Chapter 5
FIVE
DYLAN
Two days later, I’m ankle-deep in pine needles and sawdust when Quinn’s voice carries through the trees.
“Are you out here digging to the other side of the world, or what?”
I straighten, push my cap back, and wipe the sweat from my neck with the hem of my T-shirt.
“Just trying to make something worth the mess.”
He steps around a birch, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning the little stretch of trail I’ve been hacking away at all morning.
“Looks like the kind of mess Mom used to warn us about. You going feral again?”
“Something like that.”
He ducks under a low branch, curiosity replacing sarcasm as he spots the string of solar lights I’ve been testing.
“You building another obstacle course?”
“Not exactly.”
I gesture toward the curve of path where the first few decorations stand. They look a little ridiculous in daylight—painted mushrooms, a gnome missing half his beard, an old wagon wheel propped up like it’s waiting for a story to start.
But at night, with the fairy lights and the lantern jars I’ve rigged from Tricia’s craft stash, it’s got a pulse.
Quinn whistles. “Huh.”
“Yeah,” I say, suddenly nervous. “Got the idea from some of the stuff left in the old storage shed and a friend. Figured we could give it all a second life.”
He walks a few feet down the trail. Solar lights blink awake in the shade, one by one, little orbs catching in the dark green.
“This is…” He stops, nodding slowly. “Actually, this is good.”
“The trail’s rough still,” I admit. “Needs grading and a handrail by the creek, but—”
“—but it’s a place kids are gonna drag their parents through twice just to make sure the magic’s real,” Quinn finishes. “I can see it already.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Think it’ll help?”
He shoots me a sideways grin. “Everything helps when it’s made with heart. Which you clearly got too much of.”
“Don’t start.”
He ignores that. “So, where’d this come from? You don’t usually wake up and decide to build fairy kingdoms.”
I hesitate, then shrug. “Taegen.”
“Ah.” His smirk widens. “Our friendly neighborhood journalist.”
“It’s not like that,” I say quickly. “We were talking about the Enchanted Forest we used to play in. I figured—why not make it real? Kids like wonder. Grown-ups forget they do.”
Quinn leans against a tree, arms crossed. “You realize you just described half the reason this farm still exists, right? We sell nostalgia as much as pumpkins.”
“Guess I’m finally pulling my weight, then.”
“You always did. You just didn’t know it.”
When I glance back at the trail—the crooked gnomes, the jars strung with twine, the sunlight cutting through the trees like glass—it actually looks like something that might work.
Something that might last.
Quinn claps a hand on my shoulder. “Follow your gut, little brother. Seems like it’s leading somewhere good for a change.”
I grunt, pretending not to care, but my chest feels full in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
Taegen comes by later that afternoon to take more photos. I’m knee-deep in mulch when I hear her voice behind me.
“You’ve been busy.”
I turn, and there she is—jeans dusted with hay, camera bag over one shoulder, sunlight threading through her hair like gold ribbon. She looks curious, open, the way she used to when we’d dare each other to sneak into the barn loft.
“Come see,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “You’ll ruin your shoes, though.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
We walk the trail together, slow. She stops every few steps, taking it all in—the lights, the painted mushrooms, the bits of scrap metal turned into flowers. Her lips part on a small breath.
“Dylan,” she says softly. “It’s… beautiful.”
“Still rough around the edges.”
“So are most beautiful things.”
Her gaze moves from the lights to me. Something warm flickers in her eyes—recognition, maybe, or memory. “You made this because of what I said, didn’t you?”
“Maybe.” I scratch the back of my neck. “You called it an Enchanted Forest once. Figured it was time to make good on that promise.”
She steps closer, camera forgotten at her side. “You remember everything, don’t you?”
“Only the important parts.”
For a long second we just stand there, the sunlight turning to honey through the trees, the air thick with pine and possibility. She reaches up, fingertips brushing my jaw, gentle and certain at once.
Then she kisses me.
It’s nothing like the zipline—no rush of air, no adrenaline, just warmth. Her mouth is soft, sure, the taste of cider and something sweet I can’t name. My hand finds her waist, hers slides into my hair, and every reason I told myself this was a bad idea dissolves faster than the morning fog.
When she finally pulls back, we’re both breathless, grinning like idiots.
“That was—” she starts.
“Yeah,” I say.
She laughs quietly. “Maybe I’ll have to mention the Enchanted Forest in my article.”
“If you do, make sure to spell my name right.”
“Oh, believe me, I’d never spell it wrong.” She leans against my shoulder and my heart swells. “I probably knew how to spell your name before I could spell mine.”
She frowns, and her nose crinkles in the adorable way it always has when she’s thinking hard.
“Then again, in my defense, my dad did spell my name wrong on the birth certificate, which is how I became a Taegen instead of a Teagen.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a mistake, but a blessing.”
She frowns. “How’s that?”
“Well, maybe your dad knew you would be a fascinating woman who needed a name as equally fascinating and unique as herself.”
“Is that your nice way of saying I’m weird?”
“I’d never call you weird.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “What would you call me?”
“Smart. Brilliant. Clever,” I say, my throat swelling. “And so fucking beautiful, you can drive a man to distraction.”
Her lips part. “Do I distract you?”
“More than you’ll ever know.”
Then, I duck my lips to capture hers in a kiss to show her just how distracting I find her to be.