20. Skylar
Chapter Twenty
SKYLAR
I stared at myself in the mirror, reaching for my hairbrush again. I ran it through my hair, wrinkling my nose and wishing Emily was here. She often did my hair when we lived in foster care together and later as roommates.
Before I’d sworn off dating, which was a full year before she died, she would do my hair. My hair was stick straight and dark brown. She’d always managed to give it a glossy, tousled look, which I could never pull off. I sighed as I studied my reflection.
“Maybe I need to put it up?” I murmured. “Forget it.”
I was having entire conversations with my reflection in the mirror. I reached for some eyeliner. It was smoky gray with a little glitter in it. I felt foolish, but I put it on anyway.
This was ridiculous. I should’ve canceled. But every time I thought about canceling, I recalled Daphne telling me she had a feeling about Tucker and me. My silly, foolish, battered, and tired heart thumped several beats of hope. Those beats were like claps as if I was cheering myself on.
I told myself Tucker was a nice guy. And maybe, maybe something could happen. At least I told him my story.
After brushing my hair again, I walked out of the bathroom, immediately circling into my bedroom.
My apartment was tiny, but it was all mine.
Emily and I would’ve shared the bedroom if she’d been here with me.
We’d found a one-bedroom place because we needed to save money.
We were cheap, always wanting to save up.
The apartment was furnished, so Emily had said it would be a plus.
I was enjoying it all by myself even though it was lonely.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door. I was wearing jeans and a pair of boots paired with a fluffy V-neck sweater. At the last minute, I put on a pair of silver hoop earrings.
I didn’t usually do things like that. Before I could change my mind, there was a knock on the door. My heartbeat shot off, rocketing out of control. I tried to take a deep breath, but it was pointless. I could hardly get any air in.
“Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip,” I muttered to myself before walking briskly out of the bathroom.
When I opened the door, the force of my motion almost slammed it against the wall. Tucker’s reflexes were lightning fast, and he caught the edge of the door on the inside of the hinge.
“Thank you. I guess I kind of overdid it there.”
He grinned. His eyes lingered on my face for a minute before skating over me. I felt a flush bloom from the center outward and hoped my cheeks weren’t too pink. “Hi,” I added belatedly.
“Hey,” he said, his voice raspy. “You ready?”
“Sure,” I chirped, hurrying to grab my purse off the corner of the kitchen island and slipping into my jacket. He waited for me, and we walked out in silence a few moments later.
I was tense. I tried to remember the last time I went on a date.
I still wasn’t sure if this was a date even though Tucker said it was.
I was thinking maybe it was a pity date after everything I’d said to him the other night.
Talk about bad habits. I used to do that a lot—tell guys my whole life story—because I was so ready to fall in love.
I’d searched for it around every corner.
I’d hook up with a guy and think they were looking for love when we’d met at a dive bar. It was ridiculous.
When we got outside, I stopped by my car. His truck was parked right beside it. I looked from him to his truck to my car. “Should I drive?” I finally asked.
“Nooo,” he said slowly. “I guess if you really want to drive, you could.”
I was relieved for the chilly air because hopefully, it would cool the heat flashing into my cheeks. “I don’t need to drive,” I finally said.
He actually held the passenger door of his truck open for me, which was weird.
Maybe I couldn’t remember my last date, but I’d never had a single guy hold the door for me.
Not that I thought it was all that important.
I was all on board with women, power, and feminism.
If someone wanted to hold the door for me, that was polite.
Like I held the door for Ludie whenever we walked out together.
One time, I gave her a ride home, and I opened the door for her on the passenger side.
Maybe I had done it because I needed to clean a few things off the seat, but you get my point.
I didn’t date polite guys before. I suppose that was my point.
Once we were seated in his truck, I snuck a glance at Tucker, relieved he wasn’t looking at me. He was tapping something on his dashboard. “Hot or cold?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I have dual controls and heated seats.”
“I’m usually cold,” I replied.
“Does seventy-four sound good?”
Seventy-four seemed downright decadent. Another holdover from growing up poor was no matter what the temperature was in the winter, the heat never went above sixty-five.
That was warm enough to keep you from getting hypothermia, but when it was really cold and rainy out, I wouldn’t have minded being a little warmer.
Once he started driving, his hand rested casually on the steering wheel. His fingers dangled over the edge, and his forearm was dusted lightly with brown-gold hair. I soaked up the little details about him.
A short drive later, our footsteps crunched on the gravel as we crossed the parking lot to Diamond Creek Brewery.
It wasn’t far from the airport. I’d always been curious, yet I’d never dared to go.
Financially, I was fine. Frankly, I was better than I’d ever been.
Yet the habits of constantly squirreling away what little money I had and worrying about it all falling apart were grooved so deep in my brain, sometimes it felt as if I’d tripped and fallen into them.
A little hum of anticipation buzzed through me.
It wasn’t even about Tucker. I was going out to dinner at a new restaurant, and that was a big deal for me.
The restaurant was in an old airplane hangar, completely renovated.
The outside looked mostly the same, except windows had been cut into the corrugated steel walls.
It was situated beside a marshy field, just beyond a narrow stream that fed the ocean from Kachemak Bay.
A sign in a whimsical font was mounted above the entrance.
Tucker held the door for me, and I scooted in, surprised to discover the waiting area was crowded with people. “I made a reservation,” he murmured, his voice just beside my ear and sending a shiver down that side of my body.
When his hand landed on the curve of my back, his touch was like a hot shock. The heat of it filtered through my clothing. He coaxed me forward when I came to a stop. “Excuse us,” he murmured.
His voice was low but authoritative, and the crowd parted for us. “Shouldn’t we wait?” I asked under my breath.
“Nope. That’s what reservations are for.”
