. "Really though, thank you for teaching me. Want to see how you've inspired my story?"
He hesitates, and for a moment I think he'll refuse. But then he sits beside me, carefully leaving space between us. "Show me."
"Okay, so there's this young rabbit who's learning about forest paths from a wise old bear..." I flip through my sketches, very aware of his warmth beside me.
The first drops hit my notebook before I register the darkening sky.
"Storm's coming." Rowan's already standing, scanning the area. "We need to find shelter."
I barely have time to stuff my notebook in my backpack before the sky opens up. Summer rain pours through the canopy, surprisingly cold, and Rascal lets out an indignant yelp.
"Here." Rowan catches my elbow, guiding me toward a rocky overhang. We duck under just as thunder rumbles overhead.
The space is cozy. I'm suddenly very aware of how close we're standing, how Rowan's hand is still on my arm, how he smells like pine and rain and something spicy I can't quite identify.
"Your notebook's getting wet," he says softly.
I look down to where water is indeed seeping through my bag onto my precious story notes. "Oh no?—"
"Let me." He carefully takes the notebook, his hands steady as he helps me separate the damp pages. "We can salvage it if we act fast."
We work in silence, but I'm hyper-aware of every brush of his fingers against mine, every shared breath in our small shelter. Water drips from his dark hair, trailing down his neck, and I find myself following the path with my eyes.
"Here." His voice is rougher than usual as he hands me the last page. Our fingers touch, and neither of us pulls away immediately.
Something shifts in the air between us.
Rowan's eyes meet mine, and I forget about the rain, the thunder, everything except how the green in his eyes has darkened to forest shadows. His free hand moves, almost like he's going to brush back the wet strands of hair clinging to my cheek.
Rascal chooses this exact moment to shake himself vigorously, spraying us both with dog-scented water.
"Rascal!" I sputter, but I'm laughing, the tension broken but not forgotten.
"Your dog," Rowan mutters, but there's no heat in it. He's watching me with that unreadable expression again, the one that makes my heart do complicated things.
"Sorry about your shirt." I gesture at the wet flannel now decorated with muddy paw prints where Rascal's leaning against him.
"I've had worse." His voice is still rough around the edges. Then, surprising me, he reaches out and does tuck that strand of hair behind my ear, his touch whisper-soft. "There was a leaf."
"Oh." Is it my imagination, or do his fingers linger for just a moment? "Thanks."
The rain starts to ease, but neither of us moves. There's something fragile in the air, like we're both aware that something's changed but aren't quite ready to acknowledge it.
