Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
LENA
The finality of zipping up the last suitcase lands like sealing a coffin. Maybe my own. Mags—the woman who surfaced in the Alaskan wilderness—was never built for the real world. Not with pride in the way. Not with two lives pulling in opposite directions.
I look around Cabin Three. It had become a sanctuary before the expedition.
Now, it's a room. Impersonal. Empty. My hiking boots, scuffed and muddy, sit by the door.
Out of place next to the sleek designer luggage, lined up for departure.
Those boots carried me through terrain I never thought I'd survive, pushed me past limits I didn't know existed.
Now they're relics. Souvenirs from an expedition that cracked me open and left me raw.
I run a hand over the smooth wood of the small table, remembering the spot where Finn's mother's compass sat yesterday before I returned it to him.
That final, cold exchange on the deck replays in my mind—his flat acceptance, my brittle pride masking the shattering hurt.
She's Hollywood. I'm ... this. His words to Nash, overheard through the lodge door, echo. He'd decided for both of us .
A honk outside signals Nash's arrival with the Polaris and the small trailer for my luggage.
Time to go. Time to leave Crystal Creek, Finn, and the confusing tangle of emotions Alaska has unearthed.
Time to step back into the role waiting for me, the one David's excited voice described yesterday—A-list director, guaranteed distribution, filming starts next week.
A career resurrection, practically gift-wrapped. Everything I thought I wanted.
Dragging the suitcases outside is like hauling anchors.
Nash helps me load them into the ATV's trailer, his usual easygoing charm muted by the concern in his eyes.
He doesn't pry. Doesn't ask. Secures the bags with efficient movements that remind me so much of Finn it makes my chest ache. Stop it, Lena. It's done.
“All set?” he asks, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Ready as I'll ever be,” I say, forcing a lightness I can't reach.
I climb into the back seat of the Polaris, the engine rumbling to life beneath me.
As we pull away from the cabin, heading toward Port Promise, I look back once at the main lodge.
No sign of Finn. Of course not. Why would he come out?
I'm another guest leaving. One less complication in a life stretched thin.
The ride is bumpy, jostling both body and heart. The landscape blurs—towering pines, dense undergrowth, flashes of the creek catching sunlight between branches. The same wilderness that felt wild and unforgiving when I arrived now feels known. Almost as if it belongs to me. The thought hits hard.
“Heard you faced down Grizzletoe while Finn was gone,” Nash yells over the engine's roar.
I shrug, trying to downplay it. “Made some noise. He seemed more curious than aggressive.”
Nash chuckles. “Curious grizzlies are still grizzlies, Hollywood. Takes nerve to stand your ground like that. Finn was impressed when Carlos showed him the footage.”
Finn viewed the footage? And he was impressed? The information comes as a strange and confusing counterpoint to his cold dismissal of me. Why wouldn't he say something? But then, why would he? We weren't talking.
“Speaking of Finn…” I begin, hesitant, needing to know, even though the answer will probably hurt. “Is he … did you see him this morning?”
Nash keeps his eyes on the road ahead. “Nope. I haven't seen him since he left yesterday. Headed toward town, looking like he was carrying the whole damn world.” He turns toward me. “He takes things hard, Lena. Especially when he thinks he's messed up. Which, trust me, he knows he did with you.”
“He made his choice clear,” I say, bitterness coating the words. “His lodge comes first. Always.”
“The lodge is important, yeah,” Nash concedes.
“It's tied up with Mom, with his pride in building something himself.
But don't mistake that for meaning you aren't important.” He navigates a rough patch.
“Sometimes my brother's so afraid of failing the people he cares about, he pushes them away first. Stupid, I know. Runs in the family.”
His words offer a sliver of understanding, but they don't erase the hurt. Finn's fear might explain his actions, but it doesn't excuse the way he dismissed me, my offer, my world.
We lapse back into silence, the roar of the ATV filling the space between us. As we near Port Promise, the collection of old buildings coming into view around the harbor, a sudden, impulsive idea strikes me.
“Nash,” I say, leaning forward. “Is May's diner open? I've been craving those sourdough pancakes since the first time I tasted them.”
Nash turns back, surprised. “Should be. The plane' s not due for another hour. Want to stop in for breakfast? Those pancakes are worth the detour.”
