Page 24 of Falling For Alaska

The Jenkins girl.

I stand and step out of the office, my heart thudding like I just ran five miles uphill. Some part of me already knows who’s waiting, the one person I’ve been trying to keep my distance from. I make my way to the hall and there she is. Alaska. Sitting in one of the gray plastic chairs, legs crossed, black tights hugging her skin beneath a small green checkered skirt. Her navy raincoat only deepens the amber glow of her hair, loose and glowing under the harsh fluorescents. Balanced carefully on her knees is a plate with a chocolate cake, no lid, the frosting smooth and rich as if she’d just finished icing it minutes ago. She hasn't seen me yet and picks at the skin near her nails, her cheeks flushed from the cold. With the sterile light above her, she almost looks unreal. Too delicate to be sitting in this ugly hallway. After a few seconds, she lifts her head, and her blue eyes lock with mine. And damn. I freeze, pulse pounding in my ears. There’s something haunted in her gaze, though. Something that doesn’t match the sweet softness of her features. My father always told me to trust my instincts. That’s why I can usually tell when someone’s hiding something. With her, it’s impossible to ignore. There’s a version of her folded into the corner of a room only she has the key to. I’d stake my whole job on it. And I know that room has no windows, nothing resembling comfort. It’s pitch-black and cold. She’s alone in there, knees pulled tight to her chest, rocking back and forth, waiting for someone to find her.

"Hi," she says softly, tilting her head just enough to let a piece of hair fall over her shoulder. There’s the faintest curve of a smile on her lips, but her fingers clutch the plate tighter.

"H-hi," I manage. My throat tightens, like it knows how badly I’m about to screw this up.

She draws in a quick breath. "I, um…made you a cake," she says, but her smile wavers, and she stands, hesitant, taking a small step toward me. "I was going to bake one for our hike, anyway, so I thought…well, you should still have some." My eyes drop to the homemade cake that probably took her hours.

"How…" My voice trails off. "How'd you know I’d b-be here?"

She hesitates, a tiny, unsure movement. "I figured you had work or something. I took a chance." She made this for me. After I bailed on her abruptly like a coward. I don’t deserve it.

"Y-you didn’t have t-to." My voice comes out harsher than I should. Guilt choking me. I shouldn’t let her be kind to someone like me. Her eyes flick downward.

"Sorry. It…it’s so stupid, it was a mistake." A frustrated sigh slips from her as she sets the plate on the chair beside her and turns toward the exit.

Shit. Great job, Parkson.

"Alaska, w-wait." The words stumble out of me before I can catch them. She stops, her back still turned. For a beat, I think she’ll keep going. But then she turns her head, just slightly, hair catching the light like copper fire. Her expression is tight and guarded.

"Why did you cancel?" she asks, barely audible.

"I…" I clear my throat, choosing the truth. "I thought you might’ve felt forced. Since Jared’s sister p-pushed you to show me around. I didn’t want to impose." She blinks, then shakes her head.

"I was happy to." Her voice drops. "Really." The shame hits me square in the chest. I lift a hand, almost reaching out, but curl my fingers into a fist instead.

"I just…didn’t think you’d w-want to see me again after I bailed. You just…caught me off guard. Th-thank you, for the cake, really. You didn’t h-h-have to." I rub the back of my neck like the idiot that I am.

She watches me, eyes searching for the truth in my features. "I didn’t mean to bother you. I just thought…" She trails off, looking down at the floor. A pink flush colors her neck.

"You’re not bothering me," I say quickly, firmer this time. "I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all."

She lifts her eyes again with a small, uncertain tilt of her head. "I thought you might want a sweet treat." If only she knew that the sweetest of all is standing before me. Her voice falters and she looks like she’s about to retreat again. "I’m gonna go now," she adds, disappointment tainting her voice. I can’t let her walk away like this.

Sergeant.

Minneapolis.

Low profile.

One year.

"Alaska," I say, softer this time. "I’m s-sorry. I didn’t act right. I’m…I’m really sorry." She stops. "W-would you…w-want to come in? T-to my office, I mean. We c-could share a bite."

"I don’t want to bother you," she says again, only her words sound unsure.

"You’re not," I state. "If anything, you’re the best dis-distraction I could ask for." She studies me, brushing a strand of hazelnut hair behind her ear, and offers the slightest nod.

"This way," I say, leading her toward my office. It’s not far from the hall, the station’s small, with barely a handful of rooms. I think about shutting the door behind us, but leave it open. That'd be too… intimate. She steps in, her gaze sweeping over the scattered boxes, case files stacked high, open folders across the floor. The beige walls are dotted with generic photos of forests and lakes.

"It’s n-not much, but⁠—"

"It’s fine," she says quickly, offering a smile that dips at the edges like she’s suddenly remembering something sad. I set the cake down on the left side of my desk, clear of paperwork, then grab Jared’s chair from across the room and place it in front of mine, keeping the wooden desk between us.

"Here," I say, tapping the seat. "Sit."

It comes out rougher than I meant, and I immediately regret the tone. Some women hate being spoken to like that. She settles into the chair without a word, her smile soft, easy. Almost as if we were speaking our own language. I take a breath, trying to shake the weird feeling curling in my gut. Since the woods, I haven’t been able to get her out of my damn head. No matter how many reasons I give myself to stay away.