Chapter 14
New Favorite Place
The morning after the Harvest Festival was wonderfully quiet. The festival grounds had already been cleared by the time I wandered into town. Only a few stray pieces of straw remained scattered across the square, evidence that yesterday had been filled with laughter and music.
I smiled to myself. The rainbow ribbon from yesterday still hung on the little peg by my front door. I’d caught myself looking at it three times before leaving the cottage. The flower crown was disassembled and pressed into a favorite book of mine.
“Pearl.” Urchin was standing beside the old stone well in the center of town, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. Handsome as ever, without even trying.
I gave an awkward little wave. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He smiled. “Busy today?”
I shifted the strap of my duffle bag on my shoulder. “I was planning on painting.”
“I figured.”
“I know,” I giggled. “I’m predictable.” I echoed my sentiment from yesterday.
“A little bit.”
I pretended to look offended. “I have layers.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I chuckled again.
“So…” He hesitated for just a moment. “There’s somewhere I think you’d like. It’s out in the Briarwood.”
“I’ve already seen the lake. What else is out there?”
He smiled. “Do you trust me?”
I looked at him for only a second before answering. “Yeah. I do.”
Something softened in his expression. “Come on.”
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Golden shafts of sunlight filtered through the towering trees, dancing across the forest floor. Birds flitted from branch to branch overhead while squirrels darted across fallen logs. Every few minutes I’d stop to admire a mushroom or patch of moss. Urchin never hurried me. If I stopped, he stopped. If I wandered a few feet off the trail to admire a cluster of tiny blue wildflowers, he simply waited or looked with me. After nearly half an hour of walking and distractions, the trail became narrower. Less traveled.
“Not many people come this way,” he said.
“I can tell.” Roots twisted across the path beneath our feet.
Eventually, the trees opened. I stopped walking. “Oh…”
Nestled in a small clearing stood the crumbling remains of an old stone building. One wall had collapsed completely. The roof had long since disappeared. Vines climbed over weathered stone, and moss blanketed nearly every surface. An ancient archway still stood proudly despite the years. Wildflowers had claimed what had once been the floor.
“It looks like nature decided to take it back.”
Urchin smiled.
“What was it?”
“I asked around. No one’s really sure. Most didn’t even know what I was talking about.” He walked over, resting a hand on one of the old stone walls. “Some said it was an old trading post. I’ve heard hunting lodge. Someone once told me it was a watchtower.”
I laughed. “So nobody knows.”
“Not anymore.”
I slowly wandered through the ruins. Every angle was beautiful. The broken stone. The ivy. The sunlight filtering through where the roof used to be.
“You were right. I love it.”
“I knew you would.”
“I have to paint this.”
“I thought you might.”
I set up my easel beneath one of the old oak trees while Urchin settled onto a nearby fallen stone. He pulled a small notebook from his bag.
“You carry notebooks with you?”
“They’re lighter than carrying conversations.”
I giggled quietly. “I can’t argue with that.”
“So, I’m just going to sit here and write while you paint.”
“I didn’t know you wrote.”
“I have layers.”
I stuck my tongue out. We both cracked up.
For the next couple of hours silence settled comfortably around us. The only sounds were birdsong, my paintbrush against canvas, the sound of pencil on paper, and the breeze rustling through the trees.
Every so often I’d step back from the painting. Tilt my head. Squint. Mix another color. Urchin never interrupted. He simply looked up whenever I seemed particularly pleased with something.
“You’ve been smiling at that canvas for ten minutes.”
“I have not… I’ve been smiling at the ruins.”
“Mm-hmm.”
I smiled wider.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
By early afternoon my stomach growled loudly enough that even the birds seemed offended.
Urchin chuckled. “I brought lunch.”
“You planned this?”
“Only a little.” He pulled two neatly wrapped sandwiches from his bag.
“You thought of everything.”
He pulled two bottles of water out next. “I’ve learned artists forget to eat.”
“I do not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So that wasn’t your stomach I just heard? Was it a bear?”
“… Fair.”
We sat side by side on one of the old stone walls, eating quietly. The forest around us felt impossibly peaceful.
“I think this might be my new favorite place.”
“Mine, too,” Urchin agreed. “And it can be our secret place.”
I flushed pink. Our secret place. I really liked that.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
On the walk back toward Hearthglen, we passed a small roadside produce stand where two neighboring farmers were talking while loading crates onto a wagon.
“Did you hear?”
“What?”
“Another painting disappeared last night. From the gallery over in Willowmere.”
My ears perked up.
“Again?” The second farmer asked.
“Third town in the last four months.”
“They ever catch whoever’s doin’ it?”
“Nope. They’re sayin’ it’s the same thief.”
I glanced toward Urchin. He’d heard it too.
“That’s awful,” I said quietly once we were out of earshot.
“It is.”
“Why paintings?”
He shrugged. “No idea.”
“I mean…” I frowned. “They’re beautiful, but why steal them?”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Some people only see what something’s worth.”
I looked down at the dirt path. “I guess. I’ve never understood that.”
“Neither have I.”
The conversation faded as quickly as it had begun. Soon we were talking about paint colors again. Whether maple trees or oak trees looked prettier in fall. Whether the Briarwood would be just as beautiful covered in snow.
By the time Hearthglen came back into view, the news of another stolen painting had already slipped into the back of my mind. The painting I’d started that afternoon hadn’t. As we reached the bridge into town, I looked over at Urchin. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me there.”
He smiled. “I just had a feeling you’d like it.”
“I loved it.”
For just a moment, neither of us moved. His hand rested on the stone bridge beside mine. Only inches away. Without thinking, my fingers shifted ever so slightly toward his.
“So there you two are!”
Mai’s cheerful voice shattered the moment like a pebble tossed into still water. We both looked up so quickly I nearly lost my balance.
Mai came hurrying toward us with Cobalt close behind. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She stopped in front of us. “Did I interrupt something?” She was smiling like a cat that caught the canary.
“No!” I answered far too quickly.
Urchin cleared his throat. “We were just getting back.”
Mai looked from me to Urchin, then to Cobalt. A slow grin spread across her face “Oh.”
I sighed. “Mai.”
She looped her arm through mine. “Come on.” She beamed. “I want to hear all about your adventure.”
Urchin and I exchanged one amused, slightly embarrassed glance before letting her drag us toward town. Neither of us mentioned how close our hands had come.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Goldleaf 11 Y487
Dear Journal,
I think I like him. There. I wrote it. Which is terrifying because I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I’ve spent most of my life being told what kind of Berry I should end up with. Funny how none of those conversations ever included the part where I actually had to like the person.
Maybe that’s why this feels so different. Nobody picked him for me. Nobody approved him. Nobody even knows where this is going. I just know that when he looks at me, I don’t feel like I’m being evaluated. I feel seen.
Love,
Pearl