“You had every right to be frustrated. It takes some getting used to, the way things work around here.”

My luggage problems weren’t on account of Alaska, I want to say. They had everything to do with the sleeping giant next door.

Both our gazes fall on the quiet yellow house.

“Wonder how he’s feeling this morning,” my dad murmurs. He climbs into the driver’s side, slamming the door shut behind him. The engine comes to life.

I round the hood of the truck, unable to steer my eyes away from Jonah’s house. My breath catches as I think, maybe, the gauzy kitchen curtain shifted. Just a touch.

But it’s six a.m. Jonah’s not up yet, I assure myself.

Still, I scuttle into my seat and buckle my seat belt, my guilty conscience not abated.

My dad’s hands are on the steering wheel, but he makes no move to drive. “Maybe one of us should stick our head in and check on him.”

“Shouldn’t we let him sleep, though? It’s early.” My fingertips drum over my knee at a rushed pace as I keep my eyes forward.

I feel the suspicious gleam in his gaze as he regards me. “Are you sure you’re okay, Calla? You’re acting twitchy.”

“Am I?” I say nonchalantly. “Must be that coffee.”

“No. This started last night.” He hesitates. “Did something happen between you two?”

I can’t take it anymore. “Besides me finding my luggage on Jonah’s porch?” Which will be my official excuse when I’m questioned for my crime.

My dad’s eyes widen. “Jonah had your luggage?”

“Hiding under a blanket.”

My dad heaves a sigh of exasperation. “That son-of-a . . . I’ll have a talk with— Oh, looks like he is up.” He nods toward Jonah’s door as it eases open.

My stomach clenches.

“I’ll go over there later and make sure he . . .” His words drift as a stiff-bodied Jonah steps out onto the porch in the same sweatpants and T-shirt he fell asleep in. We’re too far away to make out the stitched gash on his forehead.

I’m not, however, too far away to read the stony gaze in his eyes as he turns his attention to us, his muscular arms folded over his broad chest.

To glare at me.

Silence hangs inside the truck for several beats, my dad’s eyebrows sitting halfway up his forehead.

Finally . . . “Calla, how long after Jonah fell asleep did you stay?”

“Not sure,” I mutter, averting my gaze to the road. His tone is mild, but I can’t for the life of me read it.

“And . . . what was it you said you did, again? Worked on the website, fed Bandit, and then . . . Oh, yeah, you looked at Jonah’s book collection. That’s all?”

“Yup,” I lie with as much conviction in my voice as I can muster.

“There’s nothing I’m forgetting.”

“Definitely, nothing. But we should get going. Like, right now.” I finally dare look over, to find my dad pursing his lips together tight, doing a poor job of smothering his grin.

“Yes, I think you’re right.” He throws his truck into gear. We lurch into motion and begin heading down the driveway, swerving to miss the deeper of the potholes.

Dead silence fills the truck.

And then, “Those muscle relaxers they gave him must be strong,” he muses.

“So strong,” I agree.

My dad’s gaze burns into my profile, until I can’t ignore it any longer. I turn to meet his eyes, to see the twinkle dancing in them.

We burst out with laughter. My own is mixed with an overwhelming wave of relief. My dad doesn’t seem to be angry with me, at least.

By the time the truck reaches the main road, my dad is struggling through a coughing fit, brought on by his mirth. “Oh, Calla . . . You’ve really asked for it now.”

“He deserved it!”

“Yeah, I’d say so. But Jonah always has to have the last word. He’s not gonna let you get away with this.”

I fold my arms over my chest stubbornly. “He should be thanking me. Now people can see his face.”

My dad’s brow lifts curiously. “And seeing his face is a good thing?”

“He’s less likely to be trapped in a cage and brought to the zoo.” Do they even have a zoo in Alaska? I doubt it.

Dad bursts out in another round of gut-wrenching laughter. “For a while there, I was thinking something might have happened between you two. You know, with the tension from the accident and all. Maybe you two . . . you know . . .” He gives me a look.

My cheeks begin to burn. “That’s what you were thinking happened last night?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He’s smart, and hardworking. Seems pretty popular with the ladies.” He chuckles nervously. “A father can hope, can’t he?”

What did he just say? Is my father actually hoping that Jonah and I hook up?

Me and Jonah?

A flash of that face last night—a peaceful, handsome Jonah in slumber—hits me. I shove it aside. “I’m not falling for some sky cowboy,” I say resolutely.

Dad chuckle-coughs. “God, Calla, you remind me so much of your mother sometimes.”

“That’s what she called the pilots up here,” I admit sheepishly.