Flashback 2
Sawyer
Fifteen Months Ago
I’ve always thought of Ivy romantically.
For years—since we were fourteen or fifteen—I’ve fantasized about her.
I mean, sure, I hooked up with other girls from high school on the off-season, and I’ve dated lots of different girls who’ve come to Skagway for summer work, but if Ivy ever texted me that she wanted to hang out, I’d drop everything for her. She was always my first priority.
And, more often than not, if we snuck beers to Yakutania Point or partied with some kids over at Dewey Lake, we’d pair off toward the end of the night. She’d sit on my lap or between my legs at a campfire. We’d skinny dip in the freezing river together. I’d walk or drive her home as the sky turned purple. We’d kiss on her uncle’s doorstep or under the awning of the Kozy Kone before saying good night. That’s as far as it ever went, but the truth is, I lived for those moments.
I was— I am —crazy about her.
No girl I ever met could hold a candle to Ivy Caswell.
So, yeah. I guess I’ve thought about her romantically for most of my life.
But I never really tried to push those fleeting kisses into something more. I respected the fact that we were childhood friends who enjoyed some occasional PG-13 benefits. ( Well, and—full disclosure—I always peeked when she got naked on the river banks for a midnight dip. Sorry, but she has a killer bod, and I’m a normal guy. Sue me .)
But, like I said, I never tried to push what we had into something more serious.
Why?
Well, first of all, Ivy only comes to Skagway in the summertime. During high school, she’d return to Vancouver at the end of August, and for the last three years, she’s headed back to Fairbanks, where she’s a student at UAF. It’s never seemed realistic to try to maintain a relationship with her when it would be a twenty-six-hour round-trip drive to visit her at college.
Second of all, everyone in Alaska knows who her father is. I’ve seen Alexander Caswell on the TV news more times than I can count. Caswell Coal is the biggest coal outfit in the state—maybe in the whole country. To put a fine point on it, Ivy’s dad is a millionaire, and she’s his only child. That’s some intimidating shit.
And last, as Ivy got older, it seemed like she became—I don’t know—a little superior. Snobby. Like, yeah, she comes to Skagway every summer to stay with her uncle and earn money with us working-class grunts, but the fact is, she doesn’t need to. Ivy’s an heiress, pure and simple. It’s hard to ignore that.
Besides, we’re not exactly an organic match. No one would look at her, then look at me, and think we belonged together.
The summer after her freshman year at UAF, she arrived in Skagway with these big Paris Hilton-style sunglasses, and a wardrobe of expensive clothes that made her look like Elle Woods from one of Reeve’s favorite movies, Legally Blonde . She started staying in an apartment over the Kozy Kone, instead of at her uncle’s place. She drank beer. She drank vodka . She even smoked cigarettes now and then when she got tastefully wasted. She was cool and funny and way too gorgeous for Skagway.
I, on the other hand, was not attending college, had no trendy clothes, and had not suddenly become rich. I still shared a tiny cabin with my brothers up in Dyea on my family’s campground. I still led summer tours with my family. Sure, my siblings had been sneaking me beers since I was fourteen, so drinking was no big deal to me. But by any standard, I was— I am —a pretty simple guy. And while I like my simple life, I don’t love comparing it to her glamorous one.
But underneath those flashy sunglasses and designer bags, she was still Ivy. If she called me or texted me, Wanna hang out? , I’d still say yes, no matter what. And we’d drink beers and skinny dip and hold hands and kiss goodnight, just as we always had. That’s how it was. That’s how it’s always been.
…until this summer.
This summer feels…different.
From the moment I clapped my eyes on her last week at the Kozy Kone, I could tell something had shifted in her. I could feel her eyes on me—hotter and more focused than ever before—and I knew, like a male animal knows when its female counterpart is in heat, that something seminal about Ivy Caswell had changed since last summer. And I think— god, it makes me fucking hard just to consider it —that Ivy isn’t a virgin anymore.