“I'd love to.” Anything to delay the inevitable departure, to grasp one last piece of this place. “Besides,” I add, trying for a joke, “once I get back to LA, it'll be nothing but kale smoothies and personal trainers judging my carb intake. Gotta fuel up while I can.”
Nash laughs, the sound genuine this time. “May's pancakes will fill you up. Might need a nap on the plane.”
He pulls the Polaris up outside the familiar, crooked building with the “May's Café” sign.
Inside, the diner is warm and smells heavenly—coffee, frying bacon, and that distinct tangy scent of sourdough.
May raises her head from behind the counter, her face breaking into a wide smile when she sees me.
"Well!" she says, wiping her hands on her apron. "Thought you'd be halfway to Anchorage by now, Lena."
"Couldn't leave without another plate of your legendary pancakes," I say, sliding into a worn vinyl booth. Nash follows, grabbing menus.
"Good choice," May approves. "Short stack or tall?"
"Tall," I say without hesitation. "And coffee. Lots of coffee."
"Same for me, May," Nash adds.
"Coming right up." She disappears into the kitchen, humming.
"So," he says, his expression turning serious. "Big movie role waiting for you back home?"
I nod, picking at a loose thread on the vinyl seat. “Apparently. A-list director, starts next week. The kind of opportunity David says could erase the whole Martinez mess.” It sounds like the perfect solution on paper. The answer to my career prayers. So why does it feel so hollow?
“Is that what you want?” Nash asks, his voice low, his expression steady—too perceptive. Too much like his brother’s.
The question hangs in the air. Do I want it? The career resurrection, the return to the spotlight, the familiar rhythm of scripts and sets and red carpets? A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to say yes. Now…
“It's what I came here for, isn't it?” I deflect, unable to voice the uncertainty churning inside. “To fix my image, get back on track.”
“Yeah, but is it what you want?” Nash presses. “After everything?”
Before I can answer, May arrives with two steaming mugs of coffee and sets them down.
“Nash Hollister,” she says, fixing him with a stern look.
“Didn't I ask you to move that fifty-pound bag of flour onto the top shelf in the pantry?
My back's not getting any younger. I need a private word with Lena before she flies off.”
Nash smiles, recognizing the dismissal. “Yes, ma'am.” He slides out of the booth. “Hold those pancakes for me, May, I'll be back.” He pauses by the table. “And Lena?” His expression is earnest. “Think about it. What you want.” He gives me a quick nod and heads toward a back door in the diner.
May slides into the seat Nash left, her shrewd eyes examining my face. “He's right, you know. You look like a woman running away from something, not toward something.”
“I'm running toward my career,” I protest.
“Are you?” May sips her coffee. “Remember what I told you when you first got here? About Alaska changing people?” I nod, remembering her words in the community center after the wedding fiasco.
“This place gets under your skin,” May continues.
“Strips away the nonsense, shows you what's real. Question is, what did it show you?”
What did it show me? It showed me I was stronger than I thought, more capable. It showed me the hollowness of the life I'd built. It showed me Magdalena, the girl I'd buried. It showed me Finn … and the sharp, unexpected joy and pain of a connection that felt more real than anything I'd ever known.
“It showed me … things are complicated,” I hedge.
May chuckles. “Life usually is, honey. Especially when hearts get tangled up in stubborn pride.” She leans in.
“Finn Hollister's a good man. Solid. Like these mountains.
But he's got a blind spot the size of Denali when it comes to letting people in—especially when he thinks he's failing. He pushes hardest when he needs help the most.”
Easy for her to say , I think, a flash of my earlier anger returning. She didn't hear what he said, how he said it.
“He made it clear he doesn't want my help,” I say. “He has a problem, and I thought I could throw money at it. That didn't go over well.”
“Money?” May raises an eyebrow, her expression sharp but kind.
“Honey, that man's trouble goes deeper than any check can cover—though I'm sure he could use that too.
But offering cash to a man like Finn, especially when he's cornered?
That's like handing a steak to a drowning moose. Useless, and more likely to insult than help.” She shakes her head, holding my eyes with quiet certainty.
“What he needs is support. Belief. Someone who sees past the pride and sticks around anyway.
He doesn't need saving. He needs a partner.” She pats my hand.
“And maybe you needed someone who could recognize the woman underneath the actress.”
