Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I know that feeling.”
I offer him a sympathetic smile. “I know you do.” Jonah put ten years in at Alaska Wild. He was Wren’s right-hand man, running that place—a family business that had kept the villages connected for decades. Wren offered to sell it to Jonah when he knew the cancer was terminal, but Jonah couldn’t afford it.
Just like me. I can’t afford to buy my parents’ property. In hindsight, maybe I should be farther along financially than I am, despite my student debt.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a building. It’s you they’re coming to see.” He reaches over and pats my forearm. “It’ll all work out.”
“One way or another, right?” I sigh. “And is it just me, or does it feel like everyone around us is pregnant or just had a baby or is getting married?” Or otherwise moving forward with their lives. And here I am, in the same place I’ve been for years.
And if my parents end up selling the clinic in a few years’ time and I have to work for someone else because I can’t afford to open my own place, it’ll feel like a giant step backward.
“Not everyone.”
I steal a glance at Jonah to see if there’s any animosity behind those words—I know he’s desperate to start a family, too, the millisecond that Calla’s ready—but he’s focused on the bald man standing next to a red truck in the parking lot of the drive-thru coffee shop ahead, wiping a glob of ketchup off his shirt with a napkin. “Shit, that’s Sam. I gotta stop and talk to him.” Jonah barely slows as he veers into the pothole-riddled parking lot. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Any time Jonah gets into a conversation with another pilot, it’s never just a minute. “It’s fine. I think I need a coffee.”
“Grab one for Calla, too. She’s on a kick. What are those things called?” He snaps his fingers. “A fog something or other?”
“London Fog?”
“Yeah. With soy milk. And lavender.”
I feel my face screw up. “Lavender? Here?” I throw my hand toward the little blue-and-green shack on the side of the road—a tourist landmark, its walls plastered with mushing-themed signs, the roof’s ridge adorned by wooden sled dogs and a sled, and a Porta Potty next to the back entrance.
“I don’t know?” He shrugs. “That’s how she makes it at home.”
I burst out with laughter, and it’s a welcome reprieve from the weight I’ve been under. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He grins. “Just get whatever they have. But make it soy.”
I hop out of the truck and walk toward the shack. I stop at the vacant window, my hungry eyes drifting over the assortment of danishes and other treats on display.
The window slides open. “Marie Lehr! Is that you?” Charlotte tosses her long gray braid over her shoulder. “My God, it’s been years!”
At least three since Micky, her cocker spaniel, passed. That’s how I know everyone in the Mat-Su area—by their four-legged family members.
“What can I get you today?”
I put in the order for Calla and myself—a plain old black coffee for plain old Marie—along with an order of biscuits and gravy that I will regret in an hour and Jonah will complain about. And then I listen as Charlotte fills me in on the latest local gossip while toiling in her little kitchen shack.
When my food is up and the rumble of a truck behind me says there’s another customer waiting in line, I quickly depart.
Jonah is still deep in conversation with Sam, so I head toward the picnic tables. I’m halfway there when I realize that I know the man sitting at one of them, leaning over to make faces at the baby in the car seat while a woman fumbles with a diaper bag, in a frantic search for something.
I stumble over my feet as I stop abruptly. Of all days … seeing my ex and his adorable little family is the last thing I’m in the mood for. Before I can make a sharp turn left toward Jonah’s truck, Jonathan looks up and sees me.
His hand lifts halfway before he falters, as if suddenly recalling how badly I hurt him. I’ve heard through mutual friends that he still sometimes drops comments that hint at lingering resentment. Finally, he commits to the wave.
With my hands full and a clear, straight path toward them, I’m now stuck.
Deep breath in, I force a smile and close the distance. “It’s been awhile. How are you?” I hover rather than taking a seat, silently hoping Jonah will rescue me soon.
My ex looks the same—clean-cut brown hair, lean build, head-to-toe Patagonia gear—but the dark circles under his eyes are new.
“Good, good. Actually, I’m great.” He gestures at the plump baby watching us, as if presenting an artifact. “Meet Clancy. My son. Our son,” he quickly corrects, turning toward the woman. “This is my fiancée Carrie. This is Marie.” Nothing else. Just Marie.