Am I happy here?

I’m happy with Jonah. I love him in a way I didn’t think existed—wholly and resolutely.

But am I happy here, in my life?

Or have I been fooling myself into thinking that one morning I’ll wake up and things that feel foreign and temporary will finally feel like home?

I overcompensated for my harsh words by taking every opportunity to touch Jonah today—to hold his hand, to tickle his side, to play with his beard—and prove that they’re false. He responded in kind, with smirks and squeezes and back rubs, never withholding an ounce of affection.

But I saw it in his eyes.

The sadness. The worry.

Possibly the worst of all—the same doubt I’m beginning to fear.

And now I’m helpless against that little voice in my mind that purrs terrible, dark thoughts: What if Trapper’s Crossing never feels like home? What if I grow bitter with Jonah for what he loves to do? What if he one day decides that I will never fit into Alaska the way he wants me to?

What if I tell Jonah that I want to move, and he refuses to leave?

It’s strange how your relationship can feel impenetrable one day and vulnerable the next—with a misunderstanding, a few words, and a mountain of repressed worries that finally swell to the surface.

This roiling in my gut feels like the disastrous trip to the safety cabin all over again. All I want to do is fix whatever I might have broken between us, but what if we can’t get back to where we were?

What if I stuck a pin in this bubble of delusion that we’ve both been floating in?

For the first time since Jonah arrived in Toronto and asked me to move to Alaska, I’m truly afraid that an end date to us is inevitable, no matter how much I love him.

I push those dour thoughts aside before my mask slips and Diana sees through me to the ache buried beneath the joy of having her here. “Relax, Di. You’ve already earned the ultimate best-friend badge so you can admit that you’re dying inside.”

“Maybe a little bit.” She holds her manicured index finger and thumb up to measure a small space between them, before waving her hand around the Ale House. “But they did all this for you tonight. I’m not going to pull you away yet. I’ve got another hour or two in my tank. But don’t get jealous when your hot Viking has to throw me over his shoulder to get me home, because I’m already drunk.” She punctuates that declaration with a hiccup. “Also, I’ll probably cop a feel and blame it on the booze. Just so you know.”

I shake my head and laugh, imagining Jonah’s reaction to that. Not that Diana would ever actually do it. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” I didn’t realize how much until I saw her standing outside our porch.

I steal a glance to the bar where Jonah is nursing a pint while talking to Marie, Toby, and a rosy-cheeked Teddy.

“Do we like her or not?” Diana asks conspiratorially, following my gaze. “Because you’ve been watching her since we got here.”

“That’s Jonah’s best friend.” Marie was sitting at the bar when I walked through the door. He obviously invited her.

“Jonah’s best friend is a beautiful blonde?” Diana’s eyebrows arch. “You neglected to mention this. Why did you neglect to mention this to me? Your best friend?”

Because I know exactly how my best friend would react, and I didn’t want anyone reinforcing my insecurities, especially not after I left Jonah behind in Alaska. Diana has always been mistrustful when it comes to other females, convinced that their natural instincts are competitive by nature, that a woman who is platonic friends with an attractive man is never that by choice.

In this case, she isn’t wrong.

But now is not the time to enlighten Diana about all things Marie, including the boundary-crossing conversation I overheard that morning in the hangar.

“I’m watching her and Toby. I’m waiting for them to hit it off.”

Diana frowns in thought as she studies them. “Yeah, they could work together. He’s cute enough. In that big, burly, teddy-bear kind of way.”

“And she’s pretty, and nice,” I admit begrudgingly.

“Maybe if he stops crushing on you, it’ll happen.”

“Shut up! He is not!”

Diana’s cackle turns a few heads. “Okay, Calla. We’re going to play this game, are we? Why do you never see these things?”

“Because I don’t want to! Don’t put things like that in my head! He’s, like, my only human friend here!” I whine.

She sighs through a sip. “Well, I’m sorry to say this, but I don’t think she’s interested. Not in Toby, anyway.” Her perfectly drawn and filled eyebrows arch as she returns her assessing gaze to the bar, to where Marie is absorbed in Jonah’s handsome face.

Teddy says something and they erupt with laughter. Jonah throws his arm around her shoulders to jostle her, as if she was part of the punch line to a joke. She seems to sink closer into him, resting her blonde head in the crook of his neck.

“They’re just good friends. They have been for years.” I say this even as I sense the uncomfortable prick in my stomach—the one that has been poking me since Jonah steered himself toward the bar as soon as Diana and I settled at this table.

What I would give to go back to this morning, to erase my words, my accusations, my doubt. But I can’t, and it is making me especially sensitive to moments like this.

“So, is this the place to be in Trapper’s Crossing?” Diana asks, taking in the sea of plaid flannel and jean-clad people—about fifty in total, forty of them men by my last count.

“This is the only place in town. Well, besides a pizza shop that closes at ten and a community hall. I hear the farmers’ market on Fridays is hoppin’.” Muriel tried to get me there yesterday, but I was in no mood after the day I had with Roy.

The resort is packed this weekend, as Toby promised it would be come this time of year, and it seems the Ale House is the place they all come at the end of the day, to drink and laugh and share boastful stories about the fish caught, and the fish that got away.

“I’m so glad I came, even if it’s a short trip.” Diana rests her cheek on her palm and smiles wistfully. “I remember that night at the club, when you found out about your dad and you were trying to decide if you should go. Can you imagine if you hadn’t?”

“I can’t.” My chest aches at the thought. Next month will be a year since that phone call from Agnes and my subsequent flight. “That would have been the worst mistake of my life.”

“Right? And yet, could you ever have imagined yourself here, now?”

I fumble with the tiny airplane pendant in my grasp—a gift from two of the most important men in my life—and shake my head.

“Looks like you ladies could use another drink.” Toby appears then, replacing our martinis with fresh ones. They even bought proper glasses.

Diana isn’t going to be the only one drunk if this keeps up.

“We were just talking about you!” Diana exclaims, her blue eyes twinkling.

Toby’s cheeks flush. “All good things, I hope?”

“Only good things.” She winks, then lets out another hiccup. “For God’s sake, this is embarrassing. Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. Sorry, I mean the ‘restroom.’ Be back in a minute.” Diana stands and strolls for the Ladies’ Room sign on the far side, her hips swaying a touch more than normal thanks to the alcohol flowing through her veins, her head held high as usual with confidence, earning plenty of gawking looks. In a room full of jeans, plaid jackets, and baseball caps, she’s a leggy, five-foot-ten-inch blonde siren in leather boots.