She opens her mouth.

“Don’t, Mom. I just can’t hear it right now.” He’s the raven, I’m his goose-wife. He’s rural Alaska, thriving on quiet nights and wild, crazy rides in the sky to save lives. I’m the girl who, now that my dad is gone and this house is eerily quiet once again—even more so—is feeling the pull of the city bustle. Of her old life.

One that Jonah does not fit into, no matter how much I wish he could. I wouldn’t ever force him to try. In truth, I can’t imagine it.

I see my mom’s nod in my peripherals, as her gaze wanders over me. “You seem so different, Calla.”

I snort. “I haven’t worn makeup in weeks.” My detangler magically showed up on my dresser a few weeks ago, after I threw a teary fit about my matted hair, but there’s still no sign of my cosmetics bags.

“I can’t believe you haven’t murdered him for that.”

“I know.” I think of how angry and annoyed I was at him in that moment. It makes me chuckle now. God, Jonah can be such a stubborn bastard.

“But, no,” she murmurs softly, still studying me. “I don’t think it’s even that. I don’t know . . .” She lets her thoughts drift into the stretch of tundra beyond. “Are you sure you don’t want to fly home with me? Simon checked and there are still some seats available.”

“Yeah. I’m going to help Agnes clear out the rest of the house. See what other help she may need.” That’s a lie. I mean, I do want to help Agnes, but that’s not why I’m lingering.

And the look Mom gives me says she damn well knows it.

With a heavy sigh, she reaches out to smooth a consoling hand over my leg. “I did warn you about falling in love with one of those sky cowboys, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.” I try to laugh it off.

Until finally I relent to the onslaught of tears.

Because I’m not going home with one giant hole in my heart.

I’m going home with two.

“You can take that one with you.” Jonah nods to the tattered paperback I was thumbing through when he stepped into the bedroom. “You know, for when you learn how to stay awake while reading a book.”

My nostrils catch a waft of his minty toothbrush all the way from my spot on his bed. The guy spends an unnatural amount of time in the bathroom brushing his teeth every day, which is I guess in part why he has such a perfect smile.

I roll my eyes at him while brazenly gawking at his powerful body as he peels off his cotton shirt and tosses it into his hamper. Next off are his baggy, unflattering jeans, revealing muscular thighs and calves. “I’m going to teach you how to buy pants that fit you,” I murmur mildly.

I expect a quip about treating him like a doll or something along those lines, but he merely chuckles.

Because it’s an empty promise and we both know it.

This is the last night I’ll be curled up beneath the blankets in his bed, watching him undress after a long day of flying, feeling my body warm to the promise of his hot skin and his hard torso and his enveloping arms.

I’m leaving tomorrow.

And this crushing weight on my chest tells me I’m nowhere near ready to say goodbye.

The mattress sinks under Jonah’s heft as he sits on the edge, his broad, muscular back to me. He pauses a moment there, his gaze on the bedside lamp, but his thoughts seemingly far beyond it.

He hasn’t said a word about my departure, besides confirming basic logistical details. He hasn’t said much about my dad being gone, either, and I know that it’s hit him hard; his jaw has been permanently taut since my father took his last breath.

For a guy who has always dealt with sensitive issues like a bull charging at a waving red cloth, I think my “Fletcherism” of avoidance has finally rubbed off on him.

In this moment, I’m thankful for it, because I’d rather spend our last night together making a memory than dreading our separate futures.

I push aside my sorrowful thoughts and crawl over to rope my arms around his chest from behind. I press my body in a tight hug against him, reveling in the feel of him this one last time.

I huddle in my layers of fleece and cotton as Jonah sets my two silver suitcases next to me. It’s turned frigid these last few days. If I stayed any longer, I’d need to buy a winter wardrobe. Forecasters are calling for snow early next week. Villagers have been loading their boats with necessities ahead of the coming freeze, knowing they could be waiting weeks before their icy highway is safe to handle their ATVs and snow machines.

Meanwhile back in Toronto, my mom arrived to an unexpected autumn heat wave.

Jonah lifts his hat and smooths his thick ash-blond hair back. “That’s everything?”

“I think— No, shit. I forgot my purse.”

“Give me a sec.” His shoulders are curled inward as he trudges back to Veronica.

And I wonder, for the thousandth time, if I’m making a mistake by leaving him.

“Here.” He hands my purse to me, his glacier blue eyes meeting mine for a second before shifting away.

I hesitate. “Jonah—”

“You don’t have to leave.”

I guess we’re finally going to have this gut-stabbing conversation after all, then.

“I do. My dad is gone. It’s time for me to go home.”