Page 24 of Easy, Tiger

His fingers are surprisingly warm as they close around mine, firm and sure as he pulls me to my feet. We don't immediately let go, standing there in the starlight with our hands linked, neither of us in any hurry to be the one who lets it end.

"Ready?" he asks softly.

"Yes, I am."

We walk back through town, past the visitor center where the last volunteers are loading supplies into their trucks. Ben waves from beside his pickup, calling out his thanks for helping with the evening. The streets lie hushed except for the distant sound of laughter traveling from someone's back porch.

"You were right about this place getting under your skin," I say as we follow the winding path toward my cabin.

"Starting to feel permanent?"

"More than I expected. Scary thought, considering I came here planning to disappear for a few months."

"Plans change."

"Do they? I've spent the last year convinced I was done trusting my instincts about people."

"What do your instincts tell you now?"

His words linger in the air, traveling with us all the way to the edge of my property. Light from my cabin windows spills across the small clearing, warm and welcoming against the dark forest beyond.

"That maybe I've been too careful," I say.

We stop at my front steps, neither of us moving toward the door. The night air is crisp, mixing with Nolan's familiar presence—his workshop and an elusive hint of something wilder.

"Careful isn't always wrong," he says. "Especially after someone breaks your trust."

"But it's lonely."

"Yeah. It is." It takes a visible toll on him to confess it. The slight strain of his shoulders gives it away, alongside the stories behind his eyes—experiences that taught him about betrayal and caution.

"Thank you for tonight," I say, climbing the first step so we're nearly the same height. "For the carved bird and spending all this time with me."

"Thank you for staying."

His hand reaches up to brush a curl that's escaped from my braid, fingers gentle against my cheek. The touch sends warmth racing through me, and I arch slightly into his palm before catching myself.

"Goodnight, Nolan."

"Goodnight, Halsey."

The wait ends with an unlocked door and a fierce hug that wraps around me before I can pass inside. His jaw presses firmly against the crown of my head, rubbing with a deep, lingering pressure, leaving me enveloped in his undeniable scent of cedar and wilderness. I don't know why the gesture feels so grounding, so profoundly reassuring, but my heart flutters as he draws back.

Waiting until I’m inside, he turns back toward town, his footsteps muffled on the forest path. I peep through the window until his silhouette fades between the trees, then rest against the closed door with the carved blackbird clutched in my palm.

The cabin has transformed somehow, shifting from a mere temporary shelter into a real home. The sketches covering my walls and the books stacked beside the fireplace—along with the coffee mug I left on the kitchen counter this morning—testify to a life being built rather than time being passed.

Grabbing the carved bird from my bedroom, I sit it on the windowsill and pore over its details for a long while, turning over the question I'm not sure I'm ready to answer yet. A year ago I would have called this reckless, handing pieces of myself to someone I've known a matter of weeks. But something about how Nolan listens so closely and pops up entirely unprompted makes the old caution feel less like wisdom and more like a habit I am finally ready to break.

Maybe I'm not done trusting people after all. Maybe I merely needed to find the right one first.

10

NOLAN

The walk back to town does nothing to soothe the storm building in my chest. Every step away from Halsey's cabin feels wrong, like I'm fighting against gravity itself. The mating bond throbs beneath my skin, demanding I turn around and claim her with a savage hunger that would terrify any rational human being.

Veering off the main path, I head deeper into the forest, where the scent markers begin in enclave territory. The familiar surroundings of home, where pine and earth mingle with the subtle musk that marks our kind, should bring comfort. Instead, they highlight how isolated I've become, caught between two worlds with no clear path forward.