Chapter Seventeen
MATT
My heart racesas the helicopter touches down at the airport. After three-and-a-half long months away, I've been planning this surprise for weeks, juggling shift changes while praying for pleasant weather.
As I hurry to board the plane to Craig, I feel nervous. If anything goes wrong now, all my plans to surprise Eliza for Valentine's Day will be ruined.
Luck is on my side, and the flight lands on time in Craig. As I step off the plane, I spot Hank waiting for me with a smile on his weathered face.
“Well, well,” he drawls, eyeing my duffel bag. “If it isn't the prodigal son-in-law-to-be. Ready to make a teacher's day?” he asks as we climb into his plane.
“I'm more than ready,” I say. “Thanks for helping me pull this off.”
Hank winks as he preps to take off. “Ah, don't mention it. I'm a sucker for a good love story.” Then, with a more serious expression, he turns to me. “You're doing the right thing, kid. That girl's been working herself to the bone, between teaching and helping her mama. She needs this.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I know. I hope I can make it special for her.”
Hank starts up the engine, chuckling. “Son, you could show up empty-handed and covered in fish guts, and Eliza would still think it was special. That's what love does to a person.”
As we move down the runway, the nervousness in my stomach is replaced by excited anticipation. Soon, I'll be reuniting with Eliza, and nothing else matters.
The flight to Port Promise seems to take forever, but eventually, I spot the coastline. This time, the ride isn't nearly as nerve-wracking as it used to be. Months ago, the idea of flying over endless water had my stomach in knots. But now, it feels almost routine; the fear has been replaced by a steady calm. Hank expertly lands the floatplane and cruises to the dock. As I climb out, he calls after me, “Remember, if anyone asks, you parachuted in! Makes for a better story!”
Shaking my head and laughing, I check my watch. Perfect timing.
As I approach the community center, excitement stirs with each step. I can hear Eliza's voice, clear and animated, as I near her classroom. I step into the doorway.
Eliza's back is to me as she writes on the chalkboard, her hand moving smoothly as she talks. “And that's why the salmon's life cycle is so important to our ecosystem,” she says, her voice steady and clear, but all I can focus on is her. After months apart, the sight of her hits me harder than I expected.
She looks how I remember, and yet somehow more. The curve of her shoulders, the way a few strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and brush the back of her neck—it's as if time stood still while I was gone, waiting for me to come back to her.
For a moment, I stand there, taking her in and feeling grateful for the chance to lay eyes on her again. My heart poundsas I take a step closer, trying to steady my voice. “Excuse me, Ms. Hollister,” I say. “I have a question about salmon.”
Eliza freezes, then turns around. Her expression shifts from disbelief to pure joy. “Matt?” she whispers.
The next thing I know, she's thrown herself into my arms and I'm lifting her off her feet, spinning her around as her students cheer and giggle. Holding her again feels like everything is clicking into place. The feel of her against me—it's like I've been carrying this heaviness I didn't even know was there, and now it's gone. The world narrows down to her, the sound of her laughter in my ear, and the way her arms wrap tightly around my neck. For the first time in months, everything feels right.
“Surprise,” I say. “Happy Valentine's Day, love.”
Realizing where we are, Eliza wiggles, and I set her down, her feet finding the ground as she steps back, her cheeks flushed. She turns to her class, who are all watching.
“Well,” she says, her voice filled with happiness and amusement, “I guess we have a special guest today. Class, this is Mr. Ryder, my fiancé. He works on an oil rig, and he's come to visit us for Valentine's Day.”
The children burst into a flurry of questions, their hands shooting up in the air. Eliza, ever the teacher, uses this situation as a learning opportunity.
“Alright, let's have an orderly Q&A session,” she says, regaining control of the class. “We'll take five questions for Mr. Ryder, and then we need to finish our lesson before you go home.”
I spend the next several minutes answering questions from Eliza's students about life on the rig—how oil is extracted, what it's like living out at sea, and, of course, whether I've seen any great white sharks. Their curiosity is infectious, and I smile more than I have in months.
But even as I talk, I'm keenly aware of Eliza nearby. After months spent in isolation on the rig, surrounded by nothing but the noise of machinery and endless ocean, being here in this lively room feels almost surreal. The stark contrast between the cold, impersonal life offshore, and her classroom—the energy of young minds eager to learn—makes it hard not to feel overwhelmed. And then there's Eliza.
Being in the same room with her again after so long ... it’s like taking a breath after being underwater. Every time I glance her way, a calmness washes over me, grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in what seems like forever. I’ve missed this—missed her. The feeling of belonging, of being part of something more than survival and routine.
As the day ends, Eliza oversees her students' departures, making sure each child is safely collected. She hands each one a Valentine's card, her expression warm and patient as they excitedly clutch the little notes. I wait patiently, admiring how she handles everything with grace and care. It reminds me of the first time I met her—during that storm and avalanche. She was a rock then, as she is now. Calm and in control on the outside, even though I know there's a storm of emotions swirling inside her.
As the students leave, Eliza turns back to me, her eyes shining with love and happiness.
“You're here,” she says, taking my hands in hers. “How did you manage this?”
