"What look?"
"That barely-there smile that means you're secretly laughing at the city girl." She props her chin on her hand. "I'm very observant, you know. It's a writer thing."
I force my expression back to neutral, ignoring the way my lips want to curve up. "Are you going to let me teach you about wilderness safety or not?"
"Fine." She pulls out a fresh notebook—this one decorated with owls—and uncaps a pen topped with a fuzzy pompom. "Teach me, O Wise Guardian of the Secret Trails."
"Private trails."
"That's what I said." She grins. "And I promise to take excellent notes. Even if you're not actually a mysterious forest spirit."
"I'm not mysterious anything."
"Says the man who literally emerged from the woods to rescue me yesterday."
"I was marking trail boundaries."
"Mhmm." She actually winks at me. "That's exactly what a mysterious forest guardian would say."
I should be annoyed. I am annoyed. But something about her infectious enthusiasm makes it hard to maintain my usual wall of gruff indifference.
"First rule," I say firmly, trying to get us back on track. "Always tell someone where you're going and when you'll be back."
She scribbles in her notebook, then holds it up to show me a doodle of what appears to be a very grumpy bear wearing flannel. "Like this?"
"Are you actually taking notes, or just drawing me as woodland creatures?"
"Both?" She adds a little trail marker to her doodle. "I'm a visual learner."
I drag a hand down my face. "This is going to be a long two weeks."
"Oh, come on." She nudges my boot with her impractical shoe. "Think how boring your day would be without me to rescue."
"Peaceful," I correct. "The word you're looking for is peaceful."
But she's already moved on, sketching what might be Rascal chasing a squirrel while simultaneously adding another sticky note to her research pile. Her energy is exhausting. And absolutely not endearing. At all.
"Second rule," I say, mostly to distract myself from the way she bites her lip when she's concentrating. "Proper gear is non-negotiable."
She looks up through her lashes. "Does this mean we're going shopping?"
"This means I'm taking you to the activity center to get properly equipped before you break an ankle in those..." I gesture at her current footwear.
"They're boots!"
"They're fashion statements with delusions of grandeur."
That startles a laugh out of her, bright and genuine, and something in my chest tightens. This is exactly what I don't need. Two weeks of sunshine and chaos disrupting my carefully ordered world.
"Fine," she says, gathering her explosion of research materials. "Lead the way, Grumpy Bear."
"Don't call me that."
"Would you prefer Mysterious Forest Spirit? Guardian of the Ancient Paths? Flannel-Clad Protector of?—"
"Rowan," I cut in. "My name is Rowan."
She falls into step beside me, Rascal prancing between us. "For now," she says with another of those dangerous smiles. "But I reserve the right to upgrade you to forest guardian status in my book."
