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I pivot into a leg lunge. “I was thinking more along the lines of a pot of basil on our windowsill.”
“Well, you can have a jungle of it.” Jonah chuckles. “Look, she’s willin’ to help so let her help.”
“She’s a dictator, and she made me feel dumb and clueless.”
“Then prove her wrong,” he challenges.
“But I am dumb and clueless when it comes to gardening.”
He shakes his head firmly. “You’ll figure it out. And I don’t think she means anything bad by it. She set this run up for you. Maybe you’ll make some new friends around here.”
“Yeah, I guess. I could definitely use one of those right now.”
Jonah lifts off the truck, closing the distance to seize my shoulders and pull me against him. “I’m sorry about Diana,” he offers, his voice conciliatory.
“I’m so disappointed.” I press my cheek against his chest, the feel of his soft cotton shirt and the smell of his woodsy body wash a comfort. “I was really hoping she’d come this year.” Diana called me last night to break the news that, with Aaron’s sister’s wedding and needing to take time off around exams, she won’t have enough vacation days left to visit me. I can’t begrudge her situation—I’m competing against a wedding and law school. Still, I’m disheartened.
“So, she’ll make it here next year.”
“Yeah. We’ll see.” It’s been five months since I saw my family and my best friend. It’ll be a year by the time Mom and Simon come for Christmas. A year and a half, at least, for Diana. While I could fly to Toronto to see them at any time, the selfish part of me wishes they’d have made coming here to see me in my new world a priority.
“My mom said that was one of the hardest things about living in Alaska—how little she saw of her friends and family. They all say they’re gonna come but they don’t. ’Course, most of them were in Oslo, which is way farther than Toronto.” Jonah smooths a comforting hand over my back. “Don’t worry, though. They’ll make it here.”
A hollow ache stirs in my chest. “Muriel said eight, right?” I check my watch. It’s five after eight. “What if they don’t come?” I can’t even remember their names.
“They’ll come.”
“How do you know?”
“For the same reason that I’m driving halfway to Wasilla for manure and why you’re planting a garden.”
I peer up at Jonah’s handsome face. “Because we’re all terrified of Muriel?”
He chuckles. “I’d call it more of a healthy respect. Look, that’s got to be them there.” He juts his chin toward the road behind me.
I peer over my shoulder to see two female runners jogging side by side at a slow pace turn into the parking lot. They’re wearing matching head-to-toe neon running gear—one yellow, one magenta—and I have to wonder if any part of that is for fashion or if it’s all for visibility.
“You good? Or do you want me to stick around until you’re sure you’re doin’ this?” Jonah asks.
“I’m fine. It’s just a run.” And it’s much needed. I’ve been feeling sluggish lately. “This is only going to take a half hour, tops.”
He leans down to kiss me, lingering a long moment, his beard tickling my face. “I’ll meet you at the grocery store after.”
“Fine. Don’t take too long, Jeeves. Ow!” I let out a yelp—of surprise, not pain—at Jonah’s swift parting slap across my backside before he climbs into the truck.
“Calla?” the older, wiry woman in yellow—in her late forties or maybe even early fifties—calls out.
I smile, even as my cheeks flush. There’s no way they missed that. “Yeah. Hi.”
She slows to a walk to close the last ten feet. “I’m Jodi.” She gestures to the softer-bodied, raven-haired woman next to her who is closer to my age. “This is my daughter, Emily
.”
My glance flips back and forth between the two, looking for the resemblance, finding it in the slender bridge of their noses and their closely set eyes.
Emily offers a lukewarm smile in return.
So far, this feels as awkward as walking into a stranger’s house for lunch uninvited.
