Gina checked the pasteles boiling in the pot on the stove. The new house’s freezer was stocked with the platano leaf-wrapped bundles of mashed malanga, calabaza, and green bananas, seasoned with a boatload of spices and made by hand in Benita’s kitchen. Gina had asked her mother and sister to help her make them specifically to bring to the Alaska house,

Stone, as it turned out, had a taste for Puerto Rican cooking. He’d helped, too, sitting with Araceli’s kids to wrap the pasteles in a water-tight pattern.

Gina turned away from the stove. “It finally smells like home in here, instead of paint and new wood.”

“Watched pasteles don’t cook.” Stone took her by the hand and led her into their living room. He sat on the sofa and pulled her into his lap, tucking his face into her neck for a long sniff. “Besides, home to me smells like coconut and hibiscus flowers.”

She snuggled against him. “I wasn’t going to leave my shampoo behind.”

He rubbed his nose in her hair. “I like it. You’re the only tropical flower in Alaska, and you’re all mine.” Lifting his head, he sniffed the air. “It’s a good thing you didn’t pop those in the pot while my family was here. They never would have left.”

“They had to. They’re shooting tomorrow.” Stone’s family had gotten a new show where they taught survival techniques to regular people. Stone wasn’t on it, and neither were Raven and Winter. They’d gone off to college in Seattle.

“Trust me, they would have stuck around for food.”

Gina rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat. “Today was fun.”

“I’m a little worried by how good you are at shooting a gun.”

She snorted. “Don’t worry. I’ll never turn it on you. Hunting isn’t for me.”

“Thank goodness.” He was quiet for a moment. “Is it terrible that I’m glad you’re taking off this season of The Dance Off?”

“No, it’s not terrible. But why are you glad?”

“Because I know how much time goes into it, and I’m selfish.” He squeezed her. “I want to spend more time with you.”

“Being in a Broadway show takes up tons of time, too.”

“I know, but I’ve met your costars, and they’re all afraid of me. How do I know The Dance Off won’t give you some strapping young man—”

“You mean how they gave me you?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“They did that because I was single. They know I’m not single now. Everyone knows I’m not single now.”

“Pop tried to pitch me the idea of us doing a reality show about living together.” Stone rolled his eyes upward. “I told him I’d think about it, but if he ever brings it up to you, the answer is no. I’m sick of cameras watching our every move.”

“At least there are no paparazzi in Alaska.”

“Why do you think I like it here so much?”

“Ha.” She hugged him and stayed quiet, listening to the sounds of the wind outside the house they’d built themselves—with the help of the other Nielsons—the water bubbling on the stove, and the fire crackling in the hearth facing the sofa. The aroma of peppers and onions mixed with the smoky, earthy scent of the burning firewood—Stone would know what type of wood it was, and maybe one day, she would, too—but underlying it all was the scent of pine and fresh air.

The new scent of home.

The warmth of his body enveloped her, and the fabric of his gray Henley was soft under her cheek. Bronx Girl was a success, and Gina’s contract had been extended. Her understudy was handling the role now, so Gina could spend time in Alaska organizing the house before winter set in. Stone warned her it arrived early. They’d head back to New York in a few days, so Gina could go back to playing Meli on stage—still a dream come true, and she loved every minute of it—and so Stone could walk the runways for Fall Fashion Week. As it turned out, all the dancing had made him a stunner on the catwalk, and he said it was easier and more lucrative than engineering.

“I love you,” she murmured into his chest.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” He shifted her back so he could look her in the eye. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

She scowled at him. “Stop making such a big deal about it.”

“No, I’m going to make a very big deal about this. My girlfriend has finally stopped qualifying the L word with ‘I think.’ I’m going to take out an ad in the goddamn New York Times.”

She flicked a finger against his rock hard pecs. “Oh, stop it.”

“Nope.” He cupped her face in one hand and kissed her slowly, until her body heated from more than the crackling fire. “You love me. I’m going to remember this day for the rest of my life.”

“Just remember who we have to thank.” She cut her eyes to the gaudy glitter-and-rhinestone-encrusted trophy resting on the center of the mantle, glowing golden in the light of the fire and the rays of the setting sun streaming through the big windows behind them.

Stone raised an imaginary glass in a toast to the trophy. “Fucking Donna.”

Gina laughed and lifted her hand to toast as well. “Indeed. Cheers to you, Fucking Donna.”

They clinked their imaginary glasses, pretended to sip, and then proceeded to break in the new sofa.

They almost forgot about the pasteles.