Seconds later, we were standing in front of a small reception stand, and a woman dressed in jeans and combat boots with a pretty silky blouse smiled at us. Her dark blond hair was pulled into a ponytail that swung as she moved. “Hey, Tucker.”
“Hey, Lana,” he said easily. “We have a reservation.”
She glanced down at a notepad sitting on the stand in front of her. “That you do, Tucker Harrison.” She picked up two menus. “Follow me.”
I was totally blown away by this. We just skipped the whole line.
It felt insane. I’d never made a reservation anywhere in my entire life.
Emily and I had dreams when we were young about making reservations at one of the fanciest restaurants in San Francisco.
But it was too expensive and too exclusive, something we never had the nerve to do.
That was a depressing thing about poverty and uncertainty.
Even dreaming big felt like asking for too much.
Reservations at a restaurant weren’t too big for Tucker, though.
A moment later, Lana stopped in front of a table by the windows in the corner. This also felt as if we were breaking some kind of rule. This wasn’t supposed to be our table. It had the best view in the entire restaurant and privacy to boot.
“Here you are,” Lana said with an easy smile cast between us. “Have a seat. Do you want to know the specials?” She set the menus down in front of each chair before holding up a smaller one, offering, “These are the specials. The king crab is heavenly.”
“Whew. I love king crab,” Tucker commented.
“Would you like some drinks?” she asked.
Tucker glanced at me, and I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, Danny will be your server. He’ll be here in just a few minutes. You can let him know. The drink menu is right there.” She gestured to a small laminated menu tucked between the salt and pepper.
“Okay, thank you,” Tucker said.
After we sat down, she hurried off. Tucker lifted his gaze to mine. “Get whatever you want.”
“We’re splitting the check, right?”
He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. “No.”
“Yes, we are,” I insisted. “Remember? You got the pizza the other night.”
“But I asked you out to dinner,” he replied as if that settled it.
I opened my mouth to argue, startled when he shrugged. “You know what? Whatever. If you want to split the check, we can.”
My expression must have given away my surprise because he flashed a grin, his sky-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Maybe I will have you pay.”
“That’s fine too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you getting something to drink?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m driving. I could have a beer, but it’s easier not to worry about it.”
“Then I won’t have anything.”
“But you’re not driving.”
“I know, but I don’t drink much anyway.” I opened the menu, asking, “What are you getting?”
He didn’t even open the menu. “Oh, I’m getting that king crab special.”
“I’ve never had king crab.”
His mouth dropped open. “What?!”
“It’s crazy expensive.”
“You need to try it,” he insisted.
“But we can’t get the same thing.”
“Let’s get the king crab appetizer, and then you get something else. We can share.”
Anxiety tightened in my chest. Navigating the treacherous waters of ordering in a restaurant felt overwhelming. I knew what to get at a fast food place—double cheeseburger, extra pickles. That was my favorite.
Tucker was waiting, his eyes on me. I took a breath before opening the menu and staring down at it, relieved to see the choices weren’t too overwhelming.
“Have you been here before?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. We come here pretty regularly.”
“Who’s we?”
“Anyone from the lodge. Good food, good pizza. Honestly, everything’s good.” He leaned over, pointing at something on the menu. “That’s good.”
“Halibut tacos?” I asked doubtfully.
“I promise. They’re good,” he assured me.
“Okay, I’ll get them.”
That got me another grin, and butterflies swarmed in my belly. My lungs felt tight as I tried to suck in a breath of air.
Just then, a young man paused by our table. “Hi there.”
“Hey, Danny,” Tucker said with an easy grin and a wink. “Have you met Skylar?”
Danny shook his head as he smiled down at me. He was handsome with dark blond hair, brown eyes, and a relaxed manner. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. Danny Turner at your service.”
“Skylar, Skylar Bridges,” I replied with a smile.
“Have you two decided what you’d like tonight? Anything to drink?”
“I’ll take a bottle of your non-alcoholic cider,” Tucker said.
“Oh, I’ll take the same,” I chimed in.
“Perfect, that stuff is good,” Danny said.
“We’re ready to order too,” Tucker added.
“I’ll take the halibut tacos,” I said when Tucker looked at me.
He ordered his king crab and a hot pretzel stuffed with more crab. On the docks in San Francisco were cheap fish markets with good prices and the like, so I’d had crab, but I’d never had the vaunted king crab.
Danny disappeared, and we fell quiet before Tucker commented, “I can’t believe you haven’t been here before. Tell me what else you haven’t tried since you’ve been to Alaska.”
“I don’t really do restaurants,” I said, deciding honesty was my best approach.
His brows hitched up. “No?”
“They’re expensive. I’m not used to having much spending money. It’s a habit.” I shrugged, trying to ignore the self-consciousness welling inside.
“I know Ludie pays you well. That’s a good job.”
“I know. Like I said, it’s a habit. You’re a pilot, so I’m guessing you make more money than me.”
He winked. “I am, but it’s not about the money. You at least need to try all the good places in Diamond Creek. That doesn’t even cover Anchorage, where there are plenty of good restaurants.”
“Anchorage is over four hours away,” I squeaked.
“Yeah, it’s a day trip,” he replied with a shrug.
I let out a startled laugh.
“It’s Alaska. I thought it was weird how people barely paid attention to geographic distance when I first moved here too, but now it’s not. It’s just the way it is.”
“I know,” I agreed. “People fly to Anchorage for the day. Do you guys do many of those flights?”
“Here and there.”
Tucker was good at social conversation, or so I discovered that night.
This was a side of him I hadn’t seen, and I had no idea what to think of it.
At the lodge with his friends, I’d seen his relaxed side.
But this was even more different. It felt like he was actually trying to make an effort, and I sensed he was trying to put me at ease.
That unsettled me because I wasn’t supposed to matter. Not to anyone.