Jonah knew his life was drifting in a direction he hadn’t exactly chosen—more like a slow tugboat being pulled by everyone else’s currents.

His twin brother? Running a wildly successful boat restoration business, practically engaged, already acting like a husband.

His older half brothers? Settled in their careers, in relationships that looked like they’d been carved out of Pinterest boards.

Even his sort-of sisters had their lives in gear—one was off on an Eat, Pray, Love pilgrimage and texting photos of herself meditating on cliff edges, and the other was blissfully wrapped up in her girlfriend, building a future with the quiet confidence he envied.

Meanwhile, Jonah… was still Jonah.

Smart, steady, helpful Jonah.

Floating Jonah.

He didn’t feel unhappy. Just… stuck. Like life was a race and he’d politely stepped aside to let everyone else pass him.

He wanted something bold.

Something stupidly dramatic.

Something no one would see coming.

So he applied to be on Love North of 60, the new high-arctic romance experiment streaming on FrostByte+.

The one with:

• outdoor fire pits overlooking frozen lakes
• nightly sauna confessionals
• hot tubs half-buried in snow
• northern lights that danced like they were taunting you
• and a ridiculously eco-chic lodge made of cedar, glass, and the tears of minimalist architects

He’d filled out the application form on a whim at two in the morning, eating cold leftover lasagne straight from the container.

He didn’t even upload a proper headshot—just a pic his sister Sabriana had taken during a family barbecue where he was squinting into the sun.

He was in a pair of surfer shorts, his blond hair had that perfect beach look and he had posed like a body builder, showing off his biceps. Which he had to admit, he looked good in that picture.

He never expected a call-back.

But then the casting producer emailed.

Then called.

Then squealed—actually squealed—when she learned he was a twin (“Do you both want to come on the show?”).

Even when Jonah said no, he was the only one applying, she still sounded thrilled.

A week later, he had a contract.

He didn’t tell his twin Caleb.

He simply announced to his family group chat that he’d be “travelling for a few weeks.”

No one even responded with anything stronger than a thumbs-up emoji.

Apparently it wasn’t weird or off-brand at all that Jonah was about to disappear for a few weeks, by himself.

And for the first time in a long time… he felt alive.

❦

Jonah wasn’t a fan of reality dating shows.

Sure, he’d watched a couple episodes here and there—usually because a date wanted to “just see the drama, it’s so bad it’s good.”

He’d always found the whole thing painfully contrived.

Forced chemistry.

Camera-ready heartbreak.

But when he finally arrived on set?

He realized he had severely underestimated just how contrived things could be.

Their entrances were staggered.

One contestant at a time, spaced out by fifteen minutes, so the cameras could get “first impressions” and “natural dynamics” (translation: manufactured drama) as cleanly as possible. Jonah was assigned the very last arrival slot.

Which meant the lodge was already buzzing by the time he stepped inside—a warm explosion of voices, laughter, clashing personalities, and the glow of overhead lights reflecting off floor-to-ceiling windows.

He stomped snow off his boots, adjusting the thick parka hood around his ears. The freezing air still pinned red to his cheeks.

A producer near the bar gestured sharply.

“There,” she whispered, like she was feeding the wolves.

“Everyone, meet… Jonah!”

Every conversation stopped.

Eleven strangers turned toward him.

Faces curious.

Faces calculating.

Faces already forming opinions.

Jonah lifted a hand, gave a sheepish smile—and then—

CRASH.

A glass shattered somewhere near the fireplace.

Someone gasped.

Everyone’s attention snapped away from him as sharply as it had landed.

Jonah blinked, confused—until he followed their line of sight.

And saw her.

Standing behind the kitchen island.

Frozen mid-step.

Holding nothing but shock.

Brittany Kildare.

His best friend from high school.

His everything for one night before her world broke.

The girl he hadn’t seen in nine years.

Somehow she looked more beautiful and identical to what he remembered.

Her long, dark brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which made her cheekbones stand out even more. She sported a golden tan and a form-fitting dress that showed Jonah exactly how much she had grown up.

Her lips parted.

Her dark brown eyes went wide.

And her voice—oh God—her voice was exactly the same.

“Jonah?”

His heart punched upward.

His breath vanished.

And despite the cameras, despite the crowd, despite every stupid choice that had led him to this moment…

His face split into the kind of grin he didn’t plan, didn’t control, didn’t ever give to strangers.

“Britt?” he breathed, soft and thunderstruck.

❦

Brittany hadn’t seen Jonah in nine years.

Nine years since her mother took her last breath in a too-bright hospital room.

Nine years since Brittany had been packed off to Argentina to live with a father she barely knew—a man who swung between overprotective and emotionally absent, as if smothering her counted as parenting. Nine years since the night everything changed between them.

Those years were… a blur.

A lonely, frustrating, too-fast blur.

Internet access was spotty. Her father controlled the phone bills and refused to let her get a new SIM card. Social media wasn’t allowed—“dangerous,” he’d said, though she’d always suspected he meant “distracting.”

So she lost everyone.

Jonah.

Her other friends.

Her school.

Her sense of home.

By the time she had any autonomy again—a cheap phone, a way to get online, a place where she could breathe—years had passed.

People had moved on.

She didn’t know how to step back into lives she’d fallen out of.

So she didn’t.

She pushed forward instead.

A modelling scout found her at a street market in Buenos Aires.

Nothing glamorous but she made enough to carve her way out of Argentina and back to Canada.

And for a while, that felt like a victory.

But modelling came with its own kind of hollowness—the constant scrutiny, the fake smiles, the constant whisper of be thinner, be prettier, be quieter.

She wanted something real.

Something that mattered.

Something like the social work degree she’d once dreamed of back in high school, sitting beside Jonah during late-night homework sessions while he explained chemistry formulas in that patient way that had always undone her.

The prize money for Love North of 60 was enough to fund that dream.

And she knew how these shows worked.

She knew the archetypes.

She knew how to play the game while keeping enough walls up to protect herself.

What she didn’t know—not in her wildest imaginings—was that stepping into this lodge, of all places, would mean stepping straight back into her past.

Straight back into the eyes she thought she’d never see again.

Straight back into Jonah.