EPILOGUE
Kai
I kick the door of the general store open with my foot, balancing a case of bottled spring water in my arms. The little bell above the door jingles, announcing my entrance like I’m Santa Claus or something.
“Delivery for the grumpiest shopkeeper in Alaska,” I announce, grinning as Grayson’s head snaps up from behind the counter.
He’s talking to a woman—tourist, definitely a tourist, with that fancy North Face jacket that’s never seen more than light dusting of snow—but he gives me a quick nod of acknowledgment.
“Just set it with the others,” he says, gesturing toward the display I set up last week. The woman’s eyes follow me as I carefully arrange the bottles, each one glowing with that distinctive blue tint that’s become Heat Mountain’s calling card.
“Is that the famous spring water?” she asks, her interest piqued. “The one with the healing properties?”
“Legally, we have to say that the spring is just mineral-rich. But the people who keep coming back for more must have a good reason.” I flash her my most charming smile, the one Holly says makes me look like I’m up to something. “I can promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ve heard so much about this water. My sister visited last summer and hasn’t stopped talking about how it helped with her arthritis.”
“We hear that a lot,” I say, which isn’t a lie.
We hear all kinds of things about the water’s properties, much of it completely unbelievable.
Whether any of what people say they experience is true or just placebo effect is above my pay grade.
“Bottom line, you won’t find anything like it anywhere else in the world. ”
“Can I buy it online?” she asks, examining one of the bottles. “I live in Seattle, and I’d love to have regular shipments.”
I exchange a quick glance with Grayson, who raises an eyebrow ever so slightly. We’ve had this conversation with tourists at least a hundred times since we started bottling.
“Actually, we don’t ship,” I explain. “The nonprofit that bottles the water is community-owned, and part of our mission is encouraging visitors to come experience Heat Mountain for themselves.”
She gives a disappointed shrug, but loads several bottles into her cart. “I guess I’ll have to make another trip out. Maybe in the summer.”
I just smile back at her, resisting the urge to point out that is precisely the point. “That’s a perfect time. The wildflowers start blooming in June. It’s gorgeous.”
Tourism has boomed in Heat Mountain over the last few months. Whitesong’s cabins are almost perpetually booked up and the old hotel is getting renovated in preparation for being opened year-round.
Turns out Ryder’s development plan wasn’t the worst idea, but we’re creating here instead of destroying.
The bell jingles again as the door closes behind her, and I immediately slump against the counter with an exaggerated groan.
“How many times have we had that exact conversation?” I ask, rubbing my face.
“Forty-seven,” Grayson replies without hesitation.
I stare at him. “You’ve been counting?”
“You haven’t?” He sorts the cash in the register. “I’m considering a vow of silence.”
“Normal people don’t count random conversations, Ghost.”
“Normal people don’t stock shelves when they’re independently wealthy.”
“Touché.” I hop up to sit on the counter, ignoring his disapproving look. “I promise to stop helping you here whenever I have something better to do.”
“Speaking of,” Grayson says, checking his phone, “Holly and Noah will be here soon.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “Yes, I’m aware. I booked their flight.”
“Their plane caught a headwind,” he continues, ignoring my sarcasm. “They’ll be arriving twenty-two minutes ahead of schedule. We need to leave early for the airport.”
I lean over the counter to peek at his phone screen, and sure enough, he’s tracking their flight in real time. A little airplane icon inches its way across the map, surrounded by weather data and arrival estimates.
“Dude,” I say, genuinely impressed. “That is some next-level stalking.”
“It’s called being prepared,” he corrects me, pocketing the phone. “Don’t want them waiting for us at baggage claim because we got stuck in traffic.”
He’d never admit it out loud, but I know Ghost doesn’t want to add even a minute to the time we’ve waited to have our pack back together.
“Three weeks,” I say after a moment, my voice softer. “Feels like forever.”
Grayson nods, understanding the sudden shift in my mood. “Too long.”
“How long you think they’ll stay this time?” I try to keep the question casual, but I know he hears the vulnerability underneath.
“They always come back,” he reminds me, his hand briefly squeezing my shoulder. “That’s what matters.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
He’s right, of course. They always come back.
But every time Holly and Noah leave on one of their medical missions—this time to Puerto Rico after a devastating hurricane—a tiny, insecure part of me worries they’ll realize they prefer the excitement of crisis medicine to our quiet life in Heat Mountain.
