"Tall," I say without hesitation. "And coffee. Lots of coffee."
"Same for me, May," Nash adds.
"Coming right up." She disappears into the kitchen, humming.
"So," he says, his expression turning serious. "Big movie role waiting for you back home?"
I nod, picking at a loose thread on the vinyl seat. “Apparently. A-list director, starts next week. The kind of opportunity David says could erase the whole Martinez mess.” It sounds like the perfect solution on paper. The answer to my career prayers. So why does it feel so hollow?
“Is that what you want?” Nash asks, his voice low, hisexpression steady—too perceptive. Too much like his brother’s.
The question hangs in the air. Do I want it? The career resurrection, the return to the spotlight, the familiar rhythm of scripts and sets and red carpets? A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to say yes. Now…
“It's what I came here for, isn't it?” I deflect, unable to voice the uncertainty churning inside. “To fix my image, get back on track.”
“Yeah, but is it what you want?” Nash presses. “After everything?”
Before I can answer, May arrives with two steaming mugs of coffee and sets them down. “Nash Hollister,” she says, fixing him with a stern look. “Didn't I ask you to move that fifty-pound bag of flour onto the top shelf in the pantry? My back's not getting any younger. I need a private word with Lena before she flies off.”
Nash smiles, recognizing the dismissal. “Yes, ma'am.” He slides out of the booth. “Hold those pancakes for me, May, I'll be back.” He pauses by the table. “And Lena?” His expression is earnest. “Think about it. What you want.” He gives me a quick nod and heads toward a back door in the diner.
May slides into the seat Nash left, her shrewd eyes examining my face. “He's right, you know. You look like a woman running away from something, not toward something.”
“I'm running toward my career,” I protest.
“Are you?” May sips her coffee. “Remember what I told you when you first got here? About Alaska changing people?” I nod, remembering her words in the community center after the wedding fiasco. “This place gets under your skin,” May continues. “Strips away the nonsense, shows you what's real. Question is, what did it show you?”
What did it show me? It showed me I was stronger than I thought, more capable. It showed me the hollowness of the lifeI'd built. It showed me Magdalena, the girl I'd buried. It showed me Finn … and the sharp, unexpected joy and pain of a connection that felt more real than anything I'd ever known.
“It showed me … things are complicated,” I hedge.
May chuckles. “Life usually is, honey. Especially when hearts get tangled up in stubborn pride.” She leans in. “Finn Hollister's a good man. Solid. Like these mountains. But he's got a blind spot the size of Denali when it comes to letting people in—especially when he thinks he's failing. He pushes hardest when he needs help the most.”
Easy for her to say, I think, a flash of my earlier anger returning.She didn't hear what he said, how he said it.
“He made it clear he doesn't want my help,” I say. “He has a problem, and I thought I could throw money at it. That didn't go over well.”
“Money?” May raises an eyebrow, her expression sharp but kind. “Honey, that man's trouble goes deeper than any check can cover—though I'm sure he could use that too. But offering cash to a man like Finn, especially when he's cornered? That's like handing a steak to a drowning moose. Useless, and more likely to insult than help.” She shakes her head, holding my eyes with quiet certainty. “What he needs is support. Belief. Someone who sees past the pride and sticks around anyway. He doesn't need saving. He needs a partner.” She pats my hand. “And maybe you needed someone who could recognize the woman underneath the actress.”
Her words hit their mark, piercing my defenses.A partner.Not a savior, not a fixer. Someone to stand beside him. Someone who understands him, flaws and all. Someone like … Mags.
“Think on that,” May says, sliding out of the booth. “I'll go get those pancakes started.” She heads toward the kitchen, leaving me alone with her words and the smell of brewing coffee.
He needs a partner. Could I be that? Could I bridge the gap between Lena Kensington's world and Finn Hollister's? Did I want to?The questions swirl, unanswered.
A few minutes later, May returns, balancing a plate piled high with three huge, golden discs steaming, served with whipped butter and real maple syrup. She sets it in front of me. They smell divine. I take a bite, and the tangy, complex flavor explodes on my tongue. It's the best thing I've ever tasted.
May sits back down, sipping her coffee while I eat. The diner is quiet except for the clink of my fork and the hiss of the coffee machine.
“You know,” May says, watching me eat, “I saw something spark between you two the minute you walked into that wedding reception. Like flint striking steel.”
I almost choke on my pancake. “Are you kidding? We're like oil and water. Fire and gasoline.”
May gives a knowing look. “Sometimes fire and gasoline make for one hell of a bonfire, honey. Warms you right down to the bones, if you're brave enough not to run from the heat.”
My heart gives a painful lurch. Brave enough? Was I brave enough? Or was I running back to the safety of smoke and mirrors?
Nash returns as I'm finishing the last bite. “The plane is fueled up. Hank's ready when you are.” Panic flutters in my chest. Time's up. Decision made. Plane waiting.
