He drops his hands like I've burned him. "You need to watch where you're going."
"Hard to do that when there's so much to see." I gesture at the forest around us, dappled in morning light. "Look at this place. It's like something out of a fairy tale."
"It's a normal forest."
"Nothing about this is normal." I spot a cluster of tiny purple flowers and dart over to investigate. "Everything here has a story. Like these little guys. They're definitely fairy tea cups."
"Wood sorrel."
"Boring. They're definitely fairy tea cups." I touch one delicate bloom. "Used for midnight ceremonies under the full moon..."
When I look up, Rowan's watching me with an expression I can't quite read. It's softer than his usual grumpiness, almost wistful.
"What?"
"Nothing." He shakes his head. "You really see magic in everything, don't you?"
"Don't you?" I stand, brushing dirt from my knees. "I mean, look around. How can you walk these trails every day and not see the stories?"
He's quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if I've finally pushed too far past his gruff exterior. But then he says, so quietly I almost miss it, "Mom used to say the same thing."
Something in his tone makes my heart squeeze. Before I can ask, a flash of movement catches my eye.
"Oh! Was that a rabbit? Quick, we have to follow it! It might be late for a very important date..."
Rowan groans, but he's already adjusting our course to track the rabbit. "You're exhausting, you know that?"
"You love it," I say without thinking, then feel my cheeks heat. "I mean, you know, for research purposes."
"Research. Right." Is it my imagination, or did his ears just turn pink? "Try to keep up, city girl. And stop naming the local wildlife."
"Never," I declare, already sketching the rabbit's potential tea party attire. "Every creature needs a name. Even grumpy forest guardians who pretend not to believe in magic."
This time I definitely hear him laugh, just a quick huff of amusement, but it feels like victory. Rascal barks happily, as if celebrating my success in cracking Rowan's façade.
"Come on," he says, but the grumpiness sounds forced now. "There's a clearing ahead where we sometimes see deer."
"Ooh, perfect! I need to interview some of Gordon's constituents about his mayorial policies..."
"Daisy."
"Yes, O Serious One?"
He looks skyward like he's praying for patience. "Try not to fall into any more holes while politically polling the wildlife."
"No promises!" I sing-song, already imagining the deer's elaborate voting system. "But that's why I have you, right? My very own wilderness guide and walking field guide and?—"
"And someone who's seriously reconsidering his life choices," he mutters, but I catch that ghost of a smile again.
"You know what this clearing needs?" I tap my pen against my notebook thoughtfully. "A fairy ring. You know, those circles of mushrooms where magical creatures dance under the moonlight?"
"What it needs," Rowan says with exaggerated patience, "is for you to stay on the path I showed you."
"But the lighting is so much better over there." I point to a patch of sunlight dancing through the leaves. "Perfect for sketching. And Rascal wants to explore too, don't you buddy?"
My dog's already straining toward the inviting grass, tail wagging hopefully. Before Rowan can protest, I follow Rascal's lead, picking my way through what looks like perfectly innocent undergrowth.
"Daisy." Rowan's voice carries that special tone of exasperation he seems to reserve just for me. "That's not?—"
