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“Don’t,” I say.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

She grins. “My face can do what it likes.”

Prue finds us at the Lookout at four o’clock, when the crowds are starting to thin and the light is going long and gold over the valley.

She has a folder under her arm, and her reading glasses are pushed up on her head, and she looks happier than I’ve seen her look in ten years.

“Twelve hundred and eighty visitors,” she says. “The comment cards are in. Do you want to know what they say?”

“Yes,” Wren says.

“Best day of my vacation. Best trail in the state. My kids want to come back tomorrow. And one that just says ORC RANGER, with a lot of hearts.” She looks at me. I look at the valley. “The council pre-approved my recommendation pending opening day. You opened on time. Donated lumber and volunteer labor brought it in under budget. The morning count met their target. The council chair walked the whole loop this morning. They held an emergency vote at lunch.”

Wren goes very still beside me. I can hear her heart start to pound.

“They’ve funded it,” Prue says. “A permanent second wildlife officer for Screaming Woods. Starting in October.” She holds out the folder. “I want it to be you, Wren. I’ve wanted it to be you since the day you walked in. The contract’s in there.”

Wren stares at the folder. She doesn’t take it.

“Prue,” she says. Her voice cracks. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything yet.” Prue presses the folder into her hands. “Take tonight. Enjoy the festival. Bring it back to me tomorrow, signed or not.” She pats Wren’s arm and turns to go. Then she stops and looks at me over her shoulder. “Be nice to this one, Holt.”

“I’m always nice to her.”

“I know,” Prue says, and walks off down the trail, humming.

Wren is still holding the folder in both hands, the way she held the carved wren the night I gave it to her.

She looks up at me. Her eyes are huge and wet.

She told me once that she goes where the work is. She’s never stayed anywhere longer than a contract. And she’s spent her whole life getting told to make herself smaller so she’ll fit somewhere.

What if she doesn’t want to fit here? What if she wants the wetlands and the birds and a whole new map?

Then I’ll love her anyway. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t want her to stay.

I know what I want. I want her here, in my forest, in my cabin, in my bed, for the rest of my life.

But I’m not going to ask her in front of twelve hundred people and an old man on a bench.

I’m going to ask her tonight. Properly. And I’m going to give her every reason I have to say yes.

CHAPTER 13

SIGNED, SEALED, DELIVERED

WREN

Holt walks down the trail to help Brody load hay bales while I sit on the bench at the Lookout, Prue’s folder in my lap.

The bench faces the valley, just as he drew it. The sun sets behind me, casting the entire valley in shades of gold and pink, like a peach smoothie spilled across the hills.

I open the folder.