Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
No longer the quiet wilderness outpost I’d first encountered, the Adventure Center now crackled with raw, vibrant energy.
Festival-goers packed every available space, moving between vendor stalls, conservation booths, and the main stage area where Axel Ryder, backed by the Wayward Sons, were delivering their third set of the day.
I wove through the crowd, stopping to pose for selfies with fans who recognized me from my viral grouse video, now lovingly dubbed “The Disco Chicken Dance” across multiple social media platforms. The genuine enthusiasm on their faces, not just for meeting me, but for the cause we were championing, sent a surge of pride through me, unlike anything I’d felt from posting perfectly filtered breakfast photos.
Parker materialized at my elbow, an iPad in one hand and his laptop in the other. “The numbers are insane,” he announced, falling into step beside me. “We’ve blown past all projections.”
“Details, Parker. Feed me details.”
He flipped the tablet around, revealing a dashboard of analytics that made my social media marketer heart skip a beat.
“Over two thousand attendees so far, and they’re still coming.
The petition has over five thousand signatures.
The livestream has viewers from thirty-seven states and twelve countries. ”
“And the hashtag?”
“Trending nationally.” His grin widened. “And ‘Chinese Mountain Cuisine’ is now trending in three major metropolitan areas. Your parents’ fusion menu is generating its own buzz; we’ve got food bloggers from Denver who left the festival there to come here just to try it.”
I glanced toward the food tent, where my parents presided over a line that snaked around the parking lot.
Possibly all the way back to Los Angeles.
Mom wielded her ladle like a conductor’s baton, directing Dad and three hastily recruited local volunteers through a synchronized cooking dance.
The Disco Chicken Dumplings had sold out twice already, with patrons returning for seconds of the Migration Moon Cakes.
Al even had to make a second flapjack run.
“I’d better get back to the main stage. The timing of the Kevin the Goshawk and Gary the Grouse mashup gets tricky, so I prefer to handle that one myself.”
As Parker returned to the AV equipment command center, I wove between booths, just soaking up the scene. Near the conservation education area, children gathered in an excited semicircle, their attention focused not on the impressive wildlife displays or interactive exhibits, but on Yeti.
Noah’s wolf-dog had become the festival’s unofficial mascot, sporting a handmade bandana emblazoned with a disco-dancing grouse that Brie had crafted the night before.
“Now remember,” Diego instructed the wide-eyed kids as Yeti sat with regal patience, “wilderness creatures aren’t pets. They’re wild animals that deserve our respect and space.”
Understanding her role in this demonstration, Yeti offered a paw to a small girl in pigtails, who giggled with delight at the contradiction.
The “Pet the Wolf-Dog, Save Her Home” attraction was Brie’s idea, with a suggested donation that already filled three five-gallon jars.
Each child received a “Junior Conservation Ranger” badge, complete with Yeti’s paw print stamp of approval.
When the demonstration ended, Yeti wagged her tail with such enthusiasm her entire rear end swayed.
My attention shifted back to the stage when a cheer rose from the crowd. The band finished their song, and Axel leaned into the microphone, voice carrying across the festival grounds.
“We’ve got a special surprise for you all,” he announced, prompting another round of cheers. “Someone who’s been essential to protecting the wilderness we all love is going to join us for our next number.”
My stomach dropped as Axel’s gaze settled on Noah. “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Aster Park’s very own mountain guardian, Noah Barrett!”
The crowd erupted, and I couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the look of pure horror that crossed Noah’s face. He shook his head vehemently, trying to back away as Jenn and Diego each grabbed an arm and shoed him toward the stage.
“No way.” I watched in disbelief as Noah reluctantly mounted the steps, looking like a man approaching his own execution. “Noah Barrett sings?”
“Not in a long time,” said Brie, stepping up beside me. She hit record on her phone. “This is going to be gold.”
Noah stood awkwardly at center stage, accepting a guitar with the enthusiasm of someone being handed a live snake. For a minute, it was touch and go whether Noah was going to hit Axel over the head with the guitar, or flee the stage entirely.
But as soon as his fingers made contact with the instrument, his entire body went still. For a split second, his face calmed, even that hard jaw relaxed.
The crowd’s roar intensified, and a chant began to build: “No-ah! No-ah!” But he didn’t seem to hear them, somewhere else entirely, his thumb unconsciously running along the guitar’s worn edge.
“I can’t believe he’s actually doing this.” Brie seemed as mesmerized as I was.
