Page 21 of Easy, Tiger

We find a shared pace as we leave the cabin, autumn air crisp enough to sting my cheeks. The forest around us blazes with color—trees burning scarlet, birches glowing gold, evergreens providing deep green contrast, and low brush adding a rich undercurrent of rust. It's the scenery that makes my fingers itch for pencils and paper.

"You've been busy lately," Nolan observes as we follow the winding path toward town. "Seems like every event in Red Pine features your artwork now."

"People here actually want my input. It's been a while since anyone valued my opinion on anything."

"Their loss."

Unanticipatedly overwhelmed by his sincerity, I cast my eyes downward. In the months since my career imploded, I'd grown accustomed to doubt and suspicion following me everywhere. Red Pine offers something different—acceptance without judgment, friendship without conditions.

"Can I ask you something? Why did you stay in Red Pine? Most people our age leave small mountain towns," I ask.

"Never found a good enough reason to go, I guess. Never really left, not even for college. Apprenticed under my father instead and learned the trade at his elbow. Stayed because working alongside him and being part of this place gets under your skin. Hard to leave once it does."

"I'm beginning to understand that feeling."

We reach the edge of town where Ben's office sits beside the visitor center, its windows already glowing with warm light despite the early hour. Through the glass, I spot Ellie and Sadie arranging autumn flowers in mason jars while Ben and Owen wrestle with string lights that clearly have their own agenda. Mayor Tapper is off to the side, testing the sound system and tapping the microphone, while Dr. Amelia Ross meticulously organizes the seating charts at the welcome table.

"Need backup?" Nolan calls through the open door.

Concentrating entirely on the tangled mess in his hands, Ben gives his reply. "Always, these lights worked perfectly fine last year."

"That's what you said last year," Owen reminds him, untangling a particularly stubborn knot. "Right before we spent two hours fixing them."

I enter, surveying the chaos. "What's the vision here?"

"Rustic elegance," Sadie says with a grin. "Ben's interpretation involves cursing at inanimate objects."

"My interpretation involves lights that actually illuminate things," Ben mutters, hoisting up a strand that's somehow knotted itself into what resembles modern art.

Nolan sets his carved box on the counter and moves to help Ben, their easy familiarity hinting at years of friendship. Joining Ellie with the flower arrangements, I fall naturally into the rhythm of preparation that's become second nature over the past week.

"These are gorgeous," I tell her, admiring how she's combined late-season wildflowers with branches of turning leaves.

"Nolan's idea, actually. He suggested using natural elements instead of buying decorations from the city."

My gaze gravitates to where Nolan works beside Ben, patiently untangling lights with the same devoted attention he brings to his woodworking. Everything about him suggests thoughtfulness, from how he listens when people speak to how he anticipates what others need before they ask.

"He's been helpful," I say.

"Helpful's one word for it." Ellie's tone tingles with knowing amusement. "Man's been finding excuses to visit your cabin every other day. That's not exactly subtle behavior for Nolan."

Heat rises in my cheeks. "He's only being neighborly."

"Honey, I've lived here my whole life. Nolan Maren rarely makes neighborly visits, showing up only to lend a hand when asked or to repair whatever breaks. But daily social calls? That's new territory."

Before I can respond, the door chimes as more volunteers arrive, filling the space with chatter and laughter. The morning dissolves into purposeful activity, marked by hanging lights, arranging tables, and the low hum of sound equipment being tested for the evening's music. I lose myself in the familiar pleasure of contributing to something larger than my own work.

By noon, the visitor center has transformed into an inviting space ready for tonight's celebration. As people begin dispersing for lunch, Nolan appears at my elbow.

"Walk back with you?"

"Sure."

We leave together, the October sun filtering through bare branches above us. The path has evolved now, transforming from a mere route between destinations into a shared space where a comfortable quiet settles between us.

"Thank you," I say as my cabin comes into view.

"For what?"