Page 88 of Easy, Tiger

"He mentioned something about Ellie bringing her famous apple cake and Owen supplying the beer."

"Owen's bringing beer to celebrate your business venture?" Nolan shakes his head, chuckling. "You've really become one of us, haven't you?"

"Completely and irrevocably." Yielding to the pull between us, I slide my hands up his chest to rest against his shoulders. "Though I suppose someone should officially welcome me to Red Pine. You know, make it proper and ceremonial."

Heat darkens his expression. "I guess I should be the first one to officially welcome you to Red Pine." His voice softens to that low rumble that makes my knees forget their primary function. "Though maybe in a more naked way."

"Much more naked," I agree breathlessly. "For the sake of proper ceremony, of course."

"Of course." His grin turns wicked as he sweeps me off my feet, whisking me off toward the bedroom with the easy strength that still surprises me. "Can't have you feeling unwelcome in your new hometown."

Murphy's Bar buzzes with energy that only comes from a town celebrating its own. Every table overflows with neighbors who've known each other for decades, their laughter mixing with the clink of beer bottles and the scrape of chairs being pulled closer together. The air is thick with Ellie's famous apple cake and whatever Murphy's been slow-cooking in the back kitchen all day.

"Speech! Speech!" Ben calls out from behind the bar, his grin so wide it threatens to split his face entirely. He raises his beer bottle toward me like a conductor's baton. "Come on, Halsey. After seeing those gorgeous wildlife identification panels you finished for the new trail markers today, you can't accept our congratulations without giving us a speech."

"I'm much better with a pencil than a microphone," I protest, but Nolan's hand finds the small of my back, nudging me gently forward.

"You survived being kidnapped by a psychopath," Owen deadpans from his corner booth. "Pretty sure you can handle a room full of friendly drunks."

"Speak for yourself," calls out Margie Harrington from the pottery studio. "I'm perfectly sober and twice as friendly."

The laughter that follows feels warm and inclusive, wrapping around me like one of Ellie's oversized sweaters. Standing, I accept the bottle Ben slides across the bar and survey faces that have become as familiar as my own reflection.

"Back in September, I came here thinking Red Pine was temporary," I begin, my voice traveling better than expected over the gentle din. "A place to hide until I figured out how to fix my life."

"And now?" Ellie prompts from her seat near the window, her eyes twinkling with maternal pride.

"Now I know I wasn't broken. I simply hadn't found home yet." I raise my bottle toward the room. "You all gave me something I didn't even know I was missing—a place where people judge you by who you are, not what strangers on the internet say about you."

Ben wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, not even attempting subtlety. "Damn allergies acting up again."

"Must be all that sawdust from Nolan's workshop floating around," Murphy calls from behind the grill, his voice suspiciously thick.

"That's not how air circulation works," Owen mutters, but his expression has softened considerably.

Catching Nolan's gaze across the room, I see pride and love reflected in those amber eyes that first captivated me in his workshop. "Red Pine taught me that home is a place that finds you when you are finally ready to be found."

The applause erupts spontaneously, accompanied by the sound of bottles clinking against tables and chairs scraping as people stand to embrace me. Ellie reaches me first, wrapping me in an embrace of unconditional acceptance.

"Welcome home, dear," she whispers against my ear. "Officially and permanently."

Grace squeezes my shoulder next, already talking about donating a shelf of my prints to the library's local history collection. Karlene stuffs a jar of her own canned preserves into my hands, insisting the studio needs "something homemade on the shelf for character." Dave raises his glass in a silent, respectful toast from the edge of the bar, while Mrs. Doyle passes an enormous slice of her famous cherry pie into my hands. Margie insists my new studio will need some of her custom ceramic brush holders. Even Beckham raises his beer toward me from across the room, hollering something about hiring me to paint a mural on his garage that I choose not to take seriously, though Ben embraces the notion with far too much eagerness.

Nolan waits until the crowd around me thins, patient with that lifelong steadfastness of his, before he closes the distance between us and takes both my hands in his.

"Home," he says quietly, just for me, "was always going to be wherever you decided to plant yourself. I'm glad it turned out to be here."

The word locks into my chest like a missing puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

32

NOLAN

The snow crunches beneath our boots as we follow the familiar path through the forest, each step muffled by the thick blanket of white that transformed Red Pine into something from a winter postcard. Over one month since Nico's arrest, and the world feels fundamentally different—more peaceful, safer, like the mountains themselves can finally exhale.

"You're being awfully mysterious about this hike," Halsey says, adjusting her wool scarf against the December chill. Her breath creates small puffs of vapor that dissipate quickly in the crisp air. "Usually you tell me where we're going before dragging me out into sub-freezing temperatures."

"Since when do you mind a little mystery?" Swiping aside a heavy, snow-laden branch, I keep it braced so she slips past safely before the powder can cascade down on her. "Besides, you've been cooped up in that studio for three days straight. Fresh air won't kill you."