Chapter 15
CARA
Six weeks living with Finn, and I still wake up surprised by the quiet.
No sirens. No traffic noise bleeding through thin apartment walls.
Just wind moving through spruce and the occasional call of ravens outside the window.
His cabin sits several miles outside Glacier Hollow, isolated enough for privacy but close enough that the drive into town takes less than fifteen minutes on clear days.
This morning Finn is already up when I emerge from the bedroom, coffee brewing, the wood stove radiating heat.
He stands at the kitchen window looking out at the mountains, his right arm resting in the sling by choice now, moving more easily than before as he keeps it there to encourage proper healing.
"Morning," I say, wrapping my arms around him from behind, careful of the shoulder.
"Morning." He turns and kisses me, coffee-flavored and warm. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." I pour myself coffee while he watches with that smile that still makes my stomach flip. "What's got you up so early?"
"Physical therapy in town at nine. Thought we could grab breakfast at the Hollow Hearth after." He pauses, and something in his expression shifts. Excitement, barely contained. "I got a call last night after you went to bed. News I want to share, but not here. Somewhere that matters."
"What kind of news?"
"The good kind." His grin is pure joy. "But I want to show you properly. After PT, after breakfast. Trust me?"
"Always."
We drive into Glacier Hollow together, his truck handling the snow-packed roads with practiced ease despite him steering one-handed. The town is waking up, smoke rising from chimneys, early risers clearing driveways. Finn drops me at the Hollow Hearth while he heads to his appointment.
"Hour, maybe less," he says. "Order me the usual?"
"Will do."
The café is already busy when I push through the door.
Locals clustered at tables, coffee steaming, conversations flowing in the easy rhythm of people who've known each other for years.
A few heads turn when I enter. Some nod acknowledgment.
Others offer small smiles. The wariness that greeted me when I first arrived has shifted into something closer to acceptance.
Sadie stands behind the counter, pouring coffee with the practiced efficiency of someone who's run this place long enough to predict orders before they're spoken. She looks up when I approach, and her smile is genuine.
"Morning, Cara. Finn with you?"
"PT appointment. He'll be here in an hour."
"The usual for both of you?"
"Please."
She pours dark roast into a mug without asking because she's already learned how I take it. The simple domesticity of that gesture hits harder than it should. Someone knowing how I take my coffee. Someone expecting to see me. Normal I stopped believing in years ago.
"You two settling in okay?" Sadie asks, setting the mug in front of me. "Living together treating you well?"
The question is casual but the intent behind it is clear. Sadie's checking whether this is working, whether I'm committed to staying, whether I'm worth the community's investment of trust.
"We're figuring it out," I tell her. "Some adjustments, but good ones."
"Good." The single word carries weight. Approval, maybe. Or relief that Finn isn't going to get his heart broken by someone who can't handle Alaska winters and isolation. "You're good for him. He's different since you showed up."
"Different how?"
"Lighter. Like he's not carrying quite so much weight." Sadie's expression turns thoughtful. "I don't think I've ever seen him smile the way he does when he looks at you."
The bell over the door chimes. Finn walks in, and his eyes find me immediately. The smile Sadie mentioned makes warmth spread through my chest.
"That was fast," I say as he slides into the booth beside me.
"The therapist says I'm ahead of schedule. Range of motion is improving faster than expected." He accepts the coffee Sadie brings over. "Cleared me for more activity."
"More activity?" Sadie raises an eyebrow. "Should I be worried about what that means?"
"Flying activity," Finn says, and the joy in his voice is unmistakable. "The FAA examiner called last night. My medical waiver was approved. Limited flight status, VFR conditions only, no commercial operations, but it's clearance. Real clearance."
The words hang in the air. Sadie's eyes widen, then she's grinning, reaching across to squeeze his good hand.
"Finn, that's wonderful! After everything you've been through." She blinks hard. "I'm so happy for you."
"Thanks, Sadie." His voice roughens slightly. "Means a lot."
She nods, professional mask slipping back into place as she turns to take another table's order. Finn looks at me, anticipation written across his face.
"So," he says quietly. "Want to go flying with me?"
"Yes." The answer comes without hesitation. "Absolutely yes."
