Rascal chooses this moment to wiggle between us, settling half in my lap, half in Rowan's. The simple comfort of it seems to unlock something in him.
"She said she loved it here," he says quietly. "The lodge, the mountains, the life we could build. But she loved the idea more than the reality. When she realized I wouldn't leave for a 'real' career in the city..." He shrugs, but I can feel the tension in his shoulder against mine.
"Some people don't understand that different dreams can be just as real," I say, thinking of Derek's dismissal of my writing. "That sometimes the quiet paths lead exactly where you're meant to go."
"Even if those paths are marked by trail blazes with tiny carved animals?"
I bump his shoulder. "Especially then."
He's quiet for a long moment, absently stroking Rascal's ears. "Your story about the rabbit finding her place in the woods..."
"Yes?"
"It's good. Really good." His voice is rough. "And your ex was an idiot."
Warmth blooms in my chest. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." His hand finds mine in the darkness. "Some people don't know magic when they see it."
We sit in comfortable silence as the fire dies down, neither mentioning the countdown hanging over us. Nine more days suddenly feels like both forever and not nearly enough time.
Chapter Eight
Rowan
The forest feels different at night. Quieter, more intimate, like the darkness itself is a secret shared between those brave enough to walk through it. Moonlight filters through the trees, casting silver patterns on the trail ahead as I lead Daisy back to her cabin.
Rascal is sound asleep in my arms, his tiny body warm and trusting. I've never understood people who talk to their pets like children, but I'm beginning to see the appeal as his little snores punctuate the night's silence.
"I think you've officially been adopted," Daisy says softly beside me. "Never seen him sleep that deeply with anyone but me."
"He must be tired from chasing moths all night." But I adjust my hold to keep him more comfortable, and she notices, a small smile playing at her lips.
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, the moonlight making her skin glow almost silver. She's still wearing my jacket, the sleeves falling past her fingertips. Something about that sight does strange things to my chest.
"Your family tells great stories," she says finally. "The one about your dad and the marshmallow juggling..."
"He was always doing stuff like that." The memory aches less than it used to. "Making us laugh, turning everyday things into adventures."
"He sounds wonderful."
"He was." I step carefully over a root. "After he died, Mom kept the traditions going. The bonfires, the stories. But it wasn't the same. I started spending more time on the trails."
"And Liam stepped up to run things?"
"He was already working with Dad on the business side. I was the kid who liked to explore."
"So you became the groundskeeper instead."
"Eventually." I hesitate, then admit, "Not right away. I actually left for a while after high school. Thought maybe there was something more out there."
She looks up, surprised. "You did? Where did you go?"
"College. Environmental science. Made it almost a year before I realized I was miserable." I shrug. "Too many people. Too much noise. Too far from..."
"From home," she finishes softly.
I glance at her. "You get that?"