Her words hit their mark, piercing my defenses. A partner. Not a savior, not a fixer. Someone to stand beside him. Someone who understands him, flaws and all. Someone like … Mags.
“Think on that,” May says, sliding out of the booth. “I'll go get those pancakes started.” She heads toward the kitchen, leaving me alone with her words and the smell of brewing coffee .
He needs a partner. Could I be that? Could I bridge the gap between Lena Kensington's world and Finn Hollister's? Did I want to? The questions swirl, unanswered.
A few minutes later, May returns, balancing a plate piled high with three huge, golden discs steaming, served with whipped butter and real maple syrup.
She sets it in front of me. They smell divine.
I take a bite, and the tangy, complex flavor explodes on my tongue. It's the best thing I've ever tasted.
May sits back down, sipping her coffee while I eat. The diner is quiet except for the clink of my fork and the hiss of the coffee machine.
“You know,” May says, watching me eat, “I saw something spark between you two the minute you walked into that wedding reception. Like flint striking steel.”
I almost choke on my pancake. “Are you kidding? We're like oil and water. Fire and gasoline.”
May gives a knowing look. “Sometimes fire and gasoline make for one hell of a bonfire, honey. Warms you right down to the bones, if you're brave enough not to run from the heat.”
My heart gives a painful lurch. Brave enough? Was I brave enough? Or was I running back to the safety of smoke and mirrors?
Nash returns as I'm finishing the last bite. “The plane is fueled up. Hank's ready when you are.” Panic flutters in my chest. Time's up. Decision made. Plane waiting.
I slide out of the booth, feeling numb. I reach into my purse for my wallet, pulling out a few bills. “Thanks for breakfast, May. It was … everything I hoped for.”
May waves my money away. “On the house today, honey. Consider the advice free too.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “Remember what I said. Sometimes home isn't where you started, it's where you belong. Don't let fear cheat you out of finding it.”
I walk out into the bright Alaskan morning, Nash beside me. The float plane bobs at the end of the dock, Hank waving from the cockpit. This is it. The escape hatch. The return to normalcy.
Nash unloads my suitcases from the trailer, stowing the larger ones in the plane's designated cargo hold while Hank observes. I climb into the small plane, settling into the co-pilot seat. Nash tosses my carry-on bag in behind me.
“Safe travels, Lena,” he says, his expression holding a question he doesn't voice.
“Thanks, Nash. For everything.” He closes the door and steps back onto the dock.
Hank starts the engine, the propeller sputtering to life, then catching with a roar that vibrates through the small cabin. We taxi away from the dock, turning toward the open water. The plane lifts off, climbing higher, Port Promise shrinking below us.
I look out the window, the landscape that has become familiar unfolding beneath me like a map.
The winding creeks, the dense forests, the jagged, snow-capped peaks in the distance, where we were.
It's beautiful. Wild. Untamed. Like what Finn stirred up in me.
Like the woman I was becoming—before I let hurt and fear push me back toward the safety of what I knew.
We fly in silence for what feels like an age, though the shoreline of Port Promise remains visible behind us.
Hank is humming beside me, focused on his controls.
My mind replays May's words, Nash's question, Finn's face in the cave, his rejection behind the rocks, his overheard confession to Nash.
She's Hollywood. I'm … this. He believes it. But do I?
“Funny thing about this place,” Hank says, his voice startling me from my thoughts.
He gestures out the window with his chin.
“People come here thinkin' they're escaping somethin'.
More often than not, they find themselves face to face with whatever they were runnin' from. Can't hide from yourself up here.”
His simple words, delivered in that straightforward Alaskan drawl, hit me with the force of revelation.
I've been hiding for years—first behind Lena Kensington, now behind hurt and resignation.
Running back to Hollywood isn't about choosing my career.
It's choosing the mask. Choosing safety over the terrifying, exhilarating possibility of being truly seen, truly known. Choosing Lena over Mags.
My breath catches. My heart pounds, a frantic drumbeat. What am I doing?
“Hank,” I say, my voice trembling. “Hank, turn the plane around.”
He turns his head, surprised. “Ma'am?”
“Turn it around,” I repeat, firmer this time, conviction solidifying within me, chasing away the cold hollowness. “Take me back to Port Promise. Now.”