Page 43 of Falling For Alaska

"Heard you had distinguished yourself this week, good job, son," he congratulates me loudly.

"Thanks, s-sir," I deadpan, waiting for the low blow that always happens with him.

"Well, you keep on with the good work and perhaps I’ll think about getting you back in Minneapolis sooner," he rasps with joy, and all blood drains from my face.

"S-sooner?" I say lower, hoping Alaska won’t hear me.

"What? Found yourself a lady? In a month or two, perhaps. We got lots of work here and could use extra hands," he chatters, not hearing the shift in my tone. The wind gets knocked out of me, and I can’t even find the words.

"I-I, I’ll await your orders," I tell him blankly, like a good officer should, even if the thought of leaving this town makes my insides twist in a way I never thought they would.

"That’s what I wanna hear. Call you back with more news soon, Parkson," he shouts before ending the call. I look outside. People are coming in and out of the bakery with tools to help, walking down Main Street with smiles on their faces, taking branches off the concrete and all the other things that flew everywhere during the storm. Lakeside has more to offer than I thought. A community. A sense of belonging, and most of all…Alaska. I glance at my girl, her back facing me, her hair falling on her shoulders like a cascade. As if she felt my gaze on her, she peeks to the side.

"Everything’s okay?" she asks with her sweet voice that I’d love to hear on repeat every day of my life.

"My-my old job. N-n-nothing…nothing serious," I tell her, clenching my jaw. She nods, saunters to me, and then rises on her tiptoes to kiss me in front of the window where anyone could see us. My eyes stay open as I watch her drop a feather-like kiss on me. I hiss in a breath before kissing her back with more force than I should, despair taking over me. Once we break apart, she’s panting, staring at me with her big blue eyes. My heart twists, and I look away.

What am I going to do when it's time to come home?

Chapter Fifteen

ALASKA

“I heard you were getting close to this new officer,” Mom says with a light smile as she stirs the pot in our family kitchen. Her chestnut hair, similar to mine, falls over her shoulders. She’s wearing a long, flowery dress with a brown cardigan and a red apron that proudly declares, “I’m the Chef here.”

“His name’s Jack,” I tell her, sitting near her at the breakfast nook, not even trying to hide it. Why would I? I have enough secrets of my own, I don’t need another. Besides, I kissed Jack in my store last week, where anyone could have walked by. It’s hardly a secret at this point, especially in Lakeside, where it’s almost impossible to keep prying eyes away.

“Jack,” she mutters above the steaming stew. “It’s a nice name.” She gives me a knowing look. “Strong, classic… Sounds like someone who chops wood for fun or orders pencils by height.”

I chuckle. “I don’t think he chops wood for fun, Mom. He’s from the city.”

Mom stirs the pot with exaggerated grace. “You know how I feel about it… You can tell a lot from someone’s name. Look, we chose Alaska because it sounded like the name of a Viking princess.”

“A Viking princess?” I let a giggle escape. She lifts her gaze from the pot to face me for a second.

“I meant a strong person. It made me think of mountains and snow,” she explains, looking away at the window in front of her. “Your dad wanted a sweet name, but I told him,” she eyes her belly, “‘this one’s going to be wild. We have to name her properly.’” She chuckles. I wrinkle my nose as she swats her hand away. “You make me sound like a creature from the mountains.”

She grins and winks at me. “If the shoe fits.” I roll my eyes, but deep down I’m smiling. I love my parents. They live a simple life, but it never felt like it. Since we were kids, Matthew and I were surrounded by love and care; it took me years to realize how lucky we actually were. Not everyone gets that. Despite what happened, Mom always tries to keep a cheerful tone around me, even if her worried gaze hardly hides anything. I know she’s hurting too, and I know she wishes she could take my pain away. We don’t talk about it. They tried, the three of them, but I couldn’t. They wouldn’t understand.

Jack’s face floats in my mind.

Perhaps he would.

“It’s…it’s good then,” she says, looking back at the stew. “I’m glad you’re giving it a chance again.” Her voice falters. “I know how difficult it is for you to put yourself out there, honey.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m…” her voice cracks, “I’m happy for you.” I stand and walk to her, standing behind her and wrapping my arms around her tightly. She freezes. I breathe in the scent of my mom—cinnamon, biscuit, and perhaps a bit of citrus. Mom smells like Christmas all year round.

I know why she froze.

It’s been years since I’ve hugged her like that.

Years since I had enough warmth in me to show my love to the people I care about.

“I love you, Mom,” I tell her as I hear her voice thicken with unshed tears.

“I love you, honey,” she says back, her shoulders relaxing as I let go and return to the chair, flexing my hands as if my scars had been reopened for a few seconds. The desire to scratch them overtakes me, but I take a deep breath, momentarily reminded of Jack’s lips on them, taking the pain away.

“I’m sorry,” she says, wiping a tear above the stove. “I missed holding my daughter.” She glances at me. “Whatever this Jack’s doing, you tell him I like him already.” She grins with watery eyes, and I smile back, nodding silently, because yes, whatever Jack’s doing to me is better than the last six years of shutting myself away from the world.

“And what about you, Mom? How’s work?”