I don’t know what happened at college this year— fuck, part of me doesn’t even want to know —but after years of kissing at midnight, I have the sure and solid notion that things between me and Ivy could shift into something a lot more intense this summer, and I am one hundred and fifty percent interested in finding out what that something might be.
For the first time ever, I’m going to ask her out on a date.
I walk into the Kozy Kone on a fairly quiet afternoon the Tuesday after Memorial Day.
“Hey,” I say, grinning at her.
“Hey,” she says, smiling back. “Vanilla with sprinkles?”
I shake my head. “Nah. I was hoping to talk to you.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Outside,” I say, gesturing to the door with my chin.
“I only have a minute,” she says.
“I only need a second.”
She follows me out the door, standing across from me on the boardwalk. Cocking her head to the side, she narrows her eyes playfully. “This is all very cloak and dagger. What’s going on with you?”
I skip to the chase. “You dating anyone?”
“No,” she says, her playfulness fading. “I was …but we broke up.”
“Can I take you out on a date?” I ask her.
For a second, her lips quirk up in a grin. “A date? A real date?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ve never gone out on a date.”
“I know, but I’d like to.”
She takes a deep breath, her smile fading. “Full disclosure, Sawyer? That break up? It was bad. Really bad. I-I’m not ready for anything serious.”
These aren’t words I’m excited to hear, but I nod, the friend in me kicking in. “I’m sorry someone hurt you.”
“He did,” she whispers.
“So…we’ll keep things casual.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Super casual, right?”
“Absolutely,” I promise. “I’ll pick you up on Friday? At eight?”
She stares at me for a second, and I can see it in her eyes as surely as Adam saw it in Eve’s. Heat. Knowledge. It’s on. Fuck, yes. Her cheeks flush, and she looks away with a soft chuckle.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Awesome. See you then.”
I walk away with my head held high. No bastard in Skagway can touch me. In three days, I have a date with the hottest, smartest, most fascinating girl in town.
Three days later, however, my confidence isn’t quite as solid.
The wildflowers I picked for her look underwhelming compared to what they probably sell in Vancouver or Fairbanks. Forget-me-nots, wolfsbane, lupine, and yarrow, it’s a mix of blues, lavenders, and yellows—day and night, light and dark. It’s not the first time I’ve picked wildflowers for her. I hope she still likes them.
I hop up the stairs from the boardwalk to the Kozy Kone apartments and knock on the door outside the suite.
“It’s unlocked!” yells Ivy from inside. “Come in! I’ll be ready in a sec!”
I open the door and step into the common room shared by the four bedrooms, sitting down on a plush couch with the flowers in my hand. Spying a little kitchen in the corner of the room, I stand up and rummage around in the cabinets for a vase and fill it with water. I’m placing the flowers on the coffee table in front of the couch when one of the bedroom doors opens.
Ivy peeks out, a little grin on her beautiful face when she spies the blooms.
“Those for me?”
“Y-Yeah.”
She steps into the room, pulling the door shut behind her, and I suck in my breath at the sight of her. She’s wearing a little white sundress, fitted on top with a full skirt that stops well above her knees. The silver heels on her feet make her at least two inches taller. Her body is banging, as usual, and she’s wearing her red hair long and loose in sexy waves. But it’s her smile that makes my heart skip a beat. She’s smiling just for me, and she’s so fucking gorgeous, I can’t believe she’s all mine tonight.
“What?” she asks, looking down at her shoes. “Too much for Skagway?”
“You look amazing.”
“Sawyer!” Her eyes widen, and she giggles at me.
“It’s the truth.”
It’s her turn to run her eyes over me. I’m wearing old jeans with a black buttoned-down shirt, open at the neck. I’m tall, my skin is tan, and my body is cut. The way she looks at me makes me want to drag her back into her bedroom and—and—
“You look good, too,” she says, her eyes dilated when they meet mine.
“Wanna just stay here instead?” I ask, my voice low and husky.
She looks away, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth for a second before letting it go. “No.”
