Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
JACK
My reflection’s mocking me once again in this small bathroom filled with steam. A towel around my waist, my chest is barely visible in the mist crowding the mirror. I sigh. For once, I just need this one to be okay. Not stumble, not even stutter on a stupid vowel. Just a full, one-shot sentence.
“Alaska J-Jen-Jenkins—” I land a hand on the edge of the sink, my veins pulsing under my fingers, thick and angry.
I can’t mispronounce her name. Alaska deserves the world, and if I can’t even say her name, that’d be mortifying.
I mutter a curse word, remembering the years of speech therapy and all the tips and advice my teachers used to give me.
Stand tall. Don’t block it. Absorb the shock.
Breathe. Talk while you’ve still got air.
Back then, I couldn’t think about so many things at the same time.
It was a pile of confusing mess mixed with grief and defeat.
“C’mon, you can do this,” I murmur and try for the twentieth time. “Alaska Jenkins, would you d-d-do me the honour of c-coming on-on-on a d-date with, with m-me?” A growl comes out of me, and my hand folds into a fist. It’s seven a.m. There’s still time to practice.
I try again twenty more times.
Alaska
The morning light stretches across the street, a handful of people walking with heavy tools under their arms, reading to fix what the storm tried to break.
I wish I were that easy to fix, too. Steam rises from my cup of tea, bringing a small sense of normalcy to the disarray.
The storm is no longer here, and even the rain stopped.
It’s like the universe had decided that Lakeside had enough heartache for now.
Our town still bears its marks though, branches scattered across the street, Sherry’s bakery windows were broken and her oven short-circuited last night, but overall, it could have been even worse.
At least no one was hurt thanks to the firefighters and the police.
Thanks to Jack. I miss him. I haven't missed someone in a long time.
It's a different kind of longing, like waiting for a train without knowing if it will arrive.
You just wait, and wait, eager to see the door open and see… him.
My shop was spared, if not for the few inches of water that got through my old showcase bay window.
Nothing a mop couldn’t fix. I cleaned everything as soon as I got here, while the town was waking up slowly.
I’m browsing my shelves in search of any kind of droplets of water when I hear the tingling melody of my door opening. I spin immediately.
Jack.
He stands tall, his broad shoulders looking even more massive, his gaze zeroing in on me like a lion.
The dark circles under his eyes do nothing to remove his charm and handsomeness.
My heart stutters, my fingers still clutching the rag I’d used to clean the window.
I’m wearing a dress for once, a short burgundy wool dress with long sleeves and over-the-knee leather boots.
I didn’t even know what I was doing in front of the mirror this morning, trying to style my hair like a teenage girl.
“Hi,” I breathe out, flutters in my stomach.
“Alaska,” he murmurs, like he just wanted to say my name. Silence stretches for a few seconds more than what is socially acceptable, both of us in a standoff, drinking each other in. He takes a slow step forward and eyes the fabric in my hand with an arched brow.
“It’s nothing, just a leak,” I answer, but he comes closer and my heart stops as I wonder if he’ll kiss me. At the last second, he shifts his body to the window and notices the corner where a bit of water has dampened the wall, his police jacket brushing the wool of my dress.
“My dad’s a plumber, he’ll fix it,” I assure him, not wanting to bother him with that, since I already checked it and figured it wasn’t a big deal.
“I-I can go t-to the store now and, and fix it for you,” he states, already stepping back to get out of my shop, and for some irrational reason, I catch his forearm in my hand, preventing him from getting out.
The leak can wait. I want him here. I’ve waited all night to see him.
My shop could be flooded for all I care. I just want…him.
He stops and stares down at my hand, his jaw clenching and setting my cheeks on fire. Touching isn’t an issue anymore, at least not with him. Step by step, I’m creating a new normal. A new version of myself.
“Stay,” I whisper. “Don’t go.” He looks at me, then nods slowly. “Coffee?” I ask.
Please, stay longer.
“Yeah,” a corner of his lips lifting, “Th-thanks.” If only he knew how my heart is running at a gallop’s speed under my chest, reaching for a destination I’m not sure I’ll recover from.
I smile at him shyly, then turn to the back of the shop to make him a cup of coffee and reheat my mug of Earl Grey.
The kettle buzzes while I glance at him, huge and powerful in my little pastel pink bookshop.