I leaned forward, desperate to watch what came next.
“Some of you locals might remember,” Axel continued into the microphone. “That before Noah was your friendly neighborhood wilderness guide, he and I used to play a bit of music back in high school.”
The ripple of surprise that moved through the audience was nothing compared to what I was seeing play out on Noah’s face.
“This next song is an old one,” Axel continued, “but it feels right for today. It’s about finding something real in a world of illusions. Something authentic when everything else is just for show.” His eyes flicked briefly toward me, then back to Noah. “It’s called ‘Seeing Clear.’”
When the drummer counted them in, Noah’s fingers moved across the strings. The opening notes rang crisp and clear, but I was watching Noah’s face, seeing the exact moment when he finally let go. Like he’d forgotten where he was, and who was watching.
And then something amazing happened.
Noah began to sing.
His voice wasn’t polished. Wasn’t perfect.
It carried a rough-edge that matched the rugged contours of his face.
Every note carried weight. And as his voice filled the festival grounds, I watched something extraordinary happen.
The weight of the world drifted off his shoulders and floated away on the breeze.
“Through all the filters, past all the lies,
I finally see you with unclouded eyes.
What looks like chaos might be a dance,
in wilderness wisdom I found my chance.”
As Noah sang, his gaze swept the crowd, finding mine. The air between us seemed to vibrate as the chorus built. Noah never took his eyes off me.
“I’m seeing clear for the first time,
mountains rising in my mind.
What once was distant now feels near,
I’m finally, finally seeing clear.”
Brie nudged me, a smile on her lips. “You do realize he’s singing about you, right?”
I didn’t have the breath to form any words. My heart beat faster with every note. The lyrics washed over me, each verse peeling back another layer of whatever had built up between us.
On stage, Noah seemed transformed, the reluctance melting away as the music took over. He leaned into the microphone for the bridge, his voice dropping to an intimate rasp that somehow cut through the ambient noise of the festival.
“City lights can’t outshine the stars,
authentic hearts leave the deepest scars.
What seemed so foreign now feels like home,
in your reflection, I’m not alone.”
The realization hit me with the subtlety of a mountain avalanche.
“Oh, no.”
“What?” asked Brie.
It wasn’t just attraction or chemistry or the adrenaline rush of shared adventures that was forming between Noah and me.
It was something deeper. Something that had been building since our first hike together.
Since he’d rescued me from the rapids. Since we’d sheltered together in that storm-swept cabin in the middle of nowhere, just the two of us all alone.
“I think I’m falling in love with your brother.”
Brie smiled. “And you’re just now figuring that out?”
The thought should have terrified me. I, Samantha Li, aspiring social media maven and dedicated city girl, fell for a grumpy mountain man whose flip phone was not only not Wi-Fi enabled but also held together with duct tape.
But instead of terrifying me, it settled in my chest with the comfortable weight of something that had been there all along.
Just waiting for me to notice it.
As the song built toward its final chorus, Parker switched the massive screen behind the stage to the grouse footage.
The ridiculous bird appeared in all its glory, chest puffed, performing its bizarre mating dance in perfect synchronization with the music’s rhythm.
The crowd roared their approval, phones raised to capture the unlikely combination of wilderness conservation, live music, and disco-dancing wildlife.
Noah’s voice rose for the final chorus, his eyes finding mine again across the sea of upturned faces. The connection between us felt almost tangible, like a tether pulling us together despite time and space.
“I’m seeing clear for the first time,
Mountains rising in my mind,
What once was distant now feels near,
Are we finally seeing clear?”
The song ended, and the silence that followed lasted only a heartbeat before the crowd erupted. Noah looked momentarily stunned by the reaction, then offered an awkward half-bow before attempting to escape the stage. Axel caught him by the arm, forcing him to stay for another round of applause.
I stood frozen, the revelation of my feelings rendering me temporarily incapable of movement.
Noah Barrett.
I was falling in love with Noah Barrett.
As Noah finally extracted himself from Axel’s embrace and descended from the stage, a commotion at the festival entrance broke through my emotional epiphany.
Heads turned toward the source of the disturbance, conversations faltering as a familiar four-wheel-drive golf cart careened into the parking lot.
The vehicle still bore the scars of my crash, dented front bumper, cracked windshield, one headlight dangling.
Marcus and Victoria stepped out, and like someone flipping off a light switch, the energy of the entire festival changed.