It was the night that the tension brewing between Jonah and I erupted.

Jonah’s gaze drifts over the interior for a long moment. I wonder what he remembers of that night, and how vividly. Me? Now that I’m standing here, I remember every touch, every kiss, every shudder of my body. At least it seems that way.

He sets the cooler onto the table. “Gimme a minute to open it up a bit.” He brings my hand to his mouth to kiss it and then takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, his eyes steady and thoughtful and hinting at something—worry or fear?—as they lock on mine.

“Jonah, seriously, you’re beginning to freak me out. Are you about to tell me you’re dying or something?”

“Jesus.” He releases a breathy laugh and, shaking his head, heads out the door.

“Okay, I guess not,” I murmur, adding louder, “Don’t cut yourself again! I like this shirt too much for you to bleed on it!” I wander over to the rustic kitchen table to unzip the cooler bag, curious to see what he packed. Inside are multiple containers of grapes, cheese and crackers, a thermos of the barley soup I made yesterday. “Wow. You actually made sandwiches.” I peek under the croissant to find a tidy pile of ham. There’s a small, two-glass bottle of champagne tucked into the side. He even remembered to pack flutes.

“Didn’t you eat breakfast?” Jonah asks from the doorway. With a window uncovered on either side, there’s plenty of daylight streaming in.

“Just snooping.” I hold up the bottle. “What are we celebrating?”

He shrugs. “How about being here again?”

“Fair enough.” I smooth my hand over the rough surface of the rustic table, smiling slyly. “Remember this?”

He kicks the door closed with the heel of his boot and strolls toward me. “I remember everything about that night.” He comes to a stop in front of me, his fingers coasting over my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear.

I hop up onto the edge of the table, allowing my legs to dangle off the side. “Feel like reenacting it?” I waggle my eyebrows.

I expect him to laugh but instead, a contemplative look passes over his handsome face. “You ever wish you could hit rewind and relive that night?”

I take in the tiny space again as I consider his question—and remembering everything that came after. I shake my head. “It was an amazing night. But so much happened after it that I wouldn’t ever want to face again.” So much pain. I found my father, only to lose him again, this time forever. And for months, I thought I had lost Jonah forever, too. That was agony of a different kind.

I hook my heels around his thighs and pull him toward me, fitting his hips between my legs. Reaching up, I let my fingers drag through his beard. I smile as I recall the night I trimmed it the first time, exacting my revenge while he lay unconscious after the crash that totaled the plane. I can still hear my father’s laughter the next morning when he realized what I’d done to his golden boy, and why.

So much has changed between us.

That night we found ourselves stranded here, Jonah was an enigma to me. That sexy but intimidating man who spoke his mind, even when it wasn’t something I wanted to hear. My father’s right-hand man, the bush pilot who would never leave.

He was temporary, as was my time in Alaska.

Now … He still steals my breath and my every thought, but he’s all mine. He doesn’t intimidate me anymore because I know him inside out. I know the origin of every scar on his intoxicating body. I know that he gets irritable when he’s grounded for too long and giddy when the propeller begins to churn. I know he hates it when freshly dried clothes sit in the hamper for too long, and he can’t stand skin on chicken. I know he’s a light sleeper and a heavy snorer. I know he likes to be in charge of most any situation, but he’ll give a stranger the shirt off his back if they need it. I know he feels guilty for not seeing his mother more often, but every time he calls her, the sound of his stepfather’s condescending voice in the background makes his fists ball up.

I know Jonah loves me. Maybe as much as I love him.

“Where we are now is perfect,” I say. Almost too perfect.

“It is.” Jonah’s throat bobs with a hard swallow, his gaze searching my face, lingering on my mouth before shifting to the small gold-and-diamond plane that sits nestled against my collarbone. I wear it every single day. He collects it between his fingers, studying it a moment. “I remember thinking that night how I was gonna fall hard for you.”

“Really? Because I remember you being ready to stop doing this so I’d stay.” So we didn’t complicate things.

“Nah, I was just tryin’ to be a nice guy.” His smirk is fleeting before it falls off. “One thing is for sure, Barbie. This was never gonna end. Not if I had anything to do with it,” he whispers, his hands coming to rest on either side of my jaw, cupping my face. “And in the year that I’ve known you—”

“It hasn’t even been a year. It’s only been, like, nine months,” I correct him. How has it only been nine months? It feels like I’ve been living with him for years.

“Almost ten, if you wanna be picky. May is more than half over. And stop interrupting me,” he scolds through a kiss. He takes a deep breath. “In all that time, I’ve never doubted that you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

May is more than half over.

An alarm triggers in my mind—a gut feeling that I’ve missed something important—and I feel the blood drain from my face as I abruptly pull away from him. “Oh my God.”

Jonah pauses. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s the date?” I mumble, scrambling to pull my phone from my pocket to check my calendar. I do the math. “No, no, no, no …” My stomach drops as realization takes over. “I’m late.”

“For what?”

I shoot Jonah a flat look. “I’m late.”

His frown instantly smooths as realization hits him. “Oh.”

It’s a good thing I’m sitting down because I suddenly feel off-balance as panic settles in.

“How late?” he asks.

“Four days.”

“That’s not—”

“I’m never late, Jonah. Never. My cycle is like clockwork. Oh my God, how could this happen?” My hands fly to my forehead, as if that will somehow help soothe the shock of this situation. “I mean, I missed one pill this month but I took it the next day. That shouldn’t have messed things up.”

“Hey … Slow down, Calla.” He collects my hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “We will be fine. We can handle this. So, it’s a bit sooner than we planned—”

“A bit? I’m not even twenty-seven yet! Try years sooner, Jonah. Like five, six years too soon.” I don’t even have a timeline in my head for having kids, that’s how “too soon” this is. “This is … Oh God! I’m becoming my mother! I’m literally reliving my mother’s life!” Sure, she was pregnant before she decided to move to Alaska, but she sure as hell didn’t plan on getting pregnant when she did.

Jonah watches me quietly as I tumble into a full meltdown until his silence only exacerbates the situation.