Page 107 of Mistletoe and Mayday

“I wouldn’t say I built it. More like...encouraged its expeditious rehabilitation.”

“For abusiness meeting,” I say, making air quotes with one hand while keeping the other on the controls. “What kind of business requires reopening an entire airport in the middle of Alaska?”

“Important business.” His eyes dance with barely contained mischief.

I snort and lower the plane's nose.

“Aaaaand touchdown!” I ease the landing gear onto the tarmac with barely a bump. “See that? Smooth as expensive silk sheets. An improvement over our last landing in Alaska, which,if you’ll recall, involved more fiery destruction and mortal peril.”

Sebastian unbuckles his seatbelt, that amused half-smile playing on his lips. “I seem to remember you claiming that crash landing was ‘totally under control.’”

“It was. The plan just included dramatic near-death experiences and character development through shared trauma.”I flip the final switches, powering down the engines. “Besides, would you rather I had landed perfectly, and we’d never gotten stuck in that cabin? Never built that pathetic Christmas tree? Never fought off wolves together?”

His hand covers mine. “Not for anything in the world.”

My heart does that stupid flip it always does when he turns sincere on me. “Yeah, well. Just think—if we hadn’t crashed here a year ago, your mother would never have had the pleasure of hearing me explain the aerodynamics of sex in zero gravity to your father’s entire board of directors.”

Sebastian chokes on a laugh. “I thought we agreed never to mention that dinner again.”

After completing the shutdown checklist, I retrieve my jacket from the back of my seat. “So, mysterious business meeting at the exact tiny airport where we had our first near-death experience. Totally normal. Nothing suspicious whatsoever.”

“Your skepticism wounds me.” He guides me down the steps onto the snowy tarmac.

“Your secretiveness wounds my natural curiosity. And you know how I get when I’m curious. Remember the governor’s dinner? When I asked his wife about?—”

“Yes, I remember. Which is why I’ve arranged a slight distraction.”

Before I can protest, he’s pulling a silk scarf from his pocket.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. I’m not letting you blindfold me in Alaska. That’s how horror moviesstart.”

“It’s not a blindfold,” he corrects. “It’s a vision obstruction device.”

“That’s literally the definition of a blindfold.”

But he’s already stepping behind me, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Trust me.”

“Last time I trusted you in Alaska, I ended up with a fractured ankle and hypothermia.”

“And yet,” he says, tying the silk over my eyes with gentle fingers, “you’ve never been happier.”

I can’t argue with that, which is annoying. “Fine. But if wolves are involved in this surprise, I’m filing for divorce.”

“We’re not married,” he points out, leading me forward.

“Details, details.”

I hear a car door open, feel Sebastian’s hand steadying me as I slide into what must be one of his ridiculously expensive hired cars. The leather seats smell new, and the heating is already running at the perfect temperature. The man thinks of everything.

“How long is this blindfold staying on?” I ask as the car moves. “Because I could nap. I love napping in cars. It’s like being a toddler again, except with more existential dread and loans.”

Sebastian’s thumb traces circles on my hand. “Not too long.”

“That’s what kidnappers say.” But I settle against his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent.

I try to map our route in my head, but Alaska all sounds the same when you’re blindfolded—snow crunching under tires, wind whistling past windows, Sebastian murmuring directions to the driver.

Finally, the car stops. The door opens, and cold air rushes in.