Wild At Heart (Wild 2)

This time …

I’m movi

ng to Alaska for Jonah.

The blunt, abrasive yeti who made my life hell, who I hated only months ago, who I’ve been through so much with since.

Now, I’m leaving everything I know behind to be with him.

With a deep breath, I step through the sliding glass door.

* * *

“They’ve already canceled it.” I glare at the red word flashing on the screen next to my flight from Anchorage to Bangor, set to leave in four hours.

“Yeah, I saw. It’s been snowing like crazy since last night. Way worse than they were forecasting. Everything’s grounded on this side of the state,” comes Jonah’s gruff response in my ear.

I peer out the expanse of windows that overlook the runways. Nothing but blue skies and a crisp, white snowy vista, and a frosty coating around the windowsills to emphasize the cold temps. “There’s nothing here.”

“Well, there’s four hundred miles and a mountain range between you and this apocalypse.”

Jonah had mentioned the possibility of “some snow” in the forecast. At no point did he ever use the term apocalypse. “Do you think there’s any chance it’ll ease up?” We had decided it would be easier and cheaper if I grabbed a commercial flight rather than make him come all the way here to pick me up. But given the situation, maybe he could jump in a plane and—

“Not with the way it’s lookin’. Supposed to keep going well into tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I feel my shoulders sag. And here I was, thinking how smooth today’s travel was going so far. “This sucks!”

“Relax. It’s the way it is around here. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” I say, pouting. Three airports, two planes, and eleven hours later, my frustration is swelling. More than anything else, I’m desperate to see Jonah.

He chuckles. “Yeah, well … Let’s hope your plane takes off tomorrow.”

My jaw drops. Tomorrow is the twenty-fourth. If it doesn’t take off tomorrow… “Oh my God. I’m going to be alone in an airport on Christmas Day, aren’t I!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Things can change on a dime around here. Listen, I went ahead and grabbed you a room at the lodge down the road. It’s nothin’ fancy but most places are booked up, with it being the holidays. I know the owners, Chris and Andrea. They’re good people. There’s a shuttle that’ll take you there.”

“Thanks,” I offer with resignation.

“You’re welcome, Barbie.”

I grin despite my sour mood. I used to hate it when he called me that. “Have you grown your beard back yet?” I keep asking and he keeps evading. I hope he has—a wish I never thought I’d be making.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see. Go. Grab your twenty-five overweight suitcases and head on over. Call me later.”

“’Kay.” I bite my lip against the urge to utter those three little words that I held back at the airport gate a month ago, that I hold back with every phone call, having convinced myself I can’t say them for the first time from thousands of miles away.

But, deep down, I’m fearful Jonah doesn’t feel the same way. Not yet, anyway. I’m confident his feelings for me are strong—we wouldn’t be doing this otherwise. But, if Jonah is anything, it’s blunt and undaunted, and he has yet to tell me that he loves me, which makes me think maybe he’s not sure yet.

So I can’t be the first one to say it.

“I’ll talk to you soon?”

Jonah chuckles softly. “Yeah, for sure. See you soon, Calla.”

I try not to drag my feet as I head for the luggage carousel. Thankfully, the belt is churning out suitcases from the Chicago flight. I don’t see mine on the conveyor belt yet, so I stand and wait, my disappointment with being stuck in Anchorage for a night—sans Jonah—weighing heavily on my spirits.

Thirty minutes later, long after the suitcases have stopped sliding down the shoot for my flight and the last of the passengers have wheeled their belongings away, I add “missing luggage” to my list of “things that went horribly wrong when I moved to Alaska.”