“Hey,” Grayson says, interrupting my thoughts. “Help me close up. We need to get home and shower before heading to the airport.”
“Shower?” I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively. “Together? Grayson Lambe, you scandalous thing.”
He gives me a deadpan stare. “One of us smells like he’s been hauling cases of water around all day.”
I lift my arm and sniff dramatically. “Eau de entrepreneur. Very sexy.”
“Very sweaty,” he corrects, tossing me a ring of keys. “Lock the back while I count out the register.”
I catch the keys one-handed and hop off the counter, heading toward the storeroom. As I pass the display of spring water bottles, I pause, picking one up and holding it to the light.
The water catches the sunlight, sending prismatic reflections dancing across the shelves. It’s beautiful, this thing we’ve created together—not just the water company, but everything. Our pack. Our home. Our life here.
Three years ago, I was drifting, using my inheritance to fund one half-baked venture after another, never committing to anything or anyone. Now I’m a mated alpha with three partners, co-founder of a community cooperative, and somehow, improbably, happy.
Really happy.
I set the bottle back on the shelf and continue toward the storeroom, already mentally calculating how much time I have to shower, change, and maybe squeeze in a quick nap before we need to leave for the airport.
Twenty-two minutes early. I smile to myself.
Can’t wait.
Noah
The recycled air of the airplane cabin is dry against my face as I stare out the small oval window at the approaching Alaskan landscape.
Beside me, Holly shifts in her sleep, her head resting on my shoulder, her breathing deep and even despite the turbulence we’ve been experiencing for the last twenty minutes.
I check my watch—we’re making good time, likely to land early. The thought of seeing Kai and Grayson again after three months sends a wave of anticipation through me. I’ve missed them more than I expected to, more than I’d ever admit aloud.
Holly stirs, her eyes fluttering open as she lifts her head from my shoulder.
“Are we landing?” she asks, voice husky with sleep.
“Not yet,” I tell her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “About forty minutes out.”
She stretches, wincing slightly. “My neck is killing me.”
“That’s because you fell asleep curled up like a pretzel,” I murmur. “Here, let me.”
I place my hands on either side of her neck, fingers finding the tense muscles with practiced precision. She sighs as I work out the knots, her eyes drifting closed again.
“Better?” I ask after a moment.
“Much,” she murmurs, leaning into my touch. “Thank you.”
The flight attendant approaches our row, a warm smile on her face. “Can I get you two anything before we start our descent? Maybe a glass of champagne to celebrate?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Celebrate?”
“Your honeymoon,” she says, gesturing to Holly’s hand where her ring catches the cabin light. “You’re the cutest newlywed couple I’ve seen all month.”
Holly blushes, that delightful pink that still fascinates me after all this time. “Oh, we’re not—“
“We’d love some champagne,” I interrupt, squeezing Holly’s hand. “Thank you.”
The flight attendant beams at us and moves toward the galley. Holly turns to me with a questioning look.
“Newlyweds?” she asks, amusement dancing in her eyes.
I shrug, running my thumb over the simple band on her ring finger—platinum with three small inset stones, one for each of her alphas. “Technically, we’ve been mated less than a year. That’s practically newlyweds in designation terms.”
“I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Holly says dryly.
“Probably not,” I agree, continuing to toy with her ring. “But you know, if you ever wanted the traditional wedding—white dress, flowers, the whole production—we’d be more than happy to do it.”
Holly’s expression softens. “Maybe someday. But I think I need to figure out more pertinent short-term goals first.”
“Such as?”
“Such as where I’m going to live and work,” she says, a hint of anxiety creeping into her scent. “I haven’t exactly been proactive about job hunting now that my fellowship is over.”
The flight attendant returns with two plastic flutes of champagne, setting them on our tray tables with a flourish. “Here you go, lovebirds. We’ll be starting our descent soon, so enjoy these quickly.”
“Thank you,” Holly says with a polite smile, waiting until the attendant moves on before continuing our conversation. “I’ve been looking at positions in Anchorage, but the commute would be brutal, especially in winter.”
I take a sip of my champagne, watching her over the rim of the glass. “Speaking of the future,” I say carefully, “I got some news while we were in Puerto Rico.”
Holly’s eyes widen. “And?”
“Mercer’s retiring. Officially,” I tell her, unable to keep a satisfied smile from spreading across my face. “They’ve offered me the job.”