Page 20 of Falling For Alaska

“Hey, we don’t have to d-do that if you d-don’t want to,” he says calmly, his deep velvety voice reassuring me like a hug. My hand shakes against the map. Great, he must think I’m getting cold feet. At least he’s not asking me about my scars and why the skin on my fingers looks like it’s been through a shredder before being stitched back together.

“No, it’s fine…”, standing up, “I want to.” I admit with a smile. “Do you…hike often?”

“Not really, I p-prefer running,” he admits. “But I’ll manage, don’t worry bout’ it.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Why would I when he looks so athletic?

“When do you want to do this ?”

Now? Tomorrow? No, it’s too soon, I still have to mentally prepare for this.

“This weekend ?”

“I’m on shift Saturday, but… um, what about S-s-sunday morning? Around ten?” I clasp my hands, trying to keep them still. “Yes, that’d be perfect.”

“Is there an-anything you want me to bring? I could take drinks and food,” he pauses, “we c-could have lunch up there bef-fore, er, g-going down?” He winces, and I wonder if it's due to his stutter. I'm not bothered by it in the slightest, but watching him get annoyed by it breaks my heart.

“It’s… a great idea.”

So this is definitely a date.

“Perfect.”

“Anything you don’t like in p-particular?”

Yes, anything that’s too cold. Anything with ice.

“I’m fine with whatever,” I assure him. There’s no chance he’ll figure out a way to bring ice up there right? “How are you since… um, the last time I saw you at the supermarket?” An electric current went through us that day; I'm almost certain he felt it too.

“It’s all good, p-part of the job, you know.” His weight shifting from one foot to the other.

“I never thought you could get a gun pointed at your head for this sort of felony.”

“He was armed,” he states firmly and I'm slapped with the realisation of the danger he was in.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.” I bite my tongue.

“It’s fine, I…I just wanted to protect people from him.”

“And you did,” I offer a small smile, admiring his courage, then close the map, looking right at the clock above the counter. Eleven thirty. Almost lunch time. Surely he has better things to do than stay here with me. “I don’t want to keep you if you have to go back.” I fidget, a weird sense of panic rising in me at the idea of him leaving. As I fold the paper, my hands start to shake and I cringe internally.

Why do I have to be so awkward?

“Wait,” he says, taking the map from my hands in a gentle motion, “I’ll take care of this.” He folds it properly without tearing the paper like I was doing, then hands it to me. I grab it and our fingers brush in the process. I don't flinch or panic. Jack's touch isn't harming me nor bringing me back to the darkness. It grounds me. Reassures me. It's as if our bodies had recognized each other from a past life.

“D-d-do you want me—” he clears his throat, “to leave now? I… I’ve got fifteen minutes before I need to head back,” he adds, jaw tightening.

Please, stay.

Heat rushes to my face. “Um…coffee?”

“Sure.” Our eyes meet for a brief second, enough to make me falter. I turn quickly toward the back room and pour him a cup before returning with the steaming mug cradled in my hands.

“Thanks.” He offers a crooked half-smile, flexing his hand twice in quick succession. My stomach knots, and I’m suddenly glad I chose my favorite sweater, a burgundy one, paired with a denim skirt and black tights.

“So, how’s Lakeside treating you so far?” I try. How do people flirt again?

“So far? I’ve had a few old ladies drop off blueberry muffins at the s-station, so I’d say, well, I was wrong.”