Chapter 4
Chapter Four
KANE
The jingle of the café door chimes like a warning, and I lift my gaze. It’s them—Eliza, who could outshine the Northern Lights, and Timber, the newcomer, her presence a stark reminder of how fast things can change. Just yesterday, she was an unfamiliar face, and today, she’s the linchpin in my carefully balanced life during salmon season. I don’t know her, yet I’m tethered to her by necessity, a fact that irks me more than the cold bite of the morning.
Hailey’s squeal cuts through my brooding thoughts. “Daddy, Auntie Eliza’s here!” Her little hands clap in excitement, chocolate chip pancakes forgotten. “And the new teacher! Can they sit with us?”
I hesitate, preferring to enjoy my breakfast in peace, but that hasn’t happened since Hailey was born. I try to find an excuse to say no, but Hailey’s looking at me with those big, hopeful eyes, and I know I don’t stand a chance against her, not for the first time, and certainly not the last.
“Yeah, Noodle,” I say, masking my reluctance with a half-hearted grin for her sake. “Invite ’em over.”
Eliza doesn’t need an invitation. She leads Timber straight to our table. “Kane, I hope you don’t mind us crashing your breakfast.” Her voice carries the same ease it always does, but I catch a glint of something else in her eye—something hopeful.
Timber trails behind, eyes scanning the café like she’s casing the joint. There’s a determination in her posture that I begrudgingly respect. She meets my gaze, and I glance down at my plate which is filled with eggs, bacon, sausages, and hash browns.
“We’d be happy to share our table,” I say, and it’s true, for Hailey’s sake. Timber sits down across from me. Our eyes meet again. Hers are the color of the sky that peeks through the trees of my ridge.
Hailey’s voice cuts through the hum of the café like a knife through butter. “Daddy, you said she wasn’t pretty, but she is.”
Heat crawls up my neck, and I swear even the old jukebox in the corner skips a beat as her statement hangs in the air. “No, Noodle,” I correct quickly, the words stumbling out in my rush. “I said I hadn’t noticed.” It’s a feeble save, and from the way Timber’s eyebrow arches, I’m unsure if she’s offended or entertained.
May, bless her, slides into the fray with the grace of a seasoned diplomat. “Well, I notice everything, and I say we’ve got a room full of pretty people here today,” she declares with a grin that’s seen its share of awkward moments. She winks at Hailey, who giggles, thankfully moving on from her earlier conversation.
“So, what can I get you ladies?” May asks, pulling out her notepad, the professional in her effortlessly smoothing over the crinkles of our morning.
“Before we order,” Eliza says, “Timber wants to know if you’ve heard of someone named Aspen Moore, who might have come through here years ago.”
May taps her chin with her pen. “That name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Do you think you have ties here?” I ask, probing deeper than I’d intended.
“No, not at all,” Timber replies with a quick shake of her head. “I had this thought that my mom might have passed through, but she hated the cold. She would’ve never considered staying here, especially when the temperatures fall so low.”
“Folks drift in, but few drop anchor and stay,” I say. The wheels turn inside my head. Could my mom have brushed paths with her mother had she graced Port Promise with her presence? I hate that I can’t pick up the phone to ask her.
“That’s the truth of it. Many drift past but few plant roots. Sorry, I can’t help,” May says, positioning her pen on the order pad. “But I can feed ya.”
Eliza orders her usual corned-beef hash and eggs, and Timber hesitates just a moment before requesting coffee and pancakes.
I keep my eyes on my plate, focusing on the ooze of the egg yolks rather than the weight of Timber’s gaze. The silence is comfortable for no one, filled only by May’s scribbling on her notepad. As she walks away, I risk a glance up, meeting Timber’s eyes, and I clear my throat. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”
Eliza perks up, always the organizer. “I’m going to give Timber the grand tour of town, which should take twenty minutes, and then head over to the community center to get her familiarized in the classroom for tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” I’m relieved that I have no place in these plans. That means Hailey and I can run our errands and get home. There’s work to be done on the chicken coop.
“What time do you need me there tomorrow?” Timber asks, her hands wrapped around the warm mug of coffee May just delivered.
I pause, a spoonful of hash browns hovering in mid-air. “No later than six,” I reply, the words landing on the table with a thud.
The shock on Timber’s face would be comical if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Six in the morning?” she echoes, and it’s clear this wasn’t in the job description Eliza provided. “When does the day end?”
Eliza winces, her shoulders hunching up around her ears. “I might have, um, forgotten to mention that the days are long. Most people will be by to pick up their kids by four, but you usually will have extra days off because the weather mucks up so many schedules.”
Timber’s head cocks to one side and then the other before she shrugs. “So, it’s a forty-hour week. Sounds about normal.”
