Page 19 of Falling For Alaska

“Well, you don’t seem like the kind to read about love stories in eighteenth-century London, but I may be wrong.” I bite a smile and he scans me down with an uneven grin that could shatter a lake of ice.

“You’d be surprised, I’m a sucker for s-sword fights and dramatic p-p-plots.”

“Wha-” A small laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to say that. You seem more like a thriller kind of guy, but what do I know?” I shrug, biting my lower lip, a wicked grin of satisfaction on his face.

“Nah, I was m-m-messing with you,” he runs a hand on his nape, “you’re right, I actually prefer thrillers, although I don’t r-read as much as I used to.”

“Why is that?” He turns to the shelves on the opposite wall, with a thriller label on top, and goes to them.

“I kinda stopped believing in, um, happy endings after entering the f-force.”

“I see, but that’s one of the reasons why readers like fantasy and romance, it helps them escape reality.”

“That’s another way to put it, yeah. Is this why you r-read so much?”

“To escape reality?” He nods, selecting a book and looking at the cover.

“This one’s about⁠—”

“You didn’t answer the question,” he states softly and I remember that he’s a cop and cops must be used to people evading questions.

“Isn’t it why we all read?” I elude.

His gaze let go of the book to end on me. “You’re good.”

“At what?”

“Not, not t-talking about yourself.”

“I… I’m not sure there’s much to say.” A silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable or awkward, so I just wait.

“I think there’s plenty to say. Enough to write books about,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and goosebumps ripple across my skin. “You were born here, right?”

“Uh uh.” Removing an invisible peck of dust from a book. “Born and raised,” I say. “My dad runs a plumbing company, and my mom works outside of town. She’s an office manager. What about you?”

“I g-got two s-sisters,” he says. “A bit younger than me. Annie’s twenty-five. Maya’s twenty-seven. They both still live in Minneapolis.”

“And your parents?”

“My, um… My mom’s an elementary school teacher, and my dad…” He hesitates. “He u-used to be an accountant. He d-d-died when I was six.”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, wishing I could reach for his hand and carry some of the weight for him.

“He was an avid r-reader,” he continues. “Always had a b-book on him. I think he w-would’ve liked this place.” A faint half-smile touches his lips before he gently steers away. “You said you’d found a trail.”

As much as I want to ask more, I don’t. Opening up like that isn’t easy.

“I highlighted it on a map,” I say softly. “Want to see?” He nods. I walk back to the counter and circle around it, picking up the map I found in one of the local trail brochures. I spread it out on the table in the middle of the shop, the one I use to display my favorite recent reads, each with a handwritten note beside it.

“This one,” I say, pointing, only to freeze when I realize he’s not looking at the map anymore but at the constellation of scars sunk into my skin.

Please, don’t ask me about it.

“I’ve heard about it, Connor at the st-station said he did it last summer with his kids.”

“It’s not that high up and there’s a beautiful view at the end. I've never tried this one, but you know…might be worth it. I think it’s doable in three hours, four tops.” And right when I finish my sentence, I realize what I just said. Three whole hours alone with him in the woods. What has gone up to me? He’s nice, kind, handsome, but is it enough to trust a stranger to go on a… Okay, let’s be honest, a date alone in the woods with? He’s a cop and he’s Jared’s partner, so I guess he’s not a complete stranger, but…

Breathe, give it a chance.