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Hattie

My head is spinning.

Being in Noble’s space, seeing how he lives, finding that photo and the bracelet I made him all those years ago—it’s all left me feeling closer to him.

I don’t know why I tied it back on his wrist. I don’t know why I pulled out mine.

I don’t even know why I still carry it around in my bag.

Yes, you do, Hattie.

It’s a stupid bracelet. But somehow, it was like I was finally, fully agreeing to being his friend. Both feet in.

Never mind those feet are now attached to wobbly legs.

We go outside, and I tell myself that brushing the hair away from my eyes is a perfectly normal thing for a friend to do.

Perfectly normal.

I mean, none of my friends have ever done that before, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t if, you know, my hair got loose.

Ugh. I’m doing it again. Overanalyzing.

At fifteen, I was certain that when I made him laugh it meant he liked me. Or when he stuck up for me with my brothers, it was because he had feelings too. As my feelings for him deepened, I had a bad habit of seeing what wasn’t there.

Turning every innocent, friendly interaction into a declaration of love.

It’s clear, though, that he didn’t feel that way then—I was his best friend, like he said. A friend he probably looked at like a sister.

If that’s all it is now, it might be enough. It might even be good.

Seems like Noble needs a friend.

There are chairs set up around a small fire pit, and as I unwrap the hot dogs, he starts the fire. “As someone who has spent the last year renovating an old hunting lodge, I’m impressed with what you did with that trailer.”

“It was fun,” he says. “But I feel like I’m ready for a new project. I liked having something to keep myself busy.”

“Like another trailer?” I ask.

He blows on the fire gently until it catches. “Maybe. Or a house.”

“House. Ooh. That’s a lot more permanent.” I’m impressed with myself because I played that very cool for someone who’s mind is screaming in all caps: WHERE?

I think about Noble’s mission to feel accepted here in Silverwood. Maybe winning over the people of this town is about more than making amends. Maybe he really does want to come home. I’ve been hesitant to believe that, but I’m not sure why. He hasn’t wavered in his stance at all.

I stand back and look at the trailer. There’s a canopy propped up over the chairs, and I start to imagine what I would do to make the whole space a little cozier. Noble might’ve turned into a neat freak, but this place could still use a woman’s touch.

“You know,” I say, “I think you might’ve just given me a great idea.”

“Oh yeah? You’re welcome, then, I guess.” He smiles, still kneeling in front of the fledgling fire. “What is it?”

“What if . . . what if I renovate a couple more of these trailers? Turn them into outdoor adventures for people out here at the ranch,” I say, the idea still taking shape.

“Glamping,” Noble says.

“Glamping.” I smile, remembering his suggestion that first day he got here. I didn’t see it then. I see it now.

“We could also do platforms with tents and white lights and deck them out with some of the modern conveniences, but more of an outdoor experience than staying in the lodge.” He breaks a skinny stick in half and tosses it in the fire.