“Give or take,” Eliza says and rushes on. “But think of all the time you’ll save! I’ve got the first week’s lesson plans ready for you. We’re bringing firewood straight to your door, and you won’t have to worry about meals?—”
I watch as the information sinks in. I half expect Timber to stand and declare that she quits before she starts. Instead, she takes another drink of coffee and says, “If anyone is taking orders, I’ll pass on the squirrel.”
“Squirrel tastes just like chicken!” Ever the innocent commentator, Hailey pipes up with the earnestness only a child can muster. She’s beaming and proud to share.
A burst of laughter escapes me that seems to lighten the morning load. “Well, you heard the expert,” I manage between chuckles, grateful for the break in tension. “Who needs chicken when you have squirrels?”
“If squirrels taste just like chickens, why did you need to mail order a whole flock?” Timber asks with a playful tilt of her head.
I wait for Eliza to answer, but she stares at me.
“Well, you see,” I start, leaning back in the booth, “the squirrels here are a part of the local charm. It wouldn’t do to have them all disappear into stews and pies. Plus, chickens lay eggs, and as far as I know, no one’s managed to get a decent omelet out of a squirrel. Besides, the closest fried chicken joint is in Anchorage, and DoorDash doesn’t deliver here.”
“You’ll have to give it a try. It’s far better than it sounds,” Eliza says .
Timber shakes her head. “Between you and me, I’d rather eat my boots than a bowl of bushy-tailed stew. I’m fairly certain of where my boots have been.”
After a hearty laugh, we fall into a comfortable silence. May delivers their food, and our breakfasts disappear while conversations weave around bites of food and sips of coffee. Hailey’s stories about her kindergarten adventures serve as our soundtrack.
The meal progresses smoothly until Eliza suddenly stills, her hand reaching for the top of her belly. She winces, a low groan escaping her lips.
Timber’s head snaps up, concern etching her features. “Eliza, are you okay?”
Eliza takes a deep breath. “It’s just heartburn,” she assures us, though her eyes are tight at the corners. “It happens all the time lately, but I think ... I might have to pass the town tour torch to you, Kane.”
That look in her eyes, and the slight tilt of her head—it’s Eliza’s way of saying “I’m sorry, but you know you’re the only one who can,” without words.
I run a hand down my face, a catalog of excuses racing through my mind, each flimsier than the last. I can’t let Eliza down, not with her in this state, or in front of Timber, who’s watching the whole exchange with worry and curiosity.
But there’s a nagging suspicion in my mind, a thought that this might be too convenient. I narrow my eyes at Eliza, who meets my gaze with an apologetic expression. I give her a look that I hope conveys “I’m onto you,” but the resolve in her eyes tells me she’s not faking.
“All right,” I say, pushing back from the table and standing up. “Hailey and I are your tour guides for the day.”
Eliza’s relief is palpable, and she squeezes my hand. “You’re the best, Kane. I owe you one.”
I give her hand a reassuring squeeze back, my role as the protective big brother never fading, no matter how much I grumble. “Just take care of yourself, okay?”
With a plan reluctantly in place, I turn to Timber and say in my friendliest tone, “Ready to see the town?”
I reach for the check while Eliza gathers her things, still pressing a hand to her belly. “Remember to call if you need anything,” I tell her.
Eliza gives me a slight nod. “I will.”
“I’ll pay for mine,” Timber says.
I shake my head. “I’ve got it. It’s the least I can do since I was late yesterday.”
I sense that she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. She nods and says, “Thank you.”
After paying, we say goodbye to May and step outside. The brisk air hits us with the subtle bite of reality. Eliza heads to the ATV, her steps slow but steady. I watch for a moment, making sure she’s settled before turning to Timber, who’s looking up at the blue sky with a tourist’s wonder.
There’s an awkward silence. I shove my hands into my pockets, sensing the weight of what lies ahead .
“I didn’t tell her you weren’t pretty,” I whisper, almost against my will, as we start walking.
Timber turns in my direction with a teasing sparkle in her eyes. “Oh, so you think I am?”
The corner of my mouth twitches up despite my efforts. “You’re okay for a city girl.”
We walk side by side now, with Hailey skipping ahead as if she’s the tour guide. I let it happen because when Hailey thinks she’s helpful, she’s happy, and I only want her to be happy.
Hailey’s chatter is as constant as the waves lapping the shore, filling the space between us with innocent observations and questions. Her small hand finds mine, tugging me along as she skips toward town.
“Uncle Rhys runs everything on the dock, and when I’m super good, he gives me a lollipop!” Her voice is full of pride, eyes wide with the importance of this grown-up transaction.
“Is that so?” Timber engages her with a warm expression, clearly charmed. “I’d love to meet this generous uncle of yours.”
Hailey beams at the prospect, but I’m quick to temper her enthusiasm. “Not today, Noodle. We’ve got a job to do.”
