The town’s mayor raised her voice then, and we turned our attention to her. “Thank you all for joining us for the annual tree-cutting giveaway. Collect your cutting, and make sure to leave a letter for Frank if you have the chance. There are donuts and apple cider provided by Shasta Pumpkin Farm at the end of the trail.”
Everyone clapped then began to collect their cuttings. I stepped forward and selected a sturdy looking twig. When I returned, Callan was eyeing the plant strangely.
“What is it?” I wondered if he thought the tradition was odd or if I had done something sacrilegious for a magical botanist with a tree affinity.
He surveyed the area and lowered his voice. “It feels like someone is using their power.”
I looked around even though there was no point. By all accounts, Callan’s ability to sense people using their magical botanist powers was extremely uncommon, and I didn’t share it. I rarely had the opportunity to witness him use it since there was no reason for him to sense magic being used on campus.
“Huh,” I said, not having much else to offer. This gathering seemed perfectly normal to me.
Callan’s shoulders relaxed, and he shook his head. “Maybe it’s nothing. Want to stick around and help me with the letters?”
“Sure, let me just tell Maci the plan. Can you drive me back to my car after?”
When Callan nodded, I informed Maci I was staying behind with Callan. She gave me gushy eyes, which I waved off.
Callan and I waited for the townspeople to continue along the trail for the cider and donuts, then we began to stuff the backpack he had brought with the letters from the letter box.
I paused to glance at one. “This one is a poem,” I said, skimming the handwritten sonnet.
“I think some people find these boxes a way to express themselves artistically without having to share their work more broadly,” Callan said.
I pulled out another piece of paper and opened it, my forehead scrunching together. “This one is blank. Should I throw it out?”
“No, we bring them all back. Professor B. ultimately decides what to store.”
I shrugged and put the paper in the envelope with the others, resolving to stop skimming the notes so I could work more quickly. By the time we’d collected letters from every tree along the trail, a breeze had kicked up. I shivered.
“Here.” Callan shrugged off his jacket and offered it to me.
“Oh, I’m fine. You don’t have to?—”
“I can see goose bumps on your arms.”
“All right,” I said, taking the jacket and slipping it on. The familiar sandalwood and peach smell settled in around me, and I tugged the jacket more firmly around my body. “Thanks.”
His coat was warm and comforting, and I wondered if this was kind of what it would feel like to get a hug from Callan. I’d never seen him hug anyone, unlike the gregarious Hollis, who handed them out like candy.
We began to walk down the trail, Callan’s backpack full of letters.
“So, going to any Halloween parties tonight?” Callan asked aswe approached his truck. “I see the plant lady costume still looks great on you.”
I glanced down at my dress underneath his jacket, having completely forgotten I was wearing it.
“Thanks, but I won’t be wearing this tonight. You’re lucky you even got a second chance to see it. I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”
Callan grinned, and I bit my lower lip, knowing we were both remembering the dinner he had made for me on Halloween the previous year. That had been when the walls had first started to come down between us. Now, we were so much more than the near strangers we’d been then. Callan opened the passenger door, and I climbed in.
“I suggested a dress-up garden party at Evergreen tonight since you all don’t traditionally celebrate Halloween. I’m doing a group costume theme with my friends. We could dress you up too. Youdidsay you’ve never dressed up for Halloween before.”
Callan eyed me sideways before putting the truck in reverse. “Do I even want to imagine what you would dress me as?”
“Hmm, let me think. You’ve got the tattoos. And you’re slightly broody. So maybe a rock star?” I paused. “But your tattoos are very earthy, so maybe a hippie rock star? Ohhh, a lead singer from a seventies hippie band. We’d have to get a wig, though. Or maybe you’d be the drummer?—”
Callan cut me off with a groan. “For the love of botany, remind me to never let you dress me, local.”
I scoffed in faux offense, but a warm glow filled me as the weight of his jacket pressed into my shoulders and the comforting tingle of his presence cocooned me even more than his coat.
