Page 22 of Easy, Tiger

"Making me feel welcome here. All of you, but especially you."

Halting his stride, he turns toward me while an unreadable expression settles over his features. "Red Pine's lucky to have you."

The statement lingers between us, loaded with meaning neither of us acknowledges directly. Then he inches closer, reaching into his jacket pocket.

"Almost forgot." He pulls out a small carved bird, its wings spread in perfect detail. "Saw you sketching red-winged blackbirds yesterday. Thought you might like this."

The carving fits perfectly in my palm, every feather individually shaped, the tiny beak open as if caught mid-song. It's beautiful and personal and completely unnecessary, which makes it perfect.

"It's gorgeous. You didn't have to⁠—"

"Wanted to."

Our fingers brush as he places the bird in my hands, the contact brief but electric. We stand there a moment longer than necessary, the sunlight dappled around us, neither of us quite ready to say what we're both thinking.

Then he shuffles backward, transferring his weight awkwardly. "See you tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Heading back toward town, he leaves me standing in front of my cabin with a carved bird in my hands and the growing realization that Red Pine has become more than a temporary refuge. It's starting to feel like home.

The afternoon slips away while I change and pin my hair back; the carved blackbird sits prominently on my nightstand, where I'll see it before I sleep. By the time I walk back into town, the sky has gone the deep purple of early dusk, and the visitor center's windows glow gold against it, spilling warm light and conversation into the crisp October evening. I find Nolan at a corner table, saving a seat beside him with his jacket draped over the back.

"Thought you might want the view," he says, nodding toward the window that frames the mountains silhouetted against the darkening sky.

"Perfect timing. I was about to claim that spot anyway."

Mayor Tapper stops by to clink his glass against ours, offering a cheerful toast to the changing seasons, before Ben approaches our table wielding a pitcher of cider, grinning wider than usual. "Halsey, you've got to try this. Ellie's secret recipe involves actual magic, I'm convinced."

"Stop being silly. It’s simply good apples and patience," Ellie calls from across the room, balancing plates of roasted vegetables.

The evening unfolds with the easy rhythm I've come to associate with Red Pine gatherings: shared stories, gentle teasing, plates passed around the table, and the quiet comfort of familiar company. Mrs. Doyle insists everyone try her roasted squash, while Beckham and Murphy debate the severity of the upcoming winter forecast. Across the room, Dave Morrison and Margie Harrington discusses the town's holiday preparations. Nolan and I fall into comfortable conversation between courses, occasionally dragged into lively debates with Sadie, Owen, and Amelia across the table, our knees brushing under the table whenever we lean in close.

"You're quiet tonight," I observe as the crowd begins thinning out.

"Just enjoying the view."

His eyes meet mine when he says it, and heat rises in my cheeks despite the cool air floating through the open door.

"Want to get some air?" he asks. "There's a spot behind the building where you can actually see the stars."

Slipping outside as the last volunteers finish cleaning up, we walk around to a small clearing where someone's arranged log benches in a semicircle. The night sky expands endlessly above us, stars brilliant in the absence of city lights.

"Wow." I tilt my head back, taking in the cosmic display. "You don't see this in the city."

"One of the advantages of living out in the wilds." Nolan plants himself beside me on the bench, close enough that his warmth radiates through the space surrounding us. "My father brought me out here when I was a kid. Says the stars help put things in perspective."

"Smart man."

"He definitely is. Taught me the ways of working with wood and reading weather patterns, along with how to move stealthily through the forest. Spent most of my childhood following him around these mountains. Still do, sometimes."

"Sounds like a good way to grow up."

"Better than most alternatives. What about you? Always been an artist?"

Stinging like an unexpected touch to a bruise, his words jostle right against the vulnerability I have tried to outrun since arriving in Red Pine. "Since I could hold a pencil. My parents thought it was adorable until I turned eighteen and announced I was majoring in scientific illustration instead of pre-med."

"They wanted a doctor?"