“—but it’s a place kids are gonna drag their parents through twice just to make sure the magic’s real,” Quinn finishes. “I can see it already.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Think it’ll help?”
He shoots me a sideways grin. “Everything helps when it’s made with heart. Which you clearly got too much of.”
“Don’t start.”
He ignores that. “So, where’d this come from? You don’t usually wake up and decide to build fairy kingdoms.”
I hesitate, then shrug. “Taegen.”
“Ah.” His smirk widens. “Our friendly neighborhood journalist.”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly. “We were talking about the Enchanted Forest we used to play in. I figured—why not make it real? Kids like wonder. Grown-ups forget they do.”
Quinn leans against a tree, arms crossed. “You realize you just described half the reason this farm still exists, right? We sell nostalgia as much as pumpkins.”
“Guess I’m finally pulling my weight, then.”
“You always did. You just didn’t know it.”
When I glance back at the trail—the crooked gnomes, the jars strung with twine, the sunlight cutting through the trees like glass—it actually looks like something that might work.
Something that might last.
Quinn claps a hand on my shoulder. “Follow your gut, little brother. Seems like it’s leading somewhere good for a change.”
I grunt, pretending not to care, but my chest feels full in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
Taegen comes by later that afternoon to take more photos. I’m knee-deep in mulch when I hear her voice behind me.
“You’ve been busy.”
I turn, and there she is—jeans dusted with hay, camera bag over one shoulder, sunlight threading through her hair like gold ribbon. She looks curious, open, the way she used to when we’d dare each other to sneak into the barn loft.
“Come see,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “You’ll ruin your shoes, though.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
We walk the trail together, slow. She stops every few steps, taking it all in—the lights, the painted mushrooms, the bits of scrap metal turned into flowers. Her lips part on a small breath.
“Dylan,” she says softly. “It’s… beautiful.”
“Still rough around the edges.”
“So are most beautiful things.”
Her gaze moves from the lights to me. Something warm flickers in her eyes—recognition, maybe, or memory. “You made this because of what I said, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” I scratch the back of my neck. “You called it an Enchanted Forest once. Figured it was time to make good on that promise.”
She steps closer, camera forgotten at her side. “You remember everything, don’t you?”
“Only the important parts.”
For a long second we just stand there, the sunlight turning to honey through the trees, the air thick with pine and possibility. She reaches up, fingertips brushing my jaw, gentle and certain at once.
Then she kisses me.
