The old building stands proud, its weathered wooden exterior a testament to the years of service it’s provided to our town.
“This is it,” I say, pushing open the heavy door, a surge of pride swelling in my chest.
Matt looks surprised. “It’s not locked?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No need. It takes a boat or plane to get in and out of Port Promise. What would they steal, and where would they go?”
“Right. I guess I’m still not used to small-town life.”
We step inside, and I can’t help but pause for a second, taking in the room that will soon be mine. Desks of various sizes are grouped together, colorful posters and educational charts line the walls, and a large chalkboard stretches across the front.
“Welcome to my future classroom,” I say, my voice lifting with excitement. It feels real now, standing here. “It’s a combined class—I’ll be teaching kids of all ages.” I beam, picturing the room filled with students, their voices echoing off the walls.
Matt whistles low. “That's quite a challenge. How many students?”
“About fifteen, give or take,” I reply. “It varies from year to year. Ms. Miller's been teaching here for over forty years. I have big shoes to fill.”
Matt wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “You're going to be amazing,” he says. “These kids are lucky to have you.”
I lean into him, grateful for his support. “Thanks. I can't wait to start.”
As we explore the room, I share my plans for the upcoming school year—how I'll manage the different age groups, the projects I plan to implement, and the ways I hope to incorporate our unique Alaskan environment into the curriculum.
Matt listens intently, asking questions and offering suggestions. His enthusiasm matches my own, and I fall even more in love with him, if that's possible.
We set off toward Serenity Cove. The mile-long ride takes us past my father's old dry cabin, its rustic charm still clear despite the years.
“That cabin has been here since my ancestors first came to Alaska,” I explain, pausing to admire it. “We keep it up because it's a part of our history.”
Matt listens intently as I share stories of summers spent at the cabin, of learning to fish in the nearby creek, and of starry nights around the campfire.
As we crest the hill, Serenity Cove comes into view, and for a moment, I can't breathe. The pristine waters stretch out before us, the ocean's gentle waves whispering against the shore. Towering pines frame the edges, their reflections shimmering on the glassy surface, while the snow-capped mountains rise in the distance like sentinels guarding this hidden paradise.
A wave of emotion sweeps over me—pride, awe, and something deeper, a feeling of true belonging. It’s more beautiful than I remembered, and seeing it again makes my heart ache in the best way. This is home, I realize, as a quiet peace settles over me. This place holds everything I love, and now I get to share it with Matt.
“Eliza,” Matt breathes, “it's breathtaking.”
I beam with pride. “This is my little piece of paradise. The tides come in and out here, bringing with them a constant change of scenery. Sometimes, you can even spot whales or seals in the waters further out.”
Matt's awe is unmistakable as he takes in the view, clearly struck by the beauty of the scene before him. “I can see why you love it here. It's like nature's own theater.”
“Exactly,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Come on, I'll show you where I’d like to build my house.”
We make our way to a clearing near the water's edge, the salty sea breeze rustling through the pines. The spot offers a perfect view of the cove and the ever-changing tides, while still being sheltered enough for a comfortable home.
I close my eyes, picturing the home I've dreamed of for so long, imagining every detail.
“I want a single-story cabin,” I begin, gesturing with my hands, excitement bubbling up as I share this vision with him. “Right here, facing the cove, with a big wraparound porch where I can watch the sunsets. Three bedrooms—one for me, one for guests, and maybe ... well, who knows what the future holds.”
A sense of calm spreads through me as I speak, the thought of building this life here with Matt stirring something deep inside. I'm sharing more than a dream; I'm opening up the possibility of a future together, a future that feels so close I can almost touch it. My heart skips as I glance at him, hoping he feels it too—this shared vision, this hope for something more.
Matt listens, a hint of softness in his expression. “It sounds perfect,” he says. “I can see it already—you in the kitchen, teaching our kids how to make your mom's famous apple pie.”
I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. “Our kids?” I ask, my words barely audible. We've talked about the future in vague terms, but nothing this concrete. The idea both thrills and terrifies me.
Matt pauses, as if realizing the significance of his words. “I mean ... if that's something you'd want. Someday. With me.” He runs a hand through his hair, his nervousness evident in the gesture.
Amused by his flustered state, I reach out to take his hand. “Someday,” I agree. “With you.”
