“You’ve got a home here, for as long as you want it.”

“It’s not the same. I . . . Your life is here, and my life is back there. This was only temporary.” A lump forms in my throat.

“And you don’t even want to try.” His tone is thick with accusation.

“That’s not fair.”

“None of this is fair,” he mutters, sliding his hands into his pockets, his gaze wandering to the nearby planes.

“Are you willing to give all this up and move to Toronto to be with me?”

His jaw tenses, and he curses under his breath.

“You know I’m right.”

“Yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He looks at me with those light, piercing eyes, and I nearly lose my resolve. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay.”

I take a deep, calming breath. “Maybe you could come visit me, sometime?”

He sighs with resignation, his eyes dropping to the gravel in front of us. “Yeah, I don’t know when that’ll be. Someone’s got to keep Wild going until this deal closes. That’s not for another two months.” He kicks a stone with his boot. “And I told Aro I’d help them run things. Make the transition go smoother.”

“How long will that take?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Who knows. It’ll take as long as it takes.”

I nod. “So then maybe after.”

“Maybe.” He finally meets my eyes.

And I have the distinct impression that it will never happen. That time and distance will wear away at our feelings for each other, leaving nothing but stark reality and fond memories.

And that’s probably all we were ever meant to have.

“Hey, Jonah! Calla!”

We both turn to find Billy standing there, with a wide, oblivious smile.

I swallow again. “Hey.”

He reaches for my suitcases. “I’ll throw these into the cab for you.”

“Thanks.” I check my phone. “I should get going. My flight is in less than two hours.” And if I stay here any longer, I’m afraid I won’t get on that plane.

Jonah pulls me into a fierce, warm hug that I let myself sink into one last time, cataloging the delicious feel of his strong arms around me and the intoxicating scent of his soap and him, though I’ve long since memorized it.

“We both knew this was never going to be easy,” I hear him whisper.

“Yeah, I guess. I just didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

The sound of Billy’s boots dragging along the gravel nearby steals the private moment away. “You know where I am if you need me,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, as he pulls away, peering down at me. His thumb brushes against my cheek, and I realize that I’m crying.

“Sorry.” I try to wipe the streaks of black mascara off his shirt, but only rub them in more. He quietly handed me my cosmetics bags this morning when I was packing. They’d been hidden in his attic, all this time.

With a sharp inhale, he seizes my hand in his and holds it still for a few beats against his chest—against his heart—and then he breaks free and marches away, hollering, “Safe flight, Barbie!”

“You, too, you big angry yeti!” I manage to get out, my words cracking with sorrow.

I linger another moment, to watch him climb into his plane. To remind myself that in the long run this is the right choice.

I linger just long enough that my heart shatters fully.

And then I head home.

Chapter 27

Two months later . . .

“You know they have more cabs per capita in Bangor, Alaska, than anywhere else in North America?”

I catch the Uber driver’s eyes flash to me in the rearview mirror before returning their focus to my street.

“There’s this one driver named Michael. He’s only twenty-eight and he has eight kids. No, wait—six kids.” I frown in thought. “Seven kids in December; that’s right. His wife should be having it next month.”

“You said this house on the corner, right?” The driver eases in front of our big brown brick house.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I mutter. He clearly has no interest in knowing about Bangor, Alaska’s staggering cab population. I sensed that the second I climbed in, and yet I couldn’t help but prattle on, as I’ve found myself doing more and more lately, as the acute pain of my losses morphs into a hollow throb with the passing days.

Still, each morning and each night and almost every hour in between, my thoughts wander to memories of fresh crisp air against my skin and the smell of coffee filling the tiny moss-green house, to the pound of my feet against the dirty, quiet tundra road, to the vibrating hum of Victoria’s engine as she carried us through the vast, open Alaskan skies. To my father’s soft, easy chuckle. To the way my heart would skip beats under Jonah’s knowing, blue-eyed gaze.

I think about it all and my heart aches because that time in my life is over. My father is gone for good.

And so is Jonah.

I haven’t heard from him in almost a month. We texted back and forth a bit, those first few weeks. But the messages were -awkward—as I’d expect, coming from a guy who hates -technology—and they quickly dwindled in frequency. That last text from him, the “Aro’s keeping me too busy for anything else” felt like a brush-off. At least that’s what I convinced myself it was. It was easier that way. It gave me an excuse to cut the cord that was already barely hanging on by a thread. But I still haven’t found a way to stop thinking about him—wishing for him.