Page 16 of Easy, Tiger

"Ahead of schedule," Nolan reports, testing the stability of our latest installation. "Should have this section finished within the hour."

"Perfect, listen, we're all heading to Murphy's Pub afterward for dinner. Halsey, you should join us. It's tradition after trail work—we celebrate not falling into any swamps."

The invitation catches me off guard. In my old life, work relationships stayed strictly professional. Colleagues didn't extend invitations that included spouses and weekend plans.

"I don't want to intrude on⁠—"

"Intrude?" Ben's laugh booms across the marsh. "You've been hammering boards for four hours. You've earned your place at the table."

"Besides," Beckham adds, "someone needs to keep Nolan from ordering the fish special again. Man has no sense of adventure."

"The fish special is reliable," Nolan defends.

"So is plain oatmeal. Doesn't make it interesting."

I find myself smiling at their easy banter. "Alright, you've convinced me."

As the afternoon light matures to gold, I take a break from measuring and ease back to stretch my aching shoulders. My sketchbook calls from my coat pocket—a habit I can't break even when my hands are occupied with power tools.

Nolan has moved to the far end of our section, cutting boards to fit around a stubborn tree root that refused to be relocated. Working with the same concentration I remember from his workshop, every movement of his is unhurried and sure. The rough lumber responds to his hands like it's eager to become something useful.

Flipping to a clean page, I let my pencil capture the scene: how he braces the board with one knee, the saw's blade meeting wood at the right angle. The concentration softens his usually alert features, and it captures my attention longer than it probably should. There's something about witnessing someone work at their craft that highlights character far beyond conversation's reach.

"Drawing the local wildlife again?"

His voice startles me, and I snap my gaze up to find him regarding me with amusement.

"Something like that. You make good subject matter. Very... focused."

"That's one way to put it." Wiping sawdust from his hands, he moves closer, taking in my sketch genuinely interested. "You caught the angle of that cut perfectly. Even got the grain pattern in the wood."

"Details matter."

"They do." The space between us charges instantly with something unsaid—recognition, maybe, or understanding. "Ready to finish this section?"

"Ready."

We finish the section as the sun dips toward the ridgeline, the new boardwalk solid and level beneath our boots. Ben makes the rounds to inspect everyone's work, pronounces the day a success, and the crew packs up tools with the rhythm of people who've done this a dozen times before. By the time we reach the trailhead, the light has gone gold, and everyone's already talking about dinner.

It doesn't take long until we reach the center of town. Murphy's Pub buzzes with the warm chaos of locals unwinding after honest work. The sizzle of grilled onions and beer mingles with woodsmoke from the stone fireplace, and conversations overlap in the comfortable way of people who've known each other for years.

"Halsey, over here!" Ben waves from a long table near the back, already occupied by the entire trail crew plus what appears to be half the town. Mayor Tapper sits at the head of the table, laughing warmly as he buys a round for the volunteers. To my surprise, Nolan is sharing a booth with Owen and two women I haven't met yet, all four of them wearing an unaccustomed, off-the-clock ease.

Sliding into the saved space, I find myself between Nolan and an elegant woman with dark hair streaked with silver.

"Halsey, you’ve met Owen," Nolan says, guiding the introduction with a subtle slant of his head toward the broad-supported man across the table. "Forest ranger. Keeps this whole mountain from falling apart."

"Someone has to." Owen extends a hand, his shake firm. "Heard a lot about you, Ms. Gallagher."

"All good things, I hope."

"Mostly." The corner of his mouth twitches, though his expression stays otherwise unreadable.

"And this troublemaker's my sister, Sadie," Nolan continues, gesturing to a woman with an auburn braid and bright green eyes, athletic in build even slouched comfortably against the booth. "Wildlife rehab. Don't let her sweet face fool you; she's the toughest person at this table."

"Only because Nolan refuses to admit defeat in arm wrestling." Sadie grins, reaching across the table to shake my hand. "It's so good to finally meet you. My brother won't shut up about you, if that wasn't obvious enough already."

Warmth floods my cheeks as Nolan shoots his sister a look that only makes her grin wider.