“Nah. We’ve got a gravel runway, too.” Billy, the short, twenty-something grounds crewman who met me at the main door of Lake Hood Seaplane airport, drags his work boots along the ground, my suitcases wheeling clumsily behind him. “Jonah flew in with his Cub.”

“Is that a smaller plane?” I ask warily. And is it normal that every-one talks about planes in terms of models around here?

He looks over his shoulder at me, doing a quick head-to-toe—his seventh since I met him—and grins. “Why? You scared?”

“No. Just curious.” I scan the row of planes to our left, and the people milling about them.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Jonah’s one of the best pilots around. He should be done refueling by now. He’ll have you on your way soon.”

“Great.” I inhale deeply, enjoying the crisp, fresh air after hours of breathing in who knows how many germs circulating in the cabins. It’s an even more welcome change from the smog from back home.

Another sharp stone catches under my toe, one that doesn’t easily shake out. I have to bend over and pick it out by hand, my other hand pressed against my Brixton to hold it in place. Wearing a wide-brimmed hat probably wasn’t the smartest move for this many plane rides, but it’s not like I could pack it. Maybe I should switch to my Chucks. But these three-inch strappy wedges are surprisingly comfortable and, more importantly, they look amazing with my ripped jeans.

“This way!” Billy hollers.

I look up in time to see him slow next to a blue-nosed plane with several portal windows. I quietly count the rows. It must seat at least six people. My mother had nothing to worry about. I pause to take a picture of the plane with my phone, and then one of the airport behind me, capturing the glassy lake and the mountainous backdrop beyond.

It’s not until I’ve rounded the corner that I realize Billy hasn’t stopped at the blue-nosed plane. He’s past it, heading for one parked farther down the line.

“Oh my God. Is this for real?” I blurt out, gaping at the tiny yellow-and-orange thing. A toy plane, more wings than body.

Billy looks back to smile at me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there isn’t even a seat for me!”

“Yeah there is. It’s behind the pilot. Hey, Jonah!” Billy hollers in between his laughter, at the man whose broad back is to us while he fusses with something on the propeller. “I think you’ve got a nervous flyer!”

“Fantastic,” the man grumbles in a deep baritone voice, tossing a tool into a bag on the ground beside his feet before he turns with obvious reluctance to face us.

Diana would have a field day with this one, I note, taking in the thick, shaggy, ash-blond beard that covers the bottom half of his face, jutting out at all angles. Between that, the reflective aviators, and the black USAF baseball cap that’s pulled low over his forehead, I can’t see his face. I can’t even guess at his age.

And he’s big. Even in my three-inch heels, he towers over me. It’s hard to tell exactly how bulky he is beneath that checkered emerald-green and black jacket, but his wide shoulders make him look hulkish.

“Jonah . . . this is Calla Fletcher.” I can’t see Billy’s face from this angle, but I don’t miss the hidden meaning in the way he says that. An answer to a previous conversation. One I’d probably blush at if I overheard.

But I’m suitably distracted from wondering too much about any crude guy jokes, more focused on the plane that’s supposed to carry me through a mountain range and on the yeti who’s going to fly me there.

How the hell did he even fit into that plane?

I take a deep breath as I close the distance, trying to calm myself. To remind myself that it doesn’t matter, that this giant got here in that plane and he’ll get me back in that plane.

“Hey. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Aggie didn’t give me much choice.”

“I . . . uh . . .” I stumble over my tongue, searching for a suitable reaction to that response. And Aggie?

Jonah studies me from behind those impenetrable lenses for a long moment, and I get the distinct impression that he’s doing a head-to-toe once-over. “What are you? One-oh-five? One-ten?”

I feel my brows pop. “Excuse me?”

“How much do you weigh?” he says slowly, enunciating each word with irritation.

“Who asks that as soon as they meet someone?”

“Someone who wants to get his plane off the ground. I can’t take off if there’s too much weight, so I need to do the math.”

“Oh.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment, suddenly feeling stupid. Of course that’s why he’s asking.

“So?”

“A hundred and thirty-five,” I mutter. I may be thin, but I’m muscular.

Jonah reaches into the plane and pulls out an empty black nylon track bag. He tosses it to me and I instinctively reach to catch it, dropping my purse in the process. “You can use that for your things.”

“What do you mean?” I frown at it and then at him. “My things are in these suitcases.”

“Those suitcases aren’t gonna fit in here. Billy, didn’t you tell her that already?”

Billy merely shrugs in answer, earning an annoyed head shake from Jonah.