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“I see that.” I chuckle before nodding to his red-and-black-checkered shirt. “Might be a tad overkill?”

I set down the bouquet on the table, admiring the tasteful arrangement of yellow sunflowers, orange daisies, chrysanthemums, and burgundy berries wrapped in golden oak leaves.

“What?” He laughs, looking down at his clothes. “You don’t like my plaid shirt?”

I shake my head. “I think you’re gonna be drenched by the end of the day.” I point to his boots. “Although I’m sure the tourists will eat this up.”

Matt laughs again. “What can I say? I need to be on-brand for the Autumn Festival kickoff. I even trimmed my beard, see?”

I snort. “Trimmed” is a pretty strong word for the half inch he cut from the dark-blond beard gracing his face. Matthew looks like the mountain man stereotype: long hair, long beard, gruff around the edges, but with a heart of gold. There’s still something funny to me about a guy like him handling delicate flowers daily, but I couldn’t picture him doing anything else.

“You have a lot of stock this year,” I say as we walk back to his truck to pick up some pumpkins. We pass by curious onlookers who are already starting to gather at the entrance to the park, looking at the artisans setting up their stalls and putting up their signs. It’s still early, and the Pine Falls Autumn Festival doesn’t open for another hour, but that’s the way it’s always been. People are excited to get the two-day celebration started.

Our little town of six hundred twenty inhabitants nestled in the heart of British Columbia has already tripled in population since last week, the hotels are full, the streets vibrate with activity, and the local stores are readying themselves for the most important event of the year. Even my normally peaceful hiking trails have been busier than usual.

I get it. Nothing comes close to the show fall puts on in this town. I’ve never seen anything like it. Between the colors, the river, and the mountains, it’s nothing short of postcard worthy. And my own paradise.

“It’s been my busiest season this year, man,” Matt says. “Business is going so well I don’t know if I’ll be able to take time off before next year.”

“You’ve been putting your heart and soul into this. I’m not surprised people can’t get enough.” I set the pumpkin down before clapping his back. “We’ll celebrate your success at the festival with the whole gang next Friday.”

“Why don’t you rent a stand this year?” he asks, plopping down on the folding chair he brought from his truck. “You’ve been making amazing wood pieces. It could help, you know. With the money and all.”

“I don’t want to sell them,” I tell him, adjusting the pumpkins and haystacks until both sides of the booth look perfectly symmetrical.

“I’m just saying. You’re very talented, and people would grab them like hot croissants.” He squints his eyes. “What are you doing?”

I pick up one of the arrangements and reposition it so that the flowers face the festival goers. “You might be good at making those bouquets, but your placement is all off. Look.” I point at the cornucopia centerpiece. Half of it is hidden by the dried pampas grass standing tall in front of it. “How can you expect people to buy your beautiful creations when they can’t even see them?”

I move things around and give the table a little more breathing space. “And voilà! That’s your eye-catching piece now.”

He whistles. “Thanks, Oli.” His gaze falls on the notebook, and his eyebrow arches. “Still going at it, uh?”

“Yeah, well . . .” I sigh. “I think I might hang up the pen and focus on what’s ahead.”

“Good.” He nods. “About time.”

My phone vibrates in my back pocket before I can offer any further explanations. My boss’s contact information flashes on the screen.

“Oliver, thank god,” Donna says when I answer. “I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I have something urgent we need to discuss. I can’t say on the phone. Can you meet me in the office today?”

“Today?”

I live about three hours north of Vancouver, but my work doesn’t require me to come into the office except for an emergency. I’m closer to nature here, and that’s where I need to be for the type of stories I cover as a journalist for Wild Planet, a global monthly publication dedicated to shining a light on issues facing our planet.

“Yes, today,” Donna replies. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask you to drive all the way down if it weren’t important.”

I check my watch. “Sure, yeah. I’ll be on the road in a few.” I hang up, then slide the phone back into my pocket.

Matt’s head whips in my direction. “You’re leaving?”

Guilt is already digging its claws into me. “I’m needed at the office. Something urgent. I’m sorry, man. I know I said I’d be here all day to help you with the stall.”

He looks around, and I see that the thought of handling this all by himself is overwhelming, especially with how busy he’s already been this year. I told him that he could count on me, and here I am, already bolting.

Where are your priorities, Oliver?

But despite the panic settling on his face, he says, “Don’t worry about it. Work’s important.”