Breakfast at The Spruce always carried the hum of small-town life: the scrape of chairs, the chatter of locals, the clink of cutlery against heavy diner plates. Grace slipped into the dining room with her usual mixture of nerves and practiced calm, forcing a smile for Natasha behind the counter. She wasn’t a local, not really, but she was determined to at least seem like she belonged.
Connor Ankkonisdooy dropped into the empty seat beside her with the easy confidence of someone who had always belonged.
“Hey, Grace,” he greeted warmly, flashing a grin that was equal parts charm and mischief. “How’d your first month in Alaska go?”
Grace’s fingers tightened around her mug. “Not too bad,” she answered, her voice casual. “Especially now that the days are getting longer.” She glanced out the