He’s as strong as a soldier, bleeding calm and strength out of his skin.
While I’m the opposite. I’m…barely visible.
Just a girl from a small town who loses herself in books.
When I dare gawk at him over the sound of the coffee machine, he grins, a book in his hand and side-glancing at me with a knowing gaze.
Am I that obvious?
I grab the kettle, but my mind isn’t focused enough and boiling water splashes on my wrist. I let out a painful cry and put it back down, taking my wrist in my hand, my pale skin turning red all of a sudden.
When I look up, Jack’s already there, his hands on my arm, studying the wound and then reaching for a clean cloth on the tiny table I’ve got in the back and wetting it with cold water from the sink.
“It m-might hurt a little,” he says, patting gently the burn with the cold cloth.
So focused and gentle. I can feel his ragged breath on my face, the veins of his hands mesmerizing me, the heat building in this tiny space.
I shouldn’t want this. I don’t deserve happiness or to be taken care of.
I’m a monster, and he’ll see it one day.
He’s brave and kind, while I’m a cracked thing, a girl made of broken memories.
He deserves someone whole, someone who won’t drag him into the dark places of my mind I can’t seem to escape from.
And yet…
His fingers brush against my wrist, setting me on fire, his gaze locking with mine. I can’t pull away. I can’t stop this.
“Alaska,” he murmurs, my name barely more than a breath. Electricity courses through me, heat curling low in my stomach as his gaze drops to my neck, pupils blown wide, like a predator. A hungry one. There’s a war written across his face. For some reason, he’s fighting this.
Us.
The cloth falls to the floor and I’m already motioning to kneel, but he commands me with a firm voice.
“Don’t.” His hand reaches the side of my face, cupping it in his large calloused palm, some fingers brushing my neck, pulling me closer to him.
The room fills with something beautifully compact and heavy.
Unspoken words buzzing in the air. My hands reach for him, my palms resting on his chest like they were meant to be. Our breath becomes one as he leans in.
He exhales.
I inhale.
One and the same.
Slowly, his hand squeezes the side of my neck, my throat welcoming the touch, craving it, while his other hand rests on my waist, over the wool of my dress, his grip shifting from gentle to firm.
Then he moves, leaning in, adding fire to my ice-cold soul and warming it until the chunks of ice no longer exist. It isn't rushed, nor hurried. His lips find mine softly, but the moment I exhale, the second I melt against him, he deepens it. As if it had been a long time coming, an inevitable collision he’d been waiting to break free.
My palms move up, wrapping around his neck as I rise onto my tiptoes to kiss him, holding on like someone thrown overboard gripping a life jacket.
I melt completely in his arms, at his mercy, willing and wishing that he won't break more of the pieces that are left of me.
A low, restrained growl rumbles from his chest and his hand slides up my back, pulling me closer, anchoring me to him.
Am I still on the ground? I do not know, and I do not care.
I've been kissed before in my life, but this one, this one kiss from Jack, erases all the ones before and the next after.
He claims my mouth as a clay master would his sculpture, memorizing the shape of me.
I cling to him, giving back as much as he's giving me, both of us learning the same language.
“Alaska,” he murmurs between kisses, chanting my name as I shut my eyes even deeper, wishing I could hear him say my name every single day of my life.
The kettle is long forgotten, and the world outside no longer exists.
In a ragged breath, he pulls back, letting out a growl of frustration.
I'm out of breath, my hands falling back on his forearms as his find my waist. We don't even say a word.
Instead, we give each other a small smile.
“I-” I start.
“I wanted t-to-” he says at the same time. A fading chuckle escapes both of us. “I wanted to do this since the d-d-day I saw you at the F-festival,” he admits. “You were looking all pr-pretty and-and smart in your little book stand, it was, damn it, it was hard to n-not stare.”
“I didn't know…” I confess, digging my teeth into my lower lip. “Last time I saw you, you said,” I try hesitantly, “you said you wanted to tell me something.” My heart hammers in my chest. He nods, his blue gaze serious.
“Yeah, I...” clearing his throat, a shadow of red passing on his neck, “I wanted—” he runs a hand on his nape, “I wanted t-t-to ask you out, properly.”
“Like…a date?”
“Exactly like a-a-a date.” I blush, patting my burning cheek and feeling silly and light, which seems foreign.