The guests laugh, and Connor launches into the full story, complete with dramatic guitar accompaniment. I notice Rowan pause in his work, just for a moment, at the mention of hisfather. There's something soft in his expression, visible even in the flickering light.
More stories follow. Jameson tells about the time they found a bear cub in the activity center. A honeymooning couple shares their engagement story. Even shy Mr. Peterson from the corner cabin offers a tale about his first camping trip.
"What about you?" Connor nods to me during a break between songs. "Got any stories to share?"
I clutch my notebook tighter. "Oh, I don't know..."
"Please?" Emma pipes up from her spot by the fire. "Mom says you write children's books. I love stories!"
In the shadows, Rowan has gone very still.
"Well..." I flip through my pages. "I have been working on something new. About the forest."
"The one about the rabbit?" Connor's eyes flick to his brother. "And the grumpy bear who helps her?"
Heat creeps into my cheeks. "It's still pretty rough."
"Those are the best kind of stories," Evie says gently. "The ones that are still finding their way."
Something about her tone gives me courage. I begin reading, telling them about the little rabbit who keeps getting lost until a quiet bear teaches her to read the forest's secret language. As I read, I feel Rowan drift closer, like he's being pulled against his will.
"Some animals said she didn't belong in the woods," my voice catches slightly. "That she should stick to safer paths, more sensible dreams..."
"Like writing children's books?" Emma asks innocently.
I swallow hard. "Yeah. Like that. My ex... he used to say I was silly for thinking I could make a career of it. That I should focus on more practical things."
"He sounds boring," Emma declares, making the adults chuckle.
"He was practical," I admit. "But sometimes practical isn't enough. Sometimes you need a little magic too."
"Like the bear shows the rabbit?" Emma's totally invested now.
"Exactly like that." I chance a look at Rowan, finding him watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "Sometimes the best teachers are the ones who seem gruff on the outside but know exactly when to be gentle."
I finish the story, and there's a moment of perfect silence before the applause starts. As the night deepens, guests begin drifting away. Emma's mother has to practically drag her from the fire, promising they can buy my book when it comes out.
Eventually, it's just me, Rowan, and Rascal curled up in his purple sweater. Connor shoots us a knowing look as he packs up his guitar, but mercifully says nothing.
"You didn't make the bear too grumpy, did you?" Rowan settles beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush.
"Just grumpy enough." I lean slightly into his warmth. "Though he has his soft moments."
The fire pops and crackles in the silence that follows. When I shiver, Rowan wordlessly drapes his jacket over my shoulders.
"I used to love these stories," he says finally, staring into the flames. "When Dad would gather everyone around the fire, tell tales about the lodge, about the mountains..." He trails off. "After he died, it was easier to stay away. To stick to the trails where things made sense."
"And then Heather came along?" I ask softly, remembering snippets of conversation I've caught around the lodge.
He tenses slightly, then relaxes. "Connor tell you about her?"
"No one had to. I've heard how people talk about you, how worried they've been since she left." I pull his jacket tighter. "The way they light up when they see you teaching me the trails."
"I'm not... it's not..." He runs a hand through his hair. "The trails are simpler. Trees don't expect anything from you. They don't pretend to love the quiet only to complain about the isolation later. They don't..."
"Leave?"
His breath catches. "Yeah."
