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I turn and stare up at him. “You did this?”

“I called Brody.” He rubs his jaw. “Brody called everybody.”

“You asked for help?”

“I certainly did.”

Oh, no. Here come the tears again, and this time I don’t even bother sniffing. I throw my arms around his waist in front of sixty people and squeeze as hard as I can. He smells like mud and cedar and coffee, and he’s warm all the way through.

“Professional,” he murmurs into my hair.

“Hush,” I say into his shirt. “I’m the boss. I’ll hug who I want.”

Over his shoulder, I spot Prue by the coffee urns with a clipboard. She’s watching us, and she doesn’t look one bit surprised. She just lifts her coffee cup at me like a toast.

Brody lands on the road in front of us with a thump that rattles my teeth. He shakes out the cargo net and grins.

“Morning, boss,” he says. “Where do you want the deck?”

I look at Holt, and Holt looks at me. Then I unroll my plans across the hood of his truck and get to work.

By lunch, there’s a line of people stretching from the washout all the way up the south loop, passing planks hand to hand like a bucket brigade. It’s loud and messy and wonderful, and somebody has a radio playing Dolly Parton.

Halfway through the afternoon, a woman with a bouncy ponytail and a cooler the size of a coffin marches up the trail toward me.

“You must be Wren!” she says, beaming. “I’m Celeste, Brody’s big sister. I brought sandwiches. Also juice boxes. Also a first-aid kit, but I see you’ve got your own walking one.” She winks at Holt. “Where do you need me?”

“Um,” I say. “Everywhere?”

“Perfect. That’s my favorite place.”

Within ten minutes, Celeste has breaks, snacks and blister checks covered. She’s slotted every volunteer into my build teams too. The werewolf is on hauling. The pale man is on shade-side concrete. The bakery ladies are on hydration.

“How did you do that?” I ask her.

“I looked after the animals in a traveling circus for years,” she says, unwrapping a sandwich. “Ponies, mostly. My Milly was the sweetest. Also one very rude goat. People are easier. Most of them don’t bite.”

Her phone buzzes. She checks the screen, and her cheeks go pink.

“Work?” I ask.

“My boss at the detective agency.” She types a quick reply and tucks the phone away. “He doesn’t like it when I take a day off. He says the office is too quiet.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, it’s very quiet without me.” Her smile turns a tiny bit secret. “He’s a very quiet man. And very big. And very grumpy.” She shrugs and bites her sandwich. “I’m working on it.”

Then she’s off again, cheerfully bossing the werewolf, and I’m standing there with fifteen questions and zero answers.

Late in the afternoon, Brody lands by the Lookout with the last load of the day and shakes sawdust out of his wings. Holt hands him a coffee, and the two of them stand side by side looking at the footings we dug by hand. One green, one gray, both enormous. Honestly, it’s like watching two mountains admire a sandcastle.

“Not bad for a guy who used to break his leg for fun,” Holt says.

“That was one time. At a circus.” Brody sips his coffee. “Anyway, I’m built tougher now.”

I can’t help myself. “Was it the punch? Or Dr. Karloff’s potion?” I’ve heard the town stories.

“The potion didn’t do a thing.” Brody grins at me over his cup, slow and smug. “Took a lot more than a potion.”