Page 7 of Every Little Thing She Orcs

“I’m on board with a trail,” I say. “I’ll give you a quick overview, because Officer Nicholls and I start surveying tomorrow.”

I tell them about the south loop, the creek trail, and the old logging road that would accommodate a stroller. I tell them where the ground is sound and where it isn’t, which bridges need work, and where families can see frogs without anybody falling in. The room is respectfully quiet. They’ve been listening to me talk about this forest for a long time.

“The north interior,” I finish, “isn’t suitable. The drainage is bad, and the ground past the second switchback is unstable.”

All true. None of it is the real reason.

“Officer Nicholls?” Prue says. “Anything to add?”

Wren stands up. She’s tall, about five-foot-eight, and her cheeks are pink. “I’m new to this forest, so I’m going to trust the man who knows it best,” she says, and a few people laugh. “But I already love this town. I want families to walk out of these woods wanting to come back next year. Ranger Ashford and I will create a route you’ll be proud of.”

People clap. The baker gives her a thumbs-up.

I didn’t plan on liking her. I definitely didn’t expect her to back me up in front of the committee.

James stands up from the end of the second row, camera already in hand. He’s the tourism office’s photographer, and he’s pushy, like every reporter I’ve ever met.

He’s been trying to get me in front of his lens for a year. “I’m shooting for the festival brochure and the tourism website. Ranger Ashford, could I get you by the window? Big guy, green, wild forest. People will eat that up.”

“Photograph the trail,” I say.

“It’s the brochure, though. Readers like a face.”

“The trail is the wonder. Photograph that.”

James looks at Prue, who shrugs, so he turns to his next target. “Officer Nicholls, then! Love the look. Very outdoorsy alt-rock. Could you pop the lip ring out, though? It’ll catch the flash.”

Heat crawls up the back of my neck. Yesterday, she told me she chose her look, but not what people do with it. And here’s a man doing it in front of the whole town.

Wren’s smile stays in place, but her fist closes around her agenda, scrunching it into a ball. “I agree with Ranger Ashford,” she says politely. “The trail is the star.”

“One quick shot?” He’s already lifting the camera.

“James, she said no.”

He lowers the camera. “Sure. Sure, no problem.”

Wren glances back at me, giving a tiny nod.

Brody leans over in his chair. “Huh,” he murmurs. “Look at you.”

Then he looks at Wren, just once, the way anyone would look at someone new. He’s my oldest friend, he hasn’t done a thing wrong, and it doesn’t matter.

“Don’t.”

Brody’s eyebrows go up. He looks at my face, then at Wren, and his grin gets slowly, terribly wider.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

After the meeting, I take Wren to the map room at the station. It’s the only room I helped design, with a high ceiling, a wide table, and a door I don’t have to turn sideways to get through.

“This is where the plan starts,” I tell her, setting the muffin basket on the corner of the table.

She spins in a slow circle, taking it all in. Topographic maps on every wall, drainage reports in labeled boxes, an old cloth-backed survey of the whole preserve in a frame. “This is the best room I’ve ever been in,” she says. “Can I live here?”

“You have an apartment.”

“It doesn’t have maps.”