“I love you, too, Ryder.” She launched into his arms, their lips crashing together as Rowdy barked in approval from the truck. Every emotion he’d been holding back channeled into that kiss. The thought of losing Kinley again was too much to bear.
“I’m glad.” He kissed her again until they were both breathless, ignoring the honks of impatient drivers.
“Your flight,” Ryder said.
“I definitely missed it.”
“You can stay?”
She combed a hand over his beard, perfectly content to stay in his arms even with the security guard approaching them. “I can’t stay, Ryder. Going AWOL isn’t exactly an ideal way to end my career.”
“End—”
“The next available flight isn’t for another six hours. With the added layovers, I’ll never make it back to Georgia in time to sign reenlistment paperwork tomorrow.” She tugged him by the hand back toward the truck.
“But you wanted to be a pilot.”
Kinley shrugged. “It sounded cool at the time.”
“What does this all mean?”
“It means one, that I have time to grab some ice cream—you taste like French fries, so I’m guessing you don’t need lunch—and two, that I’ll be going back to Georgia to out-process. With the leave I have saved up, I should be moving home in about six weeks.”
“Moving home.” He repeated the words, their meaning slowly sinking in. “Moving home!”
“Alaska is my home. Sunset Ridge. I never appreciated it growing up, but I know now it’s exactly where I’m meant to be. With my family, friends . . . with you.”
Ryder pulled her into his arms, kissing her again until the security guard interrupted them, kindly asking them to get a move on. Ryder hefted Kinley’s bags into the back of the truck, thankful for the few hours they still had together.
“Think you two will survive without me for a few weeks?” Kinley asked as they drove away, reaching for Ryder’s hand. Rowdy gave their joined hands a collective lick. “You can’t just feed her Cheetos all the time.”
“I don’t want to say good-bye even for a day, but we’ll manage until you make it home,” Ryder said. “Because we have a lifetime ahead of us.”
Epilogue
Brayden
Snow dusted Brayden Young’s beard as he made the trek down the shared driveway to the mailbox. The late November breeze cut through his sweater. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, regretting the gloves he left behind on the bench near the front door.
“Elsie, c’mon,” he called to his straying golden retriever. The older rescue he adopted shortly after deciding to stay in Sunset Ridge rarely needed a leash to stick close by, but he often caught her distracted by a bird or a questionable tree branch and had to remind her they were on a mission.
The dog abandoned the suspicious stick in the snow and trotted beside him.
Of all the properties he owned in town, he liked this duplex the best for its extra acreage and tree-sheltered lot. Not many parcels like it only a few blocks from downtown Sunset Ridge offered the same level of privacy. Plus, he had the added benefit of a beautiful neighbor who spoiled Elsie daily.
He brushed away the lip of snow on the mailbox with his sleeve and scooped the pile of letters and magazines into the crook of his arm. He chastised himself for waiting so long to check his mail as he headed back. Working from home had its benefits, like saving on gas, keeping his own hours, and lounging in pajama pants at any given hour—so much different that the life he’d left behind. But he’d be better about picking up the mail if his truck left the garage more than once or twice a week.
He caught a glimpse of Ava through the open bay window in her unit, whisking by. No doubt in a hurry as she often was as of late. His chest warmed of its own accord at the sight of her. Elsie’s tail wagged.
Inside, he kicked off his boots and carried the stack to the kitchen table. Once his coffee mug was refilled, he opened one envelope at a time. He didn’t have the ability to leave untouched mail collecting on the counter.
Most were ads, a couple were bills, and one was a donation request. The second to last letter caused him pause. “Final notice?” Brayden wasn’t behind on a single payment. He had more cash than he knew what to do with, thanks to his former life. Let the town believe he was simply a woodworker, but he’d never been late on any payment. The letter from the bank had to be a mistake.
Halfway through a sip of coffee, he choked when he noticed the addressee. “Ava Monroe?”
He’d been so caught up in getting through the hefty stack that he never stopped to verify their mail hadn’t been mixed up. Guilt crept in as he realized he opened a letter not meant for him, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from scanning the contents.
She had until December twenty-fourth to pay the entire delinquent balance.That’s just cruel.
