Page 17 of Easy, Tiger

"And this is Dr. Amelia Ross, our town physician," Nolan finishes, tossing a casual look toward the elegant woman beside me.

"It's wonderful to meet you," Amelia says with a warm, professional smile. "I've heard great things about your field guide project."

"Thank you," I reply, feeling oddly like I belong despite being the newest face at the table.

"First round's on the house for anyone who didn't fall through the boardwalk today," announces Murphy himself, a barrel-chested man with silver hair and laugh lines carved deep around his eyes.

"That disqualifies Beckham," calls someone from the other end of the table.

"Hey, that was a controlled descent," Beckham protests. "I was testing structural integrity."

"With your face?"

The laughter ripples around the table, and I find myself grinning despite the exhaustion seeping into my bones. My hands are dusted with sawdust, and my shoulders ache from hours of unfamiliar labor, but something about the easy camaraderie makes the discomfort feel earned rather than endured.

"What's the verdict on dinner?" Nolan asks, pretending to weigh his menu like the fate of the meal hangs on it. "Fish special or something that won't disappoint Beckham?"

"The shepherd's pie," I suggest. "Safe choice that still shows a little personality."

"Compromise, I like it." He closes his menu and turns his attention on me. "What about you? Planning to play it safe?"

"I was thinking about the elk burger. Go big or go home, right?"

"Dangerous philosophy. What if it's terrible?"

"Then I'll know not to order it again. Sometimes the risk is worth the information."

His smile mellows, becoming something warmer and more personal. "I'll remember that."

Dinner arrives in a blur of easy conversation and passed plates, the elk burger every bit as good as promised, and by the time our table's cleared, the crew is groaning about dessert while someone flags down Murphy for another round.

After dinner, the crowd migrates outside, where someone has built a bonfire in the pub's back courtyard. Chairs appear from various sources—mismatched lawn furniture and wooden crates—transforming the space into an impromptu amphitheater. The flames cast dancing shadows across faces I'm beginning to recognize, and the conversation flows with the unhurried rhythm of people who have nowhere else to be.

"Anyone bring a guitar?" Ben asks, easing himself into a chair with a satisfied groan.

"Dave's got one in his truck," Owen calls back, already moving to fetch it.

Within minutes, the guitar appears along with a bag of marshmallows and chocolate bars. Even Mayor Tapper takes a turn, strumming a surprisingly good rendition of an old folk song. Sadie and Amelia sit near the fire, roasting marshmallows and debating the best method for the perfect golden-brown crust, making it clear this bonfire tradition is much more organized than it initially appeared.

The temperature dips with the sun, and I cinch my jacket tighter, grateful for the fire's warmth. The guitar passes between several hands, each person contributing a song or two before passing it along. Nothing fancy—campfire classics and half-remembered folk songs that invite participation rather than performance.

"Cold?" Nolan asks, and before I can answer, he's shrugging out of his own jacket and draping it across my shoulders.

The gesture is simple and practical, but the warmth spreading through me stems entirely from something deeper than the extra layer of wool. His jacket wears the essence of woodshop and pine needles, an unmistakable signature of his that makes me want to burrow deeper into the fabric.

"Thank you," I return, and he responds with a smile that makes my pulse skip.

"Can't have our newest trail crew member freezing to death on her first day," he says, but his eyes suggest the consideration runs deeper than civic duty.

The guitar finds its way to a young woman with calloused fingertips who coaxes melodies from the strings like she's having a conversation with the instrument. Her voice rises with the smoke and sparks, singing words about mountains and home and the people who choose to stay rather than leave.

Inclining back in my chair with Nolan's jacket warm, I observe the faces around the fire. Without question, these people welcomed me and included me in their traditions, treating me like I belonged before I had proven I deserved it. The realization spreads warm like a heavy mantle, clinging too tight to shrug off.

Somewhere between the sawdust and the laughter, Red Pine stopped feeling like a place I was hiding and started feeling like home.

8

NOLAN