Page 27 of Ranger's Secret

It's like falling in love with someone I already loved, if that makes any sense.

Which makes the guilt so much worse.

Every night, I text Maya. Just normal stuff, like how the program is going, funny stories about city people trying to be outdoorsy, complaints about Brett's insufferable personality. She texts back with updates about work and her dating life and random thoughts about everything and nothing.

She has no idea I'm sleeping with her brother. No idea that I'm breaking the most important promise I ever made to her.

"You're thinking too hard," Jagger tells me one evening as we lie tangled together in his bed.

"I can't help it. This is…"

"Perfect?" he suggests, pressing a kiss to my chest.

"Temporary," I correct. "This is temporary, Jagger. You know that, right?"

His arm tightens around me. "It doesn't have to be."

"Yes, it does. We go back to real life soon, and then this has to stop."

"Why?"

"Because I won't lose Maya over this. Because I can't be the girl who breaks up the Maddox siblings."

He's quiet for a long moment, and I can feel him choosing his words carefully.

"What if Maya is more understanding than you think?"

"And what if she's not? What if telling her ruins everything? I can't take that risk."

"So you're just going to pretend this never happened?"

The pain in his voice cuts right through me. "I don't know. Maybe. I haven't figured it out yet."

"I love you," he says, like the words are a talisman against all my fears.

"I love you too," I whisper back. "That's the problem."

Our last officialday of the program dawns clear and cold, with the kind of crisp mountain air that makes everything feel possible. We're doing final presentations today, giving a pitch for our proposed Trailbound campaign.

Brett goes first, and his presentation is exactly what I expected. Slick and surface-level, full of buzzwords about authenticity and connection that ring completely hollow. He talks about social media campaigns and influencer partnerships and limited-edition product drops that will "leverage environmental consciousness to drive brand engagement."

It's everything Jagger accused him of that night at dinner. Marketing that exploits environmental concerns without actually addressing them.

When it's my turn, I feel more confident than I have in years. My presentation is built around the giving campaign I proposed at dinner, but I've fleshed it out with implementation timelines, budget projections, and measurable impact goals. I talk about building genuine partnerships with park services, about creating programs that will outlast any single marketing cycle.

"The goal isn't to sell more products," I conclude, looking directly at Ms. Chen. "It's to create a community of people who genuinely care about protecting the places we love. Customers who become advocates. Employees who become ambassadors. A brand that becomes synonymous with real environmental stewardship."

The silence that follows is electric. Ms. Chen takes notes furiously, nodding along with everything I'm saying.

When I finish, Jagger catches my eye from across the room and gives me a small nod. The pride in his expression makes my chest twist.

Ms. Chen asks a few follow-up questions, all positive, all indicating that she's genuinely excited about the possibilities. Brett tries to interject with some last-minute modifications to his pitch, but it's clear where her head lies.

After the presentations, Ms. Chen pulls me aside.

"Delaney," she says. "I have to tell you, what you've presented is exactly the direction we want to go. The authenticity, the real impact, the long-term vision. It's everything we've been looking for."

My heart starts racing. "Does that mean...?"

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