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“I don’t know.” I toy with the collar of his jacket, itching to slide my hand beneath it. “What about Wild? How’s that going?”
“It’s not gonna be Wild much longer. They’re already talking about a new Aro logo for the planes. I told them I’ll stick around for another two months, and then I’m out. I just . . . I can’t.” His jaw clenches. “Wren’s gone. And, soon Wild will be gone, too.”
The ball in my throat flares. “I miss him.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” he admits hoarsely, blinking several times. Against glossy eyes, I realize, and it makes me curl myself tighter into him.
“So what are you thinking of doing then, if you’re not going to be at Wild?”
“I’m going to start up my own little charter company, for off-airport landings. Wren left me three planes.”
“Yeah, he told me he was going to. That’s good. People trust you to fly them in.”
“Figured I’d sell Jughead and get something smaller. And then I could set up closer to Anchorage. You could help me with all the business marketing stuff, seeing as you’re good at that. Figured being closer to a big city might work for you.” He swallows. “Is that something you’d be interested in doing?”
“What? I . . .” I stammer, caught off guard. Set up closer to Anchorage? “What do you mean? Are you asking me to move there?” Is Jonah asking me to move to Alaska?
He fixes his eyes on mine. “That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
“I . . .” My heart starts beating wildly in my chest. “I don’t know.” That would mean going to Alaska for Jonah. Leaving my life for Jonah. Doing the exact same thing my mother did. “But what if I don’t like it?” I blurt out.
“Then we figure out something that we both can handle.”
“What if that means not being in Alaska?” I ask warily, because as much as I miss Jonah, I’m not about to sign up for that kind of life sentence.
“As long as I’m flying my planes and you’re with me, I’ll be happy. But this going-our-separate-ways bullshit? This isn’t working for me, Calla.” He gives me a stern look. That look he gets when he’s lecturing someone about the way it is or the way it should be. “And I’m not just gonna give up without a fight and spend the rest of my life pining over you. That’s where Wren and I are not alike.”
Holy shit. He’s serious. He’s talking about living together and pining over me, something my dad did because he was in love with my mother. “I need to think about this,” I blurt, my head spinning. A part of me wants to say yes right now. A big part. “I’m not saying no. But I need time to think.”
“It’s okay.” He smiles softly. “You’re a Fletcher. I expected as much.”
I smooth my trembling hand over his jaw, still trying to process the sudden turn of events. This is the second time my life has been turned upside down on this front porch. Only this time, I think I already know what my answer will be.
Because I’d do anything to try and make it work with him.
Holy shit.
“Like it?” he murmurs, covering my idle hand with his.
“Yes, but you need to grow the beard back.”
His lips stretch into a wide grin “Well, what do you know?”
“Not the yeti beard. The hot Viking one.”
He makes a sound. “That reminds me . . .” I watch with interest and mild shock as he slips a new iPhone from his pocket. He hits the screen and pulls up my Instagram post from last week, the one that I captioned “The Good, the Bad, and the Yeti”; that tripled my following within days and has garnered thousands of likes, mostly from thirsty women.
I press my lips together to hide my smile as I admire the shirtless picture of Jonah, axe gripped in his hand, his jeans hanging so low and without any briefs, showing off that delicious vee and a trail of hair. It’s the last one I grabbed, just as he turned to catch me in the act, and the best one in my opinion, his beautiful face—with a stern expression—and muscular upper body all the more prominent against the misty background.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask innocently.
“Do you know how much Aggie has been teasing me about this? She blew this picture up and plastered photocopies on the walls.”
“I know. I sent her the jpeg.” Agnes and I have exchanged emails about once a week since I came home. Mainly just check-ins to see how the other is doing, how Mabel is doing.
Jonah’s eyebrow arches, and I note how well the scar across his forehead has healed. “There have been a dozen calls from people specifically asking to book me as their pilot.”
“So what? That’s nothing new. People know you.”
