But the detail on the tail, the minuscule replica of the Alaska Wild logo, is where my attention locks and my emotions swirl. “It’s beautiful.”

“Something you’ll actually wear?”

“Yes! Absolutely.” I’ll wear it with nothing but pride.

“Is it better than the hunting jacket you hated?” The corners of his mouth betray him.

“That was a joke?”

“Of course, it was a joke.” He grins. “And so worth it. Man, you are a shitty actor.”

“God, you are such a jerk sometimes!” I let go of the pendant to smack my palms hard against Jonah’s chest. Beneath my fingertips, I feel the vibrations of his low chuckle, as his hands settle on my hips, warming my body even through two layers of clothes.

“Thank you for this,” I offer, more contritely. “It’s beautiful, Jonah. Seriously. It’s the nicest piece of jewelry I own.” I shouldn’t be surprised. Jonah has good taste, something I discovered when I first walked into his house, expecting a dingy bachelor pad complete with pork-chop bones and empty beer cans.

He inhales deeply, his smile fading. “I can’t take all the credit.” He holds the small gold plane between his thumb and index finger. “This necklace, it’s not only from me.” His pale blue eyes dart upward to meet mine. He swallows hard. “About a week before he died, Wren asked me to get in touch with this friend of his, up in Nome.”

The lump in my throat inflates.

“He wanted you to have something to remember him by. Something you could open on Christmas morning.” Jonah clears his throat. “For a while there, he was hoping he’d last this long.”

I clasp my hand over my mouth to muffle my sob. Tears blur my vision, slipping down my cheek in a steady, hot stream. It’s been months since my father’s death and just like that, again, it feels like he died yesterday.

Jonah’s jaw tenses. “He was hell-bent on getting you something you’d wanna wear. I never saw him like that before, so determined. But he knew how you are, with your clothes and stuff. Anyway, the plane was his idea.” Jonah finally meets my eyes again and I note their glossy sheen, the gruffness in his voice. “I added the diamonds ’cause I know you like sparkly things.”

It takes me a moment to find my words and when I do, they’re barely a whisper. “It’s the most perfect thing anyone has ever given me. I’ll never take it off. Never.”

Jonah simply nods and then pulls me into him, his hairy face tickling the crook of my neck as I cry.

Chapter Six

The hollow thump of heavy boots against the porch steps announces Jonah’s return a moment before the kitchen door creaks open. I steal a glance at the clock as my heart skips a beat. It’s almost nine p.m. Jonah was supposed to be home hours ago.

“Calla?” comes his deep, raspy voice, carrying through the unnervingly silent house. That’s one of the most jarring differences between here and back home. In Toronto, I’d be lying in bed, listening to the blare of horns and the scrape of metal against pavement as the snowplows cleared the streets. Here, in this little house surrounded by a vast expanse of land and little else, nothing but the fridge’s odd and intermittent rattle-and-hum makes a sound. During the day, I’ve taken to leaving the television on to drown out the silence.

“In the bedroom,” I holler back, hitting the Save button on my laptop.

The floorboards groan beneath Jonah’s heavy footfalls. He rounds the corner, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders, his ash-blond hair standing on end, mussed from a day under a knit hat. I’d laugh if he didn’t look so tired.

“Sorry. Stayed to help them cover the planes.” Even his voice sounds exhausted. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the dresser. Beneath it is one of the sweaters I brought him—an azure knit that makes his blue eyes bright and hugs his chest and collarbone nicely. “Fucking guys up in St. Mary’s did a shitty job patching that hangar back in the summer. The whole damn thing is ready to cave in. I had to meet with the insurance adjusters and sort all that out, then explain it all to Howard.”

“The hangar with the roof leak that my dad was complaining about, back in the summer?”

“Yup.” He flops backward into bed with a heavy sigh and rubs his eyes, then his beard. It’s grown since I arrived three weeks ago—long enough for clippers and a bit more style. “Can’t wait to be done with all this Aro bullshit.”

Neither can I.

The blustery air clings to him, and I burrow deeper within my cozy cocoon. “You know you could be done tomorrow if you want, right?” It’s not like he signed a contract.

He gives a firm head shake. “I said I’d stay until the end of January, so that’s what I’m gonna give ’em.”

Of course, he is. Jonah is nothing if not loyal. To the detriment of himself, my father once hinted. “Okay. So, two more weeks. That’s nothing.”

“And then I’m officially unemployed.”

“Join the club. On Wednesdays, we wear pink.” I can’t ignore the thrill of knowing that Jonah will be with me and one hundred percent focused on building this charter company soon.

“Pink?” He frowns at me, confused.

“You know, from Mean Girls? It’s a movie. Never mind.” Jonah didn’t have a television in his house until I moved here. “And you won’t be unemployed. You’ll be self-employed. That’s different.”

“Yeah, I guess …” He smirks. “I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have a boss telling me what to do.”

I burst out laughing. “When have you ever done as you’re told by anyone?” According to my father, Jonah was a young, “full of piss and vinegar” punk when he showed up at Alaska Wild ten years ago, and stubborn as they come. But he quickly became an indispensable part of the team, and my dad’s right-hand man. From what I saw in the summer, it seemed like he was running the company. Wren Fletcher was more the quiet, passive type.

“I do, sometimes. When I feel like it.” Jonah reaches out to seize my chin beneath his thumb and forefinger, pulling my face down to steal a slow, lingering kiss. A small groan slips from within his chest. “And I’ve been feeling like doing that all damn day.”

I can’t keep the beaming smile from my mouth, an instant reaction to whenever Jonah says anything even semi-romantic, which is more often than I would ever have expected, though usually woven in among playful jibes.

“There’s a plate of spaghetti in the fridge for you. Homemade.” My best friend, Diana, in her desperate attempts to keep my presence in our Calla & Dee lifestyle blog alive, has a new brainchild for a segment: “Calla Learns to Cook.” It’s not the worst idea given these winter days are long, there is no premade meal service in Bangor, and we can’t rely on Agnes to feed us forever.

Jonah’s eyebrows arch with doubt.

“Homemade sauce from a can,” I amend sheepishly. “But I went all the way into town to get that overpriced can.” Which is about as exciting as my cooking content gets, but Di is convinced that pictures of me going grocery shopping on a Ski-Doo are hilarious.