Chapter 2
Chapter Two
ALASKA
It’s been an hour since the man walked into my shop, and I still can’t erase the sound of his voice from my mind.
The way he spoke was…mesmerizing. Low, rough, rich like velvet.
He seemed tense, though, almost nervous, his thick arms crossed and his jaw clenching with every word.
Was he expecting me to react badly? If so…
my heart aches for him. I would never have called him on it.
I know better than most what it feels when your own body betrays you.
And to be honest, my attention wasn’t truly focused on what he was saying.
I was a little too caught off guard by how striking he was.
Does he have that masculine, musky scent like the heroes in my books?
I blushed at the thought. For a second, I froze, wondering what his stubble might feel under my fingertips.
Which is strange. I usually don't want to touch anyone. Especially not a stranger. He looked at me as if he was seeing a woman for the first time. It gave me chills, and I had to check myself in the mirror after he left. Did he notice me blushing? I’m more used to old ladies reading historical romances and teenagers searching for vampire novels.
Handsome, tall, broad-shouldered, ashy blond hair cops aren’t one of those.
I try to gather my thoughts as I welcome my first customers of the day, but the image of this man lingers in my mind.
Lunch arrives quickly and I call my brother before heading outside to grab a bite.
“A new cop? In Lakeside?” asks my twin, Matthew, as I’m packing my tote bag to go out and close the shop for half an hour.
“Uh-huh, and…he was, I don’t know, different.”
“Different?” he repeats, as I hear a melody of piano playing behind him.
He’s a pianist, and he’s been working from home since high school, creating beautiful sequences for movies and trailers.
He lives in the heart of town, while I live on its edge, where the roads thin out and the forest takes over.
I’m glad he stayed here. I couldn’t leave after what happened; I needed to be close to him.
“Maybe he’s having a hard time fitting in; folks here aren’t the most welcoming to newcomers, especially the ones from big cities. ”
“Yeah, maybe,” I mutter.
“Alright, by the way, are you all set for next week?” he asks, excitement creeping into his voice.
“What’s happening next week?”
“Aha. Very funny, Alaska. Remind me to sign you up for open mic night.”
“You wouldn’t.” My head tilts slightly with a half-smile.
“I would, and I’d enjoy every second.” I suppress a laugh, though the corners of my mouth barely lift. “Well, if you need anything. You know where to find me.”
“I know,” I pause, “thanks, Matt.” I end the call and slip my phone back into my bag, the one with Lakeside Holidays printed in thick blue letters with a sketch of the lake.
I stare at it for a moment, then head out to meet my best friend Bella at the bakery across the street.
As I’m walking toward it, I can’t help but think once again about the mysterious stranger who came by this morning.
Will I see him again at the Fall Festival next week?
Jack
“Looks like a two-man job,” Axel Callahan says, his voice irritated as he gestures to the splintered front door.
The guy’s built like an oak tree, late twenties, brown hair, arms crossed over a worn grey T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders.
His workshop, Callahan & Hartwood Furnishing, smells of fresh-cut wood and sawdust, with every tool neatly hung on the wall as if it’s part of a display.
I glance around, taking in the details, but part of my mind drifts back to the girl from the bookshop.
Alaska.
She was quite…a sight.
Crouching beside the damaged frame, a low whistle slips through my teeth before I say anything, an old habit that buys me a second without drawing attention.
“I s-see,” I manage. “Any other signs of forced entry?” My stutter’s mostly under control when I’m working, being in my element, and all that.
It helps. I know what I have to do, and how to do it.
Still, it never really leaves. It’s always there, dormant, waiting to come back when I least expect it.
I’ve had months where it barely showed up at all.
Thought I was past it. Then one morning, I woke up to find it back in full strength.
There were times I didn’t even want to leave the house.
Couldn’t stand the idea of ordering food or having to speak to anyone, even my own family.
I live in fear of it, of the words locking up, of people doubting my ability to do my job just because I stumble on a word.
Every morning, I wake up bracing for whatever new limitation I’ll have to work around that day.
And knowing my Captain back in Minneapolis wants me to “get rid of it” like I can just shake off…
He has no idea. My stutter isn’t something you cure.
I tried. Speech therapy from age six to fifteen.
A decade of frustration costing my mom a fortune.
Any progress I made was usually crushed by someone finishing my sentence just to hurry the conversation along.
So I built my own strategies, made of breathing patterns, words to avoid, and workarounds, to make it easier. People think the worst part is the spasms or the choking on words, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg.
Physically, it’s frustrating.
Mentally, I’m trapped inside myself and I don’t know if I’ll ever get out.
“Don’t think so,” Axel replies, walking toward the back.
“The fuckers had the nerve to come in through the front. Bold as hell.” He grits his teeth.
“They took some tools, a brand-new cutting machine, and a bit of cash. If I’d caught one of them…
” He trails off, jaw tight. I listen, jotting a quick note in my notebook, keeping my breathing measured like I’ve trained myself to.
My eyes catch faint scuff marks on the floor near the back door.
Dragging motion, maybe. A cutting machine wouldn’t be light.
“You n-notice these?” I ask, pointing.
Axel leans in, frowning. “No. Good catch.”
“Could be a lead. I’ll follow up at the s-s-station, see if anything similar’s happened lately.”
“Appreciate it,” he says, keeping eye contact. “You’re new here, right?”
“Yeah. I arrived two days ago. I was stationed in Minneapolis b-before.”
“You don’t say? What’s a guy like you doing in our town? Ain’t you gonna get bored here?” He lifts a brow.
I exhale through my nose, clenching my arms tight.
“N-no,” I say, then clear my throat. “Different pace, sure,” I pause, gathering myself, “work’s work.
Doesn’t matter where you are, people still find ways to g-g-get into t-trouble.
” I bite my tongue, hating myself for stumbling so much.
Axel doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, leaning against the bench.
“Well, trouble’s scarce here most of the time. Fall Festival’s probably the liveliest it gets. You planning to check it out?”
“Haven’t heard of it,” I admit, glancing back at the scuff marks. “What’s it like?”
“Big deal around here,” he says, scratching his neck. “Food stalls, music, workshops, bonfire by the lake. Pretty much everyone shows up. Even tourists come in for it.” He flicks a hand dismissively. “Good excuse to drink cider and let loose a little.”
“If there’s a…uh, c-crowd, I guess we’ll all be on duty.” I straighten, sliding my notes into the back pocket of my jeans.
“It’s not much, but yeah, we like it here,” Axel says before gesturing toward the door.
“And hey, thanks for catching that clue. You might be sharper than some of the other guys we’ve had through here.
” I let out a low, stilted hum, my lungs pulling tight.
So far, I’ve met three officers and my captain.
Five of us total. From what I’ve seen, they seem decent.
Still, I’ve only been here two days. Plenty of time to find out who’s really carrying their weight.
“I’ll keep you p-posted,” I say as I step outside.
The crisp fall wind hits my face as Main Street slowly comes to life.
Shops opening, folks moving about. I can almost see her store from here.
As I head back to my car, I glance toward the bookshop window.
She’s inside. Her wild brown hair catches the light as she talks to someone, her back to the street.
She’s listening carefully, one hand resting on the shelf beside her.
I shouldn’t stare. She’s just a stranger.
Someone I spoke to for all of two minutes.
Sliding into my car, my phone lights up as the calendar app opens, the Fall Festival’s next week.
The engine turns over, my grip tightening on the steering wheel as I try to ignore the voice insisting I might see her there again.