The bell over the door chimes. Finn walks in, and his eyes find me immediately. The smile Sadie mentioned makes warmth spread through my chest.
"That was fast," I say as he slides into the booth beside me.
"The therapist says I'm ahead of schedule. Range of motion is improving faster than expected." He accepts the coffee Sadie brings over. "Cleared me for more activity."
"More activity?" Sadie raises an eyebrow. "Should I be worried about what that means?"
"Flying activity," Finn says, and the joy in his voice is unmistakable. "The FAA examiner called last night. My medical waiver was approved. Limited flight status, VFR conditions only, no commercial operations, but it's clearance. Real clearance."
The words hang in the air. Sadie's eyes widen, then she's grinning, reaching across to squeeze his good hand.
"Finn, that's wonderful! After everything you've been through." She blinks hard. "I'm so happy for you."
"Thanks, Sadie." His voice roughens slightly. "Means a lot."
She nods, professional mask slipping back into place as she turns to take another table's order. Finn looks at me, anticipation written across his face.
"So," he says quietly. "Want to go flying with me?"
"Yes." The answer comes without hesitation. "Absolutely yes."
We finish breakfast quickly, the energy between us shifting from comfortable to electric. Finn pays despite my protests, leaving a generous tip that makes Sadie roll her eyes affectionately. Then we're back in the truck, heading home, the morning sunlight turning the snow-covered landscape into something that looks almost magical.
The cabin appears through the trees. Single-story, weathered logs, smoke from the wood stove still rising from the chimney. Behind it sits the workshop and the hangar where he keeps his Cessna.
We park and I follow him toward the hangar. He unlocks the door with his good hand, then hits a switch that floods the interior with light. The Cessna 172 gleams under the fluorescent bulbs, white with blue trim, registration number visible on the tail. I've seen her dozens of times now, but today feels different. Today she's not just a beautiful plane he can't fly. Today she's his again.
"Hard to believe she was a wreck when you found her," I say, running my hand along the fuselage.
"A lot of work." Pride colors his voice. "But worth every hour." He moves to stand beside me, looking at the plane with something close to reverence. "She's ready. Been ready. Just waiting for me to catch up."
"And now?"
"Now I can finally fly her." The words come out quiet but charged with emotion. "Really fly her, not just maintain her and dream about it."
The joy on his face is so pure it makes my chest tight. This is what I saw glimpses of during those first dangerous days together, the man underneath the loss and limitation. This is Finn whole, Finn restored to something he thought was gone forever.
"Want to celebrate first?" I ask, stepping closer.
"Celebrate how?"
He backs me toward the workbench, hands already working at my jacket. The kiss is different from the desperate encounters we've shared before, holding less urgency and more joy, less desperation and more promise. The knowledge that we have time now, that this isn't stolen moments between danger but the beginning of something we're building together.
My jacket hits the floor. His follows, one-handed shrugging that would be awkward except we're both laughing. The sling complicates things but we work around it as it hits the floor and mouths find skin. He lifts me onto the workbench and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Is this celebrating?" I ask against his mouth.
"This is definitely celebrating." His hand slides under my shirt, warm against my ribs. "Unless you have objections."
"No objections." I tug at his belt. "Though I'm slightly concerned about the structural integrity of this workbench."
"It'll hold." He nips at my jaw. "Trust me."
"Good to know you've done the engineering calculations."
"I'm very thorough."
The teasing dissolves into heat as clothing gives way to need. His mouth traces down my throat, teeth grazing the hollow where my pulse hammers. His callused fingers rough against myribs, my breast, finding the places that make me gasp into his mouth.
