“Sure he did,” I murmur as Jonah slips out of the plane. Why can’t he just admit that he enjoyed today, too?

My dad and Agnes are strolling toward the plane when I step out.

“So? Where’d you guys end up?” my dad asks, his curious gaze shifting between us.

“Calla?” Jonah prompts.

Suddenly I feel nine years old again, coming home to the painful “what’d you learn in school today” interrogation. Except back then my answers were reluctant and amounted to “stuff,” and now I’m listing off village names I can’t pronounce and passing on well-wishes from the people I met.

“I take it you got some pictures?” He nods toward Simon’s Canon.

“Until the battery died on me halfway through.”

“You’ll have to go out with Jonah again tomorrow, then,” Agnes says casually, a tiny, amused smirk touching her lips.

I’m just about to say “Sure!” when Jonah’s hands go up in surrender.

“I’ve done my penance. We’ve got plenty of pilots around here.”

I feel my face fall unexpectedly and my stomach sink.

“Seriously, Wren. She might be the worst passenger I’ve ever had. You should be embarrassed.”

My jaw drops. “Hey! I was a great passenger!”

That hard expression finally cracks with his smile.

He’s joking, I realize. Relief washes over me.

Followed by a wave of confusion. Why am I relieved? Why do I even care if Jonah wants to take me out again?

Because even though I spent a good portion of it gripping my seat and saying small prayers under my breath every time we took off or landed, it was a terrifying and exhilarating day like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, that’s why.

A day I can’t describe. A day I’ll probably remember for the rest of my life.

And the fact that I was with Jonah probably played a part in that.

Sure, he’s rough around the edges. He can be too brash and too blunt and too outspoken. In fact, he sorely needs to learn how not to speak his mind just because it suits him. But he can also be playfully witty and thoughtful. And no matter how hard he tries, he hasn’t been able to hide the fact that he cares about these people.

“Hey, did Bart find anything wrong with Betsy?” Jonah asks, doing his hat-hand-hair move.

My dad shakes his head. “Said he’s gone back and forth over her twice and can’t find anything. Starting to think it’s all in George’s imagination, which is totally possible. The guy’s still convinced that bird flew into his propeller because Bobbie didn’t sew up the hole in his lucky socks.”

“And that he hit that stump and snapped off his landing gear because of that black cat on his front step,” Jonah adds.

“George is a bit superstitious,” Agnes explains to me in an exaggerated whisper.

“I don’t think I blame him.” Birds in propellers? Snapping off landing gear? I’m glad we didn’t start the day off with these stories.

“We can’t afford to have her sitting in the hangar any longer than she needs to be, especially not with that big weather system coming in. We could be grounded all weekend,” my dad says.

“All weekend?” I echo. “Will I be able to get to Anchorage for my flight on Sunday?”

“Might not,” he admits and then adds slowly, “If you’re worried about it, Jonah could fly you to Anchorage on Friday morning. The rain isn’t supposed to start until that night. You could spend a couple days in the city.” His eyebrows squeeze together. “That might be a bit more your style anyway.”

“Friday morning.” That means I’d have only one day left here. One day left with my father.

“Just to be sure you make that Sunday flight home.” His gray eyes shift to the ground, as if searching for something in the potholes.

Is he feeling what I’m feeling?

That I just got here and I’m not ready to say goodbye yet?

I could stay, I remind myself. But why won’t my dad just ask me to stay longer, then?

Other than the obvious answer—that he doesn’t want me here.

I hush the insecure little girl’s voice in my mind and search for another reason.

Maybe he thinks I want to leave. Maybe he doesn’t want to say anything and make me feel obligated. Just like he never asked my mother to stay.

I feel Jonah’s heavy gaze on me. As if able to read the swirl of conflicting thoughts in my mind, he gives me a wide-eyed “you know what you have to do” nod.

I hesitate. “Or I could just move my flight out to next weekend.”

My dad’s eyebrows arch as he studies me. “Is that something you’d want to do?”

“I mean, if you’re okay with having me stay at your house longer. I know you’re starting treatment on—”

“It’s okay with me,” he answers quickly, following it up with a smile and, if I’m not mistaken, a sigh of relief. “It’s your home, too. Here, in Alaska.”

“Okay. I’ll stay a bit longer, then.” Am I making the right decision?

Agnes is beaming and Jonah gives me a tight-lipped nod, and it makes me think that I am.

The wind has picked up since earlier and it sweeps past us then, rustling my hair and sending a shiver through me, reminding me that I don’t have my warm clothes. “Did you get my bags, by the way?”