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“What?”
“Nothing, I just wanted a shot of this,” I mutter, stuffing my camera into its case. He’s been in a rush ever since the fog dissipated not even a half hour ago, making quick work of camp cleanup so we could get moving. It’s like he suddenly can’t get out of here fast enough.
I’m trying to not take it personally.
He sighs heavily. “I’m being an ass, aren’t I?”
While the actual apology doesn’t come out, I sense it there. “At least you’re learning when to admit it. That’s progress.” I trail him down the path, my annoyance fading almost instantly. His emergency gear hangs from his shoulder, the sleeping bag and foam pad once again rolled tidily and tightly, as if they didn’t aid and abet in a night of private acts.
“How bad do you want to get home?”
“To be honest, I think I’m going to miss this place.” I’m going to miss having Jonah all to myself. Despite the fact that my clothes and hair reek of smoke from the woodstove and I’m desperate for a shower and a toothbrush.
“I’m definitely gonna miss that table.”
Heat explodes over my face as an image of that particularly intimate moment hits me.
But at least I’m not the only one who’s still thinking about us.
What happens now, though?
We’ll fly back to Bangor . . . and then what? I’m booked to leave next weekend, and yet here I am again, wondering if I should stay. Where exactly will that leave Jonah and me, though? Are we going to secretly screw in between hopping into planes and throwing around casual banter?
Or will I be waking up in Jonah’s bed tomorrow morning?
As I quietly take in the powerful body I became so well acquainted with last night, I already know I’d much prefer the latter.
What would my dad make of that, though? He joked about Jonah and me hooking up, but would he actually be happy to find out that we did?
It’s probably for the best, anyway. You don’t need to be repeating our mistakes.
It’s not like we’re repeating my parents’ mistakes, though. We didn’t meet each other in some bar and fall madly in love. We didn’t even like each other at first. And I’m not about to get caught up in some false romantic fantasy about moving to Alaska.
I like him now, true.
I think I like him a lot.
He’s not like any other guy I’ve ever dated or crushed on. And while he’s capable of making my blood boil like no one else, I feel a magnet
ic pull toward him that I can’t explain.
But there’s a very clear expiration date to whatever this is between us and I haven’t lost sight of that.
Well, I might have for a few hours last night.
I will miss Jonah when I leave Alaska. And I am leaving Alaska at some point. That, I am sure of. The question is just a matter of when. And how many times I want a repeat of last night until then.
We step out into the clearing and for the first time since coming into this valley, I’m able to fully grasp the vast open wilderness before us, and how remote we truly are, two tiny figurines with looming walls of rock that reach to the sky on either side of us. The wide river ahead trickles and rolls over a bed of rocks and driftwood, the water shallow and sparse in places but continuously flowing.
Our plane sits where we left it, a small speck in a cavernous valley beyond, quietly waiting for Jonah to fly us home.
He pops the door for me and then goes about getting us ready while I take more pictures.
I can’t help but watch his every methodical step, his hands—that were so attentive to me earlier—smoothing over the plane’s body with near reverence; his gaze—that has been on every square inch of my body, many times over—now studying every square inch of metal critically.
By the time he climbs into his seat, my skin is flushed and I’m wondering what sex would be like in a plane.
“There’s more room in here than I first thought,” I murmur, eying the backseat.
