Sticky Palms and Tied Laces
(A snippet of our main characters meeting as kids)
The woods still held the storm. Not the roar of it, but the hush that followed like the trees were listening for its return. Water clung to every leaf and branch, dripping rhythmically onto the earth below. The sky had started to clear, but the air was thick, rich with the smell of pine, wet moss, and distant fire smoke.
I crouched just past the trail’s edge, behind a broad, damp stump slick with moss. My fingers played with the fraying hem of my tunic as I watched the lumberyard clearing below.
I wasn’t spying. Not exactly. I told myself that, anyway. I’d only meant to take the long way back to Mama, who was still somewhere behind me in the meadow cutting tansy. But the noise had drawn me closer rough laughter, boots thudding on bark, boys yelling over each other like they were all trying to be heard at once.
They were older than me. Teenagers. Broad-shouldered, sweat-damp, shirts rolled at the sleeves and stained dark at the back. Most of them had sawdust in their hair. One had a bandana tied like a headband. Another had no shoes on at all.
I was watching the tall one.
Not the biggest, but close. He was wiry, legs long, arms streaked with golden sap. His dark hair stuck to his forehead in thick clumps, and his expression shifted between a lazy half-scowl and a grin when he tossed logs toward the pile and caught one of the others teasing him. He moved like the work didn’t bother him. Like he’d been born swinging an axe.
Then he turned.
Saw me.
Straight on. Our eyes locked across the clearing.
I ducked too fast, heart leaping into my throat. My elbow hit the edge of the stump and bark crumbled under my fingers. A second passed. Maybe two.
Then came the voice:
“Hey!” he called. “You hiding from someone, or just practicing how not to hide at all?”
I blinked and stood slowly, brushing damp earth from my hands. “Neither.”
He was already walking toward me, arms swinging loosely at his sides. He was grinning. Not mockingly. Just curious.
“You sure? You looked pretty committed to that log.”
“I was just watching,” I said.
“Mm-hmm.” He stopped a few feet away, looking me over like he was still trying to figure me out. “Watching what?”
I hesitated, then said, plainly, “You.”
His eyebrows lifted. Then he laughed short, surprised. “Well, alright then. Can’t say I’ve been watched better. I’m Callen.”
“Rowan.”
“Like the tree?”
I nodded.
“That tracks. You kinda look like one. All long and serious. Bet you talk to plants, don’t you?”
“Sometimes,” I said without blinking.
He barked another laugh. “I knew it.”
He wiped his hands on his pants, though the sap only smeared. “You from the square?”
“Just outside it. My mama’s the herb woman.”
“Ahh,” he said, snapping his fingers. “She gave my dad some tea once. Smelled like mud and burned sticks. Said it was for his knees.”
“Probably willow bark.”
“Tasted like swamp.”
“It works.”
He grinned wider. “You’re alright.”
He pulled something from his pocket a soft curl of birch bark. “Here. You can write on it if you’ve got a sharp rock. Or draw something weird. You strike me as the type.”
I took it. “Why are you giving me bark?”
“Because it’s better than giving you sap-covered handshakes. And because I might want it back one day. You know. If you turn out interesting.”
“You just met me.”
“And you were watching me from a bush. So I think we’re even.”
I bit back a smile.
“Got any siblings?” he asked.
“No. Just me.”
“Same.” He leaned against the stump, arms crossed. “Makes sense. You’ve got ‘quiet only child’ vibes.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Nah,” he said. “Just means we gotta make our own trouble.”
From behind us, Mama’s voice rang out across the field calling me home.
“You’re gonna get hollered at,” he said.
I turned, about to leave, then noticed my bootlace dragging. I crouched to fix it, but my fingers fumbled with the damp string.
“Hold on,” Callen said, already crouching beside me. “Let me.”
“I can do it,” I said, but my voice didn’t have much conviction.
He ignored me and brushed my hand aside gently, not unkind. His fingers worked quick, tugging the lace through the mud-caked eyelets.
“You tied this like it owed you money.”
“It stayed on, didn’t it?”
“Barely,” he muttered, looping the knot and pulling it tight. “There. Won’t go tripping over your own feet now. I got standards to uphold.”
I stared at the neat bow for a second longer than I meant to.
“Thanks,” I said softly.
He stood and brushed the dirt from his knees. “Anytime, Forest Kid.”
“You coming back tomorrow?”
“Maybe.”
“Well,” he said, stepping back toward the clearing, “If you do, I’ll teach you how to whistle with a leaf. It’s a very advanced skill. I only teach it to weird forest kids who hide behind logs.”
My smile stayed, even as I turned and walked away.
I didn’t look back.
But I felt it when he did.
And I tucked the birch bark into my pocket like something precious.
I hadn’t meant to make a friend.
But maybe...just maybe we both had.
WOW this is so good??? I feel like this should be a book I pick up at Barnes and Noble omg
