4
Jack
The nice thing about spring in Alaska is that the sun comes up early. The downside is that spring fever comes with it, and the staff at the Wild Eagle Lodge has it bad. Although I have a room to myself in the staff quarters, many others are not sleeping alone. Harper, along with her NDAs and drill sergeant attitude, undoubtedly has rules about employee fraternization, but she’s either turning a blind eye, or her official general manager’s residence is far enough away that she can’t hear the night-long chorus of squeaks and moans as my colleagues get to know each other better.
I, unfortunately, have a front row seat. When the couple in the room next to mine starts up for round six shortly after four o’clock in the morning, I give up on sleep and head out to the docks. It’s dark, and the boards are slick with rain that has fallen overnight. I nearly brain myself on a piling when I slip on a wet spot. No doubt I’m supposed to report the health and safety issue, but since no one’s up but me, it can wait for now.
Eventually, I come to where theWinter Hawkis tied up. Everything about this place is wrong, brand-new and plastic against the ancient forests and mountains behind it, but at least whoever was in charge of buying boats knew their shit. TheHawkmust be custom-made, with a black-painted hull, sparkling aluminum decks, a flybridge, and a fish locker that has never seen a drop of saltwater, much less the inside of a fish’s guts.
I will be fixing that. My VI-VIPs want the authentic northern experience after all.
I step aboard, rolling with the boat as she rocks gently under my weight. Not only does theHawkhave everything I need to pull in a whale if I feel like it, but the galley is fully stocked too, including coffee. I tried some of the coffee that’s available twenty-four seven at the lodge and nearly spat it out on the spotlessly polished silver carafe. It had a weird nutty flavor to it. Almost sweet. My tastes lean more toward mud in a mug.
Despite the lodge’s best efforts to shape the whole wilderness experience to its vision, at least the sunrises are real. Pink and orange while a tern screams and the water laps softly at theHawk’s hull. I stare out toward the growing light and the open ocean. I’m being dramatic. Melancholy for sure. But if I can’t be out there, I like to remind myself it’s not that far. Whenever we figure out Stef’s situation, I can go back to it.
I’ve worked my whole life on boats, crewing for other people. I’ve fished halibut, salmon, and crab. One summer I worked on a big commercial pollock boat, but the grind was relentless, and after I nearly got swept overboard one night in the middle of the storm, I decided to stick with smaller boats and captains I knew.
Last summer, I even bought my own boat. It wasn’t much to look at. Rusty, with patched fiberglass. But it was mine, even if last year’s fishing season was one of the worst in memory. Between constant repairs and poor catches, I didn’t have much to show for it in the end. Then Stef came back. I worked odd jobs through the winter, plowing snow and painting houses. But in the end, the boat had to go, because Stef needed the money and the boat was costing me more than it was worth. Still feels like I lost something though.
A soft curse sounds behind me. A tall, dark shape in an oversized coat stands on the dock a few feet away. He must have slipped on the same wet spot that nearly took me down.
“Watch your step,” I say, taking a slow drink of my coffee. The heat settles into my bones, and for a moment, I don’t feel so depressed about the whole situation.
The figure swivels toward me like he didn’t know I was there until now. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
I shrug. “No bother. Want some coffee?” Whoever he is, if he’s trying to get away from the bedroom antics in the staff rooms, the least I can do is offer him some caffeine.
The lamps on the dock don’t cast much light. They’re some kind of solar-powered LED that doesn’t strain the lodge’s power system. It’s only as the man comes closer that I recognize the tall bodyguard from the plane.
“You have coffee?” His voice is deep, but it ticks up hopefully at the end.
I raise my mug to cover my surprise. “It’s nothing fancy. Not like they have inside.”
The man laughs softly. He’s wearing the same parka from the day before. It’s still out of season, but in the cool air before the sun comes all the way up, it isn’t quite as ridiculous.
“I’m allergic to hazelnuts,” he says.
Hazelnuts. That’s what that taste was. Harper will shoot steam from her ears—or possibly just shoot someone—when she finds out her guest has been inconvenienced by their designer coffee.
“Simpler is better, I always say.”
He stands at the rail, hesitating for a moment. “Permission to come aboard?”
I salute him with my mug and go into the cabin to pour another one. The boat shifts as he steps onto the deck, and I almost wish my back wasn’t turned just to see if he took one long step down like he did getting off the plane. A man that in control of his body always holds a certain appeal.
Still, when I come out, he’s standing on the starboard side, overlooking the inlet.
“Cheers,” I say, handing him his mug. For a minute, nerves spark in my chest because I’m probably supposed to say something more professional.Courtesy of the Wild Eagle Lodge. Please enjoy.But he doesn’t wait on ceremony.
“Cheers,” he says with a smile, then takes a sip. He closes his eyes and sighs. “It’s good.”
I preen before I can catch myself, and I turn out toward the horizon again. “You’re up early.” Am I allowed to comment on a guest’s sleeping habits? Am I supposed to let him be the first one to speak? Apparently, Harper’s training has taken hold more than I expected.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, and I remind myself he’s not the VIP. Maybe he doesn’t know what the rules are here any more than I do.
“Jet lag?”
He peers at me with a quirk of his lips. “From California?”
