Mona groaned.

Her head ached. Her tail ached. But most of all, one of her paws ached—so much she didn’t think she’d ever be able to walk on it again.

Slowly she opened her eyes. She was in the nicest and biggest bed imaginable. She had fluffed its feathers before, but never slept in it. It was the bed in the penthouse suite. Was she dreaming?

Sunlight streamed through the window. How long had she been sleeping? How did she get here? What had happened? Was everyone okay?

“Mona! You’re awake.”

It was Tilly.

Mona wasn’t dreaming. Tilly was sitting beside the bed. Her fur was a mess. The bow hung lopsided between her ears, and her face was all matted, as if she’d been crying.

Mona tried to sit, but Tilly said, “Don’t move too quickly. You’ve twisted your paw.”

Mona peeked under the blanket to see her left paw all bandaged up.

The red squirrel wiped her eyes, then crossed her arms. “Humph. What were you thinking, Mona? You almost got yourself killed! I KNEW you were going to try something like that. I knew it.”

Tilly took a deep breath. “Oh, Mona. I…I was so scared for you, and for Henry. I didn’t know where he was. But I couldn’t leave, not just ’cause of the owls but ’cause I was trapped by quills. I mean, it’s one thing to be stuck under a stage, and quite another to have porcupines on one side and hedgehogs on the other. Then I saw your face in the ballroom window. I knew…I knew you were okay. I hoped Henry was, too. But then…” She rolled her eyes. “Why do you always have to be a hero?”

“It wasn’t just me…it was mostly the bees and fireflies and…Henry! Where is he? Is he okay?”

“I’m here.” Henry peeked over the side of the bed.

“You saved my life,” squeaked Mona.

“I just blew my whistle. I almost couldn’t. I could barely breathe. I hate owls. I hate them!”

“It’s okay,” said Tilly. “They’re gone now and won’t be coming back.” Tilly pulled her brother close.

Henry looked up at her. “It was Tilly who ran into the branches and rescued you, Mona. I’ve never seen her scurry so quickly, right out to the limbs.”

“You did?” Mona asked Tilly.

“Of course I did,” replied the squirrel softly. “I’d do anything for you. You’re my best friend.”

It was the nicest thing Tilly had ever said.

“That’s the only kind of best that matters,” added Mona. And it was true. She felt warm and happy all over. The grump was gone.

“Okay, okay,” said Tilly with a humph. “We’re getting as sappy as the tree.”

“Not as sappy as Ms. Prickles. She even made sap soup yesterday, and it was icky,” said Henry.

“What do you mean?” asked Mona.

“Oh boy,” said Tilly. “Ms. Prickles is in love.”

“What?!” cried Mona. “With who?”

“Can you believe it? It’s one of the guests,” said Tilly. “I guess they had been sweet on each other years ago when he came to the hotel, but she had refused him. Ms. Prickles said she always regretted it. When he saw the Splash flyer with ‘Prickles’s Petal Pastries’ on it, he knew she still worked here and decided to come and try one last time to win her over. He was planning on talking to her at once, but lost his nerve….Ms. Prickles showed me where he carved a heart for her on the tree trunk and also a poem he wrote for her…”

“In the guest book,” finished Mona, remembering the one that said, “Seedcakes warm, soufflés soft, you’ll be with me in my thoughts.—Q.”

Q was Mr. Quillson. Mr. Quillson wasn’t a spy. He was in love with the Heartwood’s cook!

“How do you…never mind,” said Tilly. “Speaking of guest books, that reminds me. One of the guests wanted me to give this to you when you woke up.”

“I thought staff weren’t allowed to get gifts from guests.”

“Well, staff aren’t allowed to sleep in guest rooms either,” Tilly teased.

Mona smiled as Tilly handed over the gift. It was a book—a guest book. Several pages were marked with blades of grass.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to read the books with you,” said Tilly. “Apparently this guest is a speed reader. He was worried he read the books too fast the first time. He reread them and found these entries. He wanted to stay and show you them himself, but he had to go on his way. It takes him a long time to get anywhere since he’s a snail.”

Skim, thought Mona. Her heart beat fast as she opened the book to the first blade of grass and began to read.

The Heartwood Hotel was a wonderful place for a mole like myself to make art. The stay was even more productive than I expected thanks to the helpful suggestions of two mice guests I befriended.

—Mr. Moltisse

Two mice. Her parents!

Mona flipped to the next bookmark.

Twelve kits are a handful. Thank whiskers for those two mice who were so great with them. What a surprise it was to discover we’d met a relative of theirs in the village.

—Mme. Hana the hedgehog

Her parents again. And relatives? Mona couldn’t believe it. What village? Where?

She flipped the page to another entry, but this one had no writing.

There were two big ♥’s on the page, with eyes and whiskers drawn on them. It must have been drawn by those kits.

Tilly peeked over her shoulder.

“This isn’t from your parents!” she said, disappointed. “Mona, I’m so sorry.”

Mona shook her head. “Don’t be, Tilly. My parents might not have written an entry, but they are part of so many. And…well.” She was about to tell her about her relatives, but…

Instead of sharing the secret, she decided not to—at least not right away. Although most secrets were better shared, sometimes it was nice to hold on to something good that was just meant for you. At least for a moment. It felt like a whole family of mice had entered the room, filling it with warmth.

But it was another someone who actually filled the doorway. A big, whiskery, wonderful someone.

Mr. Heartwood!