The moment broke, but not the warmth that had settled in Diana's chest.
By Sunday evening, the inn looked transformed. Fresh paint gleamed on walls that had been dingy for years. New fixtures cast warm light over restored surfaces. The parlor glowed with soft green walls that made the fireplace look like the heart of a fairy tale.
"It's beautiful," whispered Sera Quinn, standing in the newly painted lobby. "Like the inn's been waiting for this."
"It has," Diana said, surveying the work with deep satisfaction. "We all have."
As the volunteers packed up their supplies and headed home, promises to attend the Autumn Hearth Gathering echoing behind them, Diana felt something she'd never experienced before. Not just accomplishment, but belonging. These people had given their weekend to help her vision become reality. They'd invested their time and skill in her success.
She was part of something now. Part of Hollow Oak in a way that went deeper than ownership papers or Council approval.
"Thank you," she called after the last volunteer. "All of you. This place is alive because of what you've given it."
Rowan emerged from the second floor as the front door closed behind Tom Brewster. Paint specked his flannel, and his dark hair was mussed from a day of careful work around ladder-climbing volunteers.
"They did good work," he said, surveying the transformed space.
"They did." Diana set down her clipboard, suddenly aware of how quiet the inn felt after a week of constant activity. "Couldn't have happened without you keeping the structural work on track."
"Couldn't have happened without you making them want to help." He moved closer, and Diana caught the scent of pine and honest sweat. "Want to help me clean up? I'll order pizza."
"Yeah," he said, something in his voice making her pulse quicken. "I'd like that."
As they worked side by side, collecting brushes and folding drop cloths, Diana felt the same electric awareness that had been building all week. The way Rowan's attention lingered on her movements. The careful space he maintained even while working closely beside her. The moments when their hands brushed and neither pulled away immediately.
Something had shifted during the week of shared work and community investment. Diana felt bolder, more confident in her own skin and her place in this town. She was no longer the uncertain outsider hoping for acceptance. She was the innkeeper who'd rallied the community to restore their heart.
And she was a woman who knew what she wanted.
That night, she fell asleep with paint under her fingernails and satisfaction humming in her veins. The Autumn Hearth Gathering was three days away, and the inn had never looked better.
More importantly, Diana had never felt more like herself.
16
ROWAN
The walk to his cabin normally took twenty minutes through the woods beyond the square. Tonight, Rowan stretched it to forty, taking the long way around Moonmirror Lake, needing the cool air and physical exertion to clear his head.
The inn had been transformed. Diana had orchestrated the community effort like she'd been born to it, turning what could have been chaos into something beautiful. He'd watched her direct volunteers with growing admiration, seen the way she made each person feel essential to the project.
She belonged in Hollow Oak in a way he never had.
His cabin sat at the end of a dirt road, small and sparse and exactly what a man running from his past deserved. He'd rented it month to month for three years, never committing to anything longer. Never planning to stay.
Rowan climbed the porch steps and reached for his keys, then froze.
The scent hit him like a physical blow. Pack. Multiple wolves, their territorial markers overlapping in a pattern he recognizedfrom years of enforced familiarity. They'd been here recently, close enough to leave their scent on his property.
His wolf surged to the forefront, hackles raised, territorial instincts blazing to life. They'd found him. After three years of careful distance, his former pack had tracked him to Hollow Oak.
Rowan circled the cabin slowly, reading the scent trails with predatory focus. Three wolves, maybe four. They'd spent time here, marked the corners of his property, left their calling card like a threat wrapped in old pack protocols.
His phone buzzed. A text from the same number he'd been deleting all week.
We know where you are. We know what you're protecting. Time to come home, brother.
Rowan deleted the message and grabbed a duffle bag from the closet. He threw in clothes for a few days, locked the cabin, and headed back toward town.