Hailey’s shoulders slump briefly before she’s off again, resilient as only a child can be, skipping ahead to the next point of interest.
“You call her Noodle. Why that nickname?”
“From the second she was born, she was all floppy, just a wriggly little thing in my arms,” I explain. “Couldn’t hold her head up, limbs waving around ... I called her Noodle right then and there. And it stuck.”
“I see that it’s just you and Hailey today. Will I have a chance to meet Hailey’s mother? Will she be dropping off or picking Hailey up from school?”
Timber asks in a way I imagine a teacher would at a conference when a parent is missing, but it still irks me. I hate making excuses for Amanda. “No, she doesn’t live here.”
Timber nods, but she doesn’t press for more information and walks forward.
Hailey points to the communal showers by the water station. “Since you’re staying in Grandpa’s old cabin, you’ll have to shower here. Or you could come to our house?”
Before Timber can respond, I’m shaking my head. “No, no, these showers are closer and more convenient for you,” I say too quickly. I don’t need Timber looking all ... well, looking like she does, showing up at my doorstep for a shower. The thought lingers, unbidden and unsettling. I stare at her, taking in the way she’s talking with Hailey, the easy set of her shoulders, the softness of her laugh.
And that’s when it hits me—against all my resistance, I find her ... nice looking. It’s more than nice looking, if I’m honest. It’s a realization that clings like a snagged net, something I can’t quite shake free of.
I tuck the thought away, somewhere deep and out of sight, and focus on the path ahead. For now, the showers by the water station are just showers, and Timber is just the woman who will help us through the summer. That’s all.
We round a corner, and Hailey races ahead to a weathered sign standing guard at the entrance of the town. The wood has turned silver with age, but the words are still legible, carved deeply and backfilled with black paint that resists the relentless kiss of the sun and the bite of winter’s chill.
“The port’s promise,” Hailey reads aloud, her fingers tracing the carved letters. “We vow to create a community where every hand is extended in support, and no one stands alone.”
“Good job, Hailey,” Timber says.
I laugh. While Hailey can read, she’s made me recite that every time we visit town. “She’s got it memorized. She’s a Dr. Seuss junkie, though.”
“That’s still amazing.”
Pride swells in my chest. “Yes, I agree.” Hailey is amazing. While her hair is never right, and her clothes are a mismatch of whatever I can throw together in the morning, she’s thriving, primarily due to her time with my mother and Eliza. But things change. Mom’s gone, and Eliza will have her own child to watch after. I’ve technically always been a single parent, but I never had to do it on my own until now.
Timber’s gaze lingers on the sign, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “Is it true?” she asks, looking at me for confirmation.
I offer a half-grin, a mix of nostalgia and skepticism in my glance. “It used to be,” I admit. “These days, everyone’s caught up in their lives.”
Our stroll takes us by the familiar landmarks of the town. There’s Yeti’s Tavern with its window signs promising cold beer and warm company. All I’ve ever found there were stale chips and a hangover. Second Chance Consignment is like a hospice center—a place where you bring the things that have a little life left in them.
The community center stands before us, its facade a patchwork of maintenance and neglect. “This place was once the heart of it all,” I tell Timber. “We had Sunday potlucks here as a kid, movie nights, too. But things have changed.”
I push open the door to the center, the creak of the hinges echoing through the quiet building. “Now, it’s mostly just for school and the occasional town meeting. The community ... we don’t gather like we used to.”
As I lead Timber inside, the heaviness of Port Promise’s promise weighs on my shoulders—the pledge of neighborliness that’s grown threadbare with time. But who has time for all that?
“And that ends our tour.”
She walks into the room and slides her fingers across the tables. I can’t gauge what she’s thinking. On the other side of the room, she turns to face me. “Six in the morning ... really?”
I sigh. “I’m sorry Eliza wasn’t transparent. Hank is only a call away if this isn’t your cup of tea.” I offer her an out, but I’m praying she doesn’t take it.
She looks at me like she might ask me to make the call and then shakes her head. “It isn’t exactly what I expected, but some of the best things come from surprises. I’ll give it a shot.”
“I appreciate that. Should we walk you back to your cabin?”
“No, I’ll stick around here for a bit and try to find those lesson plans Eliza made for me.” She points to the cabinets. “I should get familiar with what I have to work with.”
“Sounds good.” I glance over and find Hailey drawing flowers on the chalkboard. “Time to go, Noodle.”
“Aww, I want to stay.”
I kind of want to stay too, but there’s work to do. “We need to take care of the chicks. You’ll see Miss Moore tomorrow.” It’s also the first Sunday of the month, and while I hate to bring it up in case it doesn’t happen, I remind her anyway, because I know it will get Hailey moving. “It’s your mom’s Sunday to call.”
At the mention of the call, Hailey is by my side and waving goodbye.