Shit. Did I just misread her signa—
“But maybe we’ll come back here after,” she says softly, more to herself than to me. She looks at the bouquet again, her expression shy. “Thanks for the flowers, Sawyer. That was sweet.”
“No problem. Ready to go?”
I hold out my hand to her, and even though I’ve held Ivy’s hand about a thousand times in my life, when she slips it into mine, it feels different this time. It feels like a new beginning.
***
I’ve planned a progressive dinner date for this evening, which means we start with cocktails at the Parsnip, then move on to appetizers at the Skagway Brewing Company. We share king crab legs for dinner at Olivia’s, and then I treat her to a doughboy at the Klondike Bakery.
We’re sitting outside, finishing the fried dough covered in cinnamon and sugar, when she smiles at me.
“You’re surprising.”
“How so?”
“This was fun. Tonight. It was really thoughtful. Creative.”
For most of the evening, we’ve enjoyed light, playful conversation—catching up on the classes she took at college this year, and which tours we’ve added to the Stewart Family offerings this summer. We haven’t talked about anything serious. It’s just been fun. Carefree. But the sun’s falling a touch in the sky, coloring the streets of Skagway in lavender. Most of the tourists have returned to their ships. It’s my favorite time of day and makes everything feel magical and a little ethereal. It’s a perfect time for sharing secrets.
“I’ve never planned a date like this,” I confess.
“No? Well, you’re very good at it,” she says, pulling off another piece of dough and sliding it between her lips. “Must be the tour guide in you.”
A smudge of sugar sits on her cheek. I reach forward with my thumb and swipe it off, then slide my thumb between my lips. I hold her gaze the whole time, watching her eyes darken and feeling a buzzing in my stomach.
“I want you to come back to my apartment with me,” she says, glancing at the hot pink building across the street, then back at me. “But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to sleep with you. I think I’ve wanted to sleep with you for years, Sawyer.” She takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly. “But we need to be on the same page because I don’t want anyone getting hurt. It can’t mean anything. It can’t lead to anything serious. You get that, right?”
“This guy you were dating,” I say, wishing I had him in front of me so I could beat him black and blue, “what did he do to you?”
“Clark? He cheated on me. I walked in on him.”
I feel her words like a blow to the gut. It hurts. It fucking hurts to imagine anyone cheating on the girl sitting across from me.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “I’m sorry, Ivy.”
“Yeah,” she says. “It was bad. It really sucked.”
She licks her index finger then presses it to the leftover sugar on the plate. When she licks her finger, blood races to my cock. I want her. I want her so badly.
“If you were my girl—”
“I’m not.” Her eyes fly up to meet mine, her expression severe. “I’m not your girl. I’m not anyone’s girl right now.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I just meant—”
“I know what you meant,” she says, “but thinking like that will lead to feelings, and feelings will ruin a potential summer of fun. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends, Sawyer.”
“Last few years, we’ve been friends with benefits, Ivy.”
She grins at me. “Is kissing me a benefit?”
“It is.”
“Stop being so cute.”
“Maybe I can’t help it.”
“Sawyer, I’m serious about this. You can’t catch feelings for me,” she says, her smile fading and her eyes earnest. “I’m leaving in September just like always.”
I nod at her. “I know.”
“So, you have to promise me,” she says. “You have to promise that if you come over tonight, we’ll still be friends in the morning.” Her expression softens. “Friends with better benefits, but still friends.” I stare at her as she demands this pre-coital promise from me. And here’s the thing that she doesn’t want to know— I already have feelings for her . I’ve been in love with her for most of my life. And somewhere deep inside of me I feel certain that if I can spend the summer making love to her, she might just fall in love with me, too.
“I promise nothing will change,” I tell her.
I tell myself I’m not lying. Nothing will change. I’ll love her just as much tomorrow morning as I love her right this minute.
“Okay, then,” she says, her voice soft and low. “Take me to bed, Sawyer Stewart.”
“My pleasure.”