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My desk phone was ringing as I walked in from the break room.

I transferred my M&Ms into the hand holding my soda and grabbed the phone. “What’s up, Miriam?”

Reindeer Runway was one of the first regional airports to get the FAA’s new sustainable air traffic control towers, which enabled us to handle regional commercial flights. Miriam was our head air traffic controller, and she didn’t call this line unless there was a problem.

“Hey, Gray. The pilot flying in from Chicago just contacted the tower and said his landing gear never retracted.”

Miriam was a seasoned professional and had managed a number of flight issues in her long and storied career. This was not a big deal.

“That’s the tech bro coming in, right?” I asked, checking the log as Sweetie, my mostly black Cavalier King Charles Spaniel pawed my foot. “The one renting out your cabin for the season?”

“Yep. I’m also his ride, so here’s hoping he, one, survives, and two, isn’t an asshole.”

“Good luck with that.”

Sweetie pawed at me again.

“Bed,” I said softly, pointing to the fluffy pouf under my desk. She obeyed and I tossed her a treat from my desk drawer.

“Does he think the landing gear will withstand the landing?”

“He says yes, but he called it in just in case there was an issue. He sounded kind of nervous.”

I’d just decided against calling our emergency responders because there was a light snow on top of the heavy snow from last week, and Christmastime in Christmas Falls always kept them plenty busy.

I sighed. Dollars to donuts, this rich asshole would complain if he wasn’t met by a full emergency complement.

“He . . . uh.” Miriam chortled. “He wanted to know if we’d have time to get the foam ready.”

I made a disgusted sound. “Did he just get his license? And was it from an actual licensing agency?”

“He did mention that he just got his instrument rating last week.”

Cheese and rice.

“Fine. Tell him I’ll have the emergency crew waiting for him.”

“They’re gonna love that.”

I spent the next twenty minutes wrangling the details, getting the right people in place, all while listening to Miriam direct him in. She’d been right—he sounded nervous as hell. Thankfully, Miriam had a rock steady voice in any situation and talked him through the landing.

I grabbed my winter coat from the hook by my office door and went outside as he was directed to park. The red and green lights of our emergency vehicles lit up the snow as it started to fall harder.

The pilot opened his door and climbed out, looking, well, exactly what I’d assumed he’d look like: some Disney prince version of a tech millionaire with blond hair, delicate cheekbones, and the kind of haircut that had a minimum account balance.

And was that a large rat in his arms?

“Wow, you brought out the whole team for me,” he said, chuckling nervously as he saluted the fire and emergency vehicles sitting off to the side. “Thank you. I don't think I've ever been quite so scared in my life.”

His—dog, I guess?—barked. The tiny cotton-ball-colored ruffian was about Sweetie’s size with crazy wiry hair, eyes that looked in non-specific directions, and an underbite which, on closer inspection, was actually kind of cute.

“Don’t worry, Lunchbox is a real sweetie. He doesn’t bite.”

I thinned my lips. “Hello, Mr. Day. I’m Gray Frost, owner of the Reindeer Runway. Sir, are you okay? Were you injured?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, chuckling like an asshole. “And I go by Sunny, not Mr. Day. Did you know that your name and my name are complete opposites?”

“Interesting,” I said as dryly as I could.

This idiot ran his trembling hand through his foppish hair. “I’m grateful to be on the ground, I’ll tell you what.”

I waved off our emergency crews. They returned the wave, then sped off toward town.

“How many hours do you have in this thing?” I asked, examining his plane. It was nice, and clearly brand new.

“Uh.” He looked at his watch. “Between yesterday’s test run and today’s flight . . . two hours?”

That’s just fucking fantastic.

“Miriam up in the tower said that you just got your instrument rating last week. Is that true?”

He grimaced. “Yeah. But my instructor said I was a fast learner.”

“That would explain a lot.”

A line appeared between his eyebrows. “What?”

“I said,” I deliberately slowed my tone, “that would explain a lot. You have no business flying this thing at night, by yourself, in the snow with as little experience as you have.”

He pulled his shoulders back. “I have hundreds of hours of flying time. I'm a good pilot.”

“You sure about that? I was listening in as Miriam talked you down. You sounded like you were gonna piss yourself.”

“Hey.” The tapered fingers of his free hand went to his hip. “It was scary. Was I not supposed to be frightened that I’d had an issue with my landing gear?”

“Pretty sure one of the first things they teach pilots is how to keep their cool during a mid-air emergency. Maybe you missed that chapter in all of your quick learning. You know, from the course you took last week.”

“Wow.” Sunny squeezed his dog against his chest. “You are an asshole.”

“Never said I wasn't.”

Miriam joined me just then. “Gray, what have we talked about?”