Chapter 3
THREE
LANIE
My heart hasn’t stopped hammering since the second I realized Huck and TJ were gone.
Van’s already moving—his stride long and sure, voice calm in that firefighter way that makes everyone else think there’s nothing to panic about even when the world’s on fire. I cling to that steadiness like it’s oxygen.
“Dylan!” I call, spotting my brother behind the wheel of the tractor as a hayrack full of tourists rumbles past. “The boys are missing! They were just at the corn box!”
His eyes go wide. “I’ll circle the maze and the patch. Quinn’s on the ATV near the barn—I’ll radio him.”
“Thanks,” I shout as Van jogs beside me toward the maze entrance.
The cheerful laughter of kids inside hits like a slap. I squeeze through the rows of hay, scanning the paths for flashes of red or yellow. My throat’s dry. “Huck! TJ!”
There’s nothing but giggles and rustling straw.
“They’re smart,” Van says behind me, voice low but confident. “They’ll stick together. We’ll find them.”
“I know,” I say, even though my chest aches with guilt. “I should’ve been watching them. I should’ve—”
A crackle on Van’s radio interrupts my spiral.
Quinn’s voice bursts through. “We found some tiny footprints near the woods behind the barn. Heading that way.”
We’re already running before he finishes. Gravel crunches under my boots, adrenaline pushing me faster than I’ve moved in years. Van keeps pace easily.
We crest the small hill overlooking the barn, and I see it—the winding path to the Enchanted Forest. Solar lights twinkle between the trees, faint even in daylight, and my stomach drops.
I think about the ravine in the middle of it.
“Oh, God.”
“They probably thought it looked fun,” Van says, scanning the path. “Come on.”
We slow as we hit the shade of the trees, our breathing loud in the quiet. Then a familiar laugh echoes through the branches.
“Huck!”
“Mommy!” he calls back. “We found fairies!”
I nearly melt with relief. Van’s hand finds my elbow, steadying me as we round the bend.
There they are—Huck and TJ, kneeling in a patch of ferns beside one of the carved gnomes Dylan and Tricia added to the trail. The boys are whispering to it like it might whisper back. When they see us, they both freeze.
“Uh-oh,” TJ mutters.
“Yeah, uh-oh,” Van says, trying not to smile.
I kneel in front of Huck. “You scared me half to death, buddy.”
“Sorry, Mommy,” he says, eyes big and earnest. “We just wanted to see the magic woods.”
Van crouches beside TJ. “And you didn’t think to tell me first?”
TJ bites his lip. “We were gonna come right back.”
“Well, now we know,” Van says gently. “No wandering off without a grown-up. Deal?”
Both boys nod, solemn as church mice.
“Okay then,” I sigh. “You’re forgiven. But you’re grounded from fairy adventures until further notice.”
They giggle and race ahead toward the entrance, already planning their next pretend rescue mission.
When they’re far enough ahead, I finally breathe again. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For staying calm.”
“Comes with the job,” he says, smiling. “But for the record, you held it together better than half the guys on my crew would’ve.”
I glance around the forest, taking it in now that my vision isn’t tunneled by fear. Sunlight filters through the trees, catching on bits of colored glass and the shimmer of paint on mushrooms. It really does feel enchanted.
“I forget how beautiful this place is,” I murmur. “Dylan and Tricia really outdid themselves.”
“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “But I think it’s more than the lights and paint. It’s… what you all built here. It feels like more than a patch. It feels like home.”
I turn to look at him—and that’s my mistake. He’s close enough that I can see the faint scar on his jaw, the golden flecks in his eyes.
His hand brushes mine where it hangs at my side, and something in my stomach flips.
For a heartbeat, the world narrows to the space between us.
He leans in just a little. “Lanie…”
I take a step back. “We can’t.”
He blinks, confusion giving way to understanding. “Because I’m the fire chief?”
“Because I don’t have room for any of this.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “My life is Huck and this farm. That’s all I can handle right now.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I repeat, thrown by how easily he says it.
“Yeah.” His smile returns, slow and sincere. “Then how about we call it friendship? At least for now.”
I want to say no. I want to tell him even that feels too risky. But the warmth in his eyes—and the sound of our boys laughing down the trail—softens me.
“Friends,” I say finally, holding out my hand.
He takes it, his grip strong and gentle all at once. “Friends,” he echoes.
But as we walk out of the forest side by side, his fingers brushing mine now and then, I can’t help wondering who either of us is fooling.
Because the air between us still feels like kindling.
And I have a bad—or maybe wonderful—feeling that it’s only a matter of time before something sparks.