Page 11 of Easy, Tiger

"Tomorrow morning? Early enough to catch the mist lifting off Mirror Lake, but late enough that you won't hate me for dragging you out of bed."

"Eight o'clock?"

"Perfect." He fishes out his phone. "Your number, in case the weather turns?"

Rattling off the digits, I map the swift dance of his fingers across the screen—quick and sure, with the same practiced surety they must bring to wood grain. When he breaks his concentration to face me, he doesn't look away right away, and neither do I.

"I'll pick you up at your cabin," he says. "Bring layers. The temperature drops fast once we get to elevation."

"I'll be ready."

Suddenly needing distance from his overwhelming presence, I back away toward the door. "About those frames⁠—"

"I'll have estimates for you in a few days."

"Right, estimates." My hand finds the door handle. "See you tomorrow, Nolan."

"I’m looking forward to it, Halsey."

The way he says my name sends an unexpected jolt of electricity through me. Escaping into the afternoon sunshine, my thoughts race faster than they have in months, far beyond simply scheduling a hike.

Halfway down the block, an unbidden smile stretches across my face, already replaying the low rumble of his laugh and the calloused warmth of his palm alongside his teasing about rocks and artistic integrity. A week ago, I would have sworn Nolan Maren barely spoke in full sentences. Now I've agreed to meet him at dawn, and some reckless part of me is already counting the hours.

What the hell is wrong with me?

6

NOLAN

Dawn mist clings to the valley floor when I arrive at Halsey's cabin, my truck's headlights cutting through the gray half-light. Before I can even knock, she emerges, shouldering a well-worn hiking pack with the effortless grace of the deep wilderness.

"Morning." Her breath clouds in the crisp air. "Ready to show me your secret spots?"

"Coffee first." I hand her a thermos from the truck's console. "Fair warning—I take mine strong enough to wake the dead."

With both hands, she accepts the thermos, her fingers brushing mine. Taking a sip, she raises an eyebrow at the strong, black brew. "I've been getting Ellie's sweet, flavored lattes all week, but this straight black coffee hits the exact spot I needed. Perfect, I was beginning to think Red Pine ran on decaf and good intentions."

The bandage beneath my sleeve tugs tight against the wheel as I drive, a dull reminder that a few days isn't nearly enough time, even with Amelia's poultice working double-time under the wrapping. The mash of yarrow and whatever else she keeps secret has closed the wound faster than any normal human doctor could manage, but faster isn't the same as healed. Keeping my left arm loose on the door, I let Halsey fill the lull with questions about the ridgeline ahead and the color of the leaves, wondering aloud if we might spot any elk.

Once we park at the border of the timberline, we leave the truck behind and continue on foot. The trail I've chosen winds north through dense tree and oak stands, safely distant from enclave territory. Deer trails, worn flat over years, offer a better path than boot-beaten dirt as my senses inspect for signs of other shifters.

"This isn't on any map," she observes, clambering over a fallen birch.

Sweeping aside a low branch, I pin it until she passes, the stretch sharp against my stitches. "The best places never are. Tourism boards prefer their nature to be predictable and accessible."

"God forbid anyone should have to work for beauty." Captivated by a cluster of blooming asters, she pauses to admire their purple petals burning jewel-bright against the fading green. "These are gorgeous. Mind if I sketch them?"

Balancing her sketchbook on her knee, she takes a seat cross-legged on the forest floor while I watch. Her pencil moves quickly and confidently, capturing both the flowers and morning light filtering through the canopy above them. Completely absorbed, she remains unconscious of everything except the small patch of wilderness translating onto her paper.

"You see things differently than most people," I say.

"How so?"

"Most hikers want the destination. You're interested in the journey."

"Destinations are merely excuses to pay attention to everything in between." Raising her head, she reveals eyes bright with concentration. "Plus, the best subjects usually hide in the margins."

We continue deeper into the forest, following game trails that twist between granite outcroppings and moss-covered logs. Halsey stops frequently, photographing a hawk circling overhead, examining bear claw marks on an oak trunk, listening to a red squirrel scold us from a safe branch, and feeling the texture of the frayed edge of an old boundary marker.