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“They look well built,” Jonah says with that same appraising tone that’s lingered in his voice since we landed.
“Oh, they are. The hangar needs a few repairs. Regular maintenance that no one can avoid. But you won’t find a place like this anywhere around here. Those builders, I tell ya.” Phil shakes his head. “I was on those guys every day like a fly on moose shit, and it shows.”
I hide my cringing smile behind a sip from my water. “Jonah’s been admiring it ever since we landed.” I shoot him a wry glance. More like Jonah has been strolling around in sub-zero temperatures with a full-blown erection for a giant metal shed.
“Hop
ed you would. George swore up and down you’d appreciate this place.” Phil swallows another hearty sip of his whiskey. “That’s why I’d rather sell to you than that couple from Homer. So, when do you reckon you’ll have the money to buy me out?”
Chapter Eight
“I’ll have the bison burger and the pale ale on tap.” Jonah folds the lodge’s menu and hands it back to Chris. “And Calla will have a steak knife to drag across my jugular.”
Chris’s bushy eyebrows arch as he regards me, his eyes shining with a mixture of delight and curiosity. “I’m guessing he deserves it?”
“Does the leek soup have dairy in it? I have an allergy.” I force a polite smile. I’m angry, but I’m also starving.
“Let me double-check. Back in a minute. I’ll bring some coasters to fix the wobble in this table.” Chris collects my menu. “And a knife to fix Jonah.” He ambles away, his cheeks lifting with his grin. He’s amused. That’s nice.
I pin my steely glare back on the man sitting across from me.
Jonah leans back, his chair creaking with the weight of his considerable frame. He regards me with a calculating stare—the kind that says he’s gauging how he’s going to persuade me to go for this harebrained idea of his, living in the woods in the middle of nowhere. “You’ve gotta admit, it’s perfect for us.”
“For us? No. Not for us. For you.”
“You wanted a place with character. What’s got more character than a log cabin with a prime view of Denali out your front door?”
“In the middle of nowhere,” I remind him.
“Trapper’s Crossing is not the middle of nowhere. Wasilla’s only twenty-five minutes away. It’s got ten thousand people and everything you need. They’ve even got a Walmart.”
“A Walmart. You think that’s what I need?”
He throws his hands in the air. “Hell, I don’t know! You’re the one who keeps bringin’ up Walmart!” His gaze furtively searches the wall behind me as if there’s a convincing argument buried somewhere within the wood paneling. “Marie lives near Wasilla.”
“Your super-close female friend who is secretly in love with you. Even better,” I mutter, though there’s no animosity to go along with that. When I met the pretty girl-next-door veterinarian, it was just after Jonah and I had kissed for the first time, and I was burning with jealousy. It was clear to anyone paying attention that she was hoping their friendship was a stepping stone to something more. Jonah himself admitted that they’d kissed once. He also said that he couldn’t give her what she wanted.
I’ve seen Marie twice since then—once at my father’s funeral—and she seems to have retreated a step, as if trying to respect an invisible boundary that’s been put in place, now that I’m in the picture. In any case, I have no issues with Marie, but it’s not exactly a selling feature for buying Phil’s place.
Jonah rolls his eyes. “She’s not in love with me.”
“We agreed on Anchorage,” I remind him.
“No. We agreed on closer to Anchorage. This is a hell of a lot closer to Anchorage than Bangor.” He folds his hands on the table in front of him. “Come on, Calla … You seriously don’t want to move to the suburbs, do you? A plain, subdivision house with a tiny yard and people on either side, lookin’ into your windows at night? A house with no character?”
I sigh with exasperation. He’s using my words against me. And, I hate to admit, effectively.
“How would I fly my planes? Where would I keep them?”
“At an airport like a normal human being. Like my father did.”
He bites his bottom lip. If I weren’t so annoyed with him, the subtle move would likely stir my blood. “This isn’t a shock, Calla. I’ve mentioned having my own landing strip. More than once.” He adds more softly, “Remember, the other night when I was landing that little toy plane on your—”
“One day!” I cut him off, flushing, my eyes darting to the nearby table to ensure the family seated there isn’t listening. “I thought that was ‘one day,’ like, five or ten years from now.” Not today.
“That’s what I thought, too. But why wait five or ten years when the perfect place is right there for the taking, now?”
“You don’t even get why I’m angry, do you?”