We finish breakfast quickly, the energy between us shifting from comfortable to electric.
Finn pays despite my protests, leaving a generous tip that makes Sadie roll her eyes affectionately.
Then we're back in the truck, heading home, the morning sunlight turning the snow-covered landscape into something that looks almost magical.
The cabin appears through the trees. Single-story, weathered logs, smoke from the wood stove still rising from the chimney. Behind it sits the workshop and the hangar where he keeps his Cessna.
We park and I follow him toward the hangar.
He unlocks the door with his good hand, then hits a switch that floods the interior with light.
The Cessna 172 gleams under the fluorescent bulbs, white with blue trim, registration number visible on the tail.
I've seen her dozens of times now, but today feels different.
Today she's not just a beautiful plane he can't fly. Today she's his again.
"Hard to believe she was a wreck when you found her," I say, running my hand along the fuselage.
"A lot of work." Pride colors his voice. "But worth every hour." He moves to stand beside me, looking at the plane with something close to reverence. "She's ready. Been ready. Just waiting for me to catch up."
"And now?"
"Now I can finally fly her." The words come out quiet but charged with emotion. "Really fly her, not just maintain her and dream about it."
The joy on his face is so pure it makes my chest tight. This is what I saw glimpses of during those first dangerous days together, the man underneath the loss and limitation. This is Finn whole, Finn restored to something he thought was gone forever.
"Want to celebrate first?" I ask, stepping closer.
"Celebrate how?"
He backs me toward the workbench, hands already working at my jacket.
The kiss is different from the desperate encounters we've shared before, holding less urgency and more joy, less desperation and more promise.
The knowledge that we have time now, that this isn't stolen moments between danger but the beginning of something we're building together.
My jacket hits the floor. His follows, one-handed shrugging that would be awkward except we're both laughing. The sling complicates things but we work around it as it hits the floor and mouths find skin. He lifts me onto the workbench and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Is this celebrating?" I ask against his mouth.
"This is definitely celebrating." His hand slides under my shirt, warm against my ribs. "Unless you have objections."
"No objections." I tug at his belt. "Though I'm slightly concerned about the structural integrity of this workbench."
"It'll hold." He nips at my jaw. "Trust me."
"Good to know you've done the engineering calculations."
"I'm very thorough."
The teasing dissolves into heat as clothing gives way to need. His mouth traces down my throat, teeth grazing the hollow where my pulse hammers. His callused fingers rough against my ribs, my breast, finding the places that make me gasp into his mouth.
I arch into him, hands fisting in his hair, breathing his name against skin that tastes like salt and coffee and something uniquely him. His good hand works my jeans open while I tug at his belt, both of us fumbling and laughing and desperate.
He enters me slowly, stretching me, filling me, his forehead pressed against mine. Our breathing synchronizes, ragged and harsh in the quiet hangar. I wrap my legs tighter around him, changing the angle, pulling him deeper. The sound he makes against my neck is half groan, half curse.
"Cara." My name on his lips, reverent and wrecked.
We move together, finding the rhythm we've learned these past weeks.
His hand braces against the workbench for leverage while mine grips his good shoulder, feeling the flex of muscle under skin.
The injured one I'm careful of, even now, even as pleasure builds and thought narrows to this - the slide of him inside me, the scrape of denim against my thighs, the metal edge of the workbench cool against my spine.
He shifts, changing the depth, the friction, and pleasure spikes sharp enough to make me cry out. My nails dig into his shoulder. He does it again, deliberate, watching my face with that focused intensity that makes me feel seen and wanted and known.
The orgasm builds at the base of my spine, radiating outward in waves that make my thighs shake.
When it hits I arch hard against him, his name torn from my throat.
He drives into me harder, chasing his own release, and I feel the moment he breaks - the shudder that runs through him, the way he buries his face against my neck, breathing hard and saying my name like a prayer.
We stay tangled together afterward, his weight pins me to the workbench. The metal digs into my back. I don't care. Don't want to move. Don't want this moment to end.
"That was some celebration," I say eventually.
He pulls back enough to look at me, brushing hair from my face with gentle fingers. "You okay?"