“What do you mean, what now?” I look out at the empty sky where the plane disappeared. “It's done. Over. She's gone back where she belongs.”
“Where she belongs? Or where you decided she belongs?” Nash raises an eyebrow, and his quiet challenge cuts deeper than I expect. “Are you gonna stand there feeling sorry for yourself, or are you gonna figure out what you want?”
I flinch, turning away from the sharp edge in his eyes. “Doesn't matter what I want. I heard her on the phone. She took the job. She left.”
“Maybe this one would have stayed,” Nash says, his voice low. “If you'd given her a reason to.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You know, for a guy who knows these mountains like the back of his hand, you're pretty damn lost when it comes to women, brother.”
“Tell me something I don't know.” I drain half the coffee in one gulp, the hot liquid burning my throat.
“Alright, I will.” Nash leans closer. “You love her.” It's not a question.
I stare at him, the blunt truth of it hitting me like anavalanche.Love her?Mags? Lena? The woman who infuriated me, challenged me, saw through my bullshit, patched up my arm, faced down a grizzly, and somehow found her way past all my damn walls?Yeah. Damn it, yeah.“Yeah,” I admit, the word rough, torn from somewhere deep inside. “Yeah, I do.”
“Then what the hell are you still doing here?” Nash demands, gesturing toward the empty sky. “Go after her!”
“Go after her? Where? How?” The absurdity of it hits me. “She's on a plane to Anchorage, then probably hopping a private jet back to LA to star in some movie with a sought-after director! I'm stuck here with a failing lodge and cracked ribs!”
“So fix it!” Nash slams his mug down on the railing. “Sell the damn lodge if you have to! Ask Dad for help! Ask me for help! Figure it out, Finn! Is this place,” he gestures back toward the mountains, “more important than her?”
Is it?The question hangs there, stark and unavoidable. The lodge is my mother's memory, my pride, my anchor. But Mags ... Mags felt like coming home in a way I hadn't known was possible.
“No,” I say, the answer solidifying with sudden clarity. “No, it's not.”
A slow smile spreads across Nash's face. “Well, alright then.”
“But she's gone,” I repeat, the despair returning. “How do I find her? What do I say?”
“You start by figuring out how to get to LA,” Nash says practically. “Then you show up on her doorstep. And you grovel. Like I told you. Flowers might help. Or maybe one of those fancy coffees she likes. Whatever it takes.”
LA. Hollywood. A world away from everything I know.Could I do that? Leave Crystal Creek, even for a time?The thought is terrifying. But the thought of never seeing Mags again ... that's worse. Unbearable.
Okay. I can do this. I'll call Hank, ask if he can fly me to Anchorage later today. I'll figure out a flight to LA. I'll find her agent's number somehow. I'll show up. I'll apologize. I'll tell her I love her—all of her, Lena and Mags. That I was an idiot, scared and proud, but I know now what matters. I'll sell the lodge, move to LA, whatever it takes, if she'll give us a chance. It's a crazy, half-formed plan. But it's a plan. It's fighting.
As the resolve solidifies, a familiar sound breaks the morning quiet. A low drone, growing louder. Both Nash and I look up, squinting against the sun. It's a float plane. Banking low over the harbor. Heading toward the dock. Hank's plane.
My heart stops, then slams against my ribs with painful force. Is it ... could it be?
“No way,” Nash breathes beside me, his eyes wide.
The plane touches down on the water, taxiing toward us, engine sputtering as Hank cuts the power near the dock. The side door pushes open. And Lena climbs out.
She looks unsteady for a moment, gripping the strut for balance, her eyes scanning the dock. Then she sees me. Her expression is impossible to read—relief, uncertainty, maybe lingering hurt. She takes a hesitant step onto the dock, then another, walking toward me. I can't move. Can't breathe.Is this real? Did she come back?
She stops a few feet away, the same distance as yesterday on the deck, but the space feels different now, charged with possibility instead of finality.
“Did you forget something?” I manage, my voice hoarse.
A shaky smile touches her lips. It melts away the last of Lena Kensington, revealing the Mags I fell for.
“Yes,” she says softly, her eyes locking with mine, clear and blue and holding everything I thought I'd lost. “Everything important.”
And then she's closing the distance, rushing toward me, her arms wrapping around my neck, her face burying againstmy chest. I react instinctively, pulling her tight against me, my arms locking around her waist, ignoring the protest of my ribs, breathing in the scent of her hair, the faint trace of expensive soap mixed with something wild—something purely Mags. In this moment, holding her, nothing else matters—not the pain, not the lodge, nothing but her.”
“I'm sorry,” she whispers against my shirt. “I almost ran. I almost let fear win.”
“No, I'm sorry,” I say, my voice thick, pulling back enough to look down at her face. “Mags, I was an idiot. Scared. Proud. I pushed you away when all I wanted was to pull you closer. I heard you on the phone, and I assumed the worst. I didn't trust you. Didn't trust … this.” I gesture between us.
“I said yes to the job,” she admits, tears welling in her eyes. “Because you hurt me. Because I thought ... I thought you were right, that our worlds were too different. That I didn't belong here.”
