Page 42 of Falling For Alaska

"I know. The big thing short-circuited, b-but she should be okay with her insurance," I assure her as I notice her lips wincing on one corner. It’s cute how much she cares her community. I didn’t realize I’d care that much when I asked Jared this morning how we could do to help the owner of the bakery. He looked at me with round eyes and a smug grin.

"Good, thank God," she says, putting the tea back on the table.

"And your folks? Are they okay?" She blinks, a nervous veil passing over her gaze.

"Yes, my dad had everything prepared days ago. He has a generator and enough food to last until the apocalypse." She rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement in it.

"What about your brother?" I ask, noticing a panic in her pupils, even though she’s trying to hide it beneath a smile.

"All good," she trails.

"Ain’t he living d-downtown?"

"Yep, but he’s got a flat, so the water couldn’t get to him," she delivers.

"What does he do?"

"Pianist," she fires back, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"Do they need those in L-Lakeside?" I raise a brow because it’s more of a carpenter-slash-baker kind of town. What would a pianist do here? There’s no big stadium or opera anywhere near.

"He composes in his home studio and sends it to cinematographers or people who make ads," she explains, biting one of her nails. "He’s very talented."

"Okay," I tell her, the energy in the room strangely tense. "You guys must be close." Sipping from the cup of coffee, my gaze studies her every move, the cop in me getting all his alarms on.

"We’re twins," she drops as if stating the obvious.

"Doesn’t make you close," I frown. "I g-g-got sisters and we, we didn’t get close until we all, uh, g-grew up," I tell her. "There was another fa-family with twins in our neigh-neighborhood and they couldn't stand each other." Reminding myself of it, the kids couldn’t be more different. Being twins, or brother and sister, doesn’t make you automatically close. It's weird she puts it this way.

"Matthew always says we’re like the same person," she murmurs. "One and the same, because no one can have what we have. We were in the womb together. It’s…a special bond," she recites. Who talks like this about their brother? Jared was dismissive about him. I get the reason now, it’s ‘cause the guy isn’t as kind to her as a brother should be. I’ll research him once I get back to the station.

"Sure is, b-but doesn’t make you the same, same per-person," I frown. "No one’s like-like you, Alaska." Lighting up the subject, hoping to put a genuine smile back on her angelic face. "I hope you’ll n-n-never think that again," leaning in, locking my gaze with hers. "There isn't anyone like you." Her shoulders relax, her gaze rounding on me with a bit of acceptance. She takes her cup of tea back in her hands.

"Tell me about…the date," she whispers, and I grin, ‘cause I’ve been thinking about this since I saw her in her home. The excitement takes me off guard, and I sense a wave coursing through my arms. I try to block it reflexively, but it isn’t effective.

"I-I-I want, want us, t-t-t," I groan. Damn it. My usual stutter I can handle, but when those special ones come by, I cannot control them whatsoever. I remember clear as day the few times it happened at work back in Minneapolis. "You’re quiet today, Jack," they would say. Little did they know that I couldn’t open my mouth without sounding like a broken record. She waits, a soft smile on her face, her little hand covered in scars pressing against her mug. I fold my fist and rest it to my mouth, my elbow resting on my thigh, shutting my eyes for a second. This kind of stutter can last minutes, hours, or sometimes days. And then vanish all of a sudden. I always try to rationalize them. Must be stress or fear or fatigue. Hell if I know. When I open my eyes and meet hers, there are flames lighting in her pupils.

"Jack?" she murmurs. "Try again. It’s okay," she says, this time nodding, laser-focused on me. A metaphorical slap hits me in the face. Her respect floats in the air. Never thought a young woman, one I didn’t know a few weeks ago, would give me strength to try to get out of an episode.

"I want-want us t-t-to hike," I exhale loudly, knowing she’ll have to fill in the blanks. "Forest, uh, a trail I’ve dis-dis-discovered…want t-t-t-to show-" the you remains silent, so I motion my palm toward her, the little bit of dignity left being carried on her beautiful shoulders. "I’ll bring f-food… Anything you-you want, and…we-we’ll…lunch up there," I tell her, knowing I’ve already packed the bag in my house this morning, the equipment part, because I was too damned excited about it. My last question remains stuck in my throat and so I tilt my head to the side, wondering what she thinks about it. She looks at me, a pink blush on her cheeks, biting her lip as if to contain her excitement. Alaska and I speak the same language. One where we don’t always need to talk to know what the other thinks. One where there’s far more kindness and respect than judgment.

"Good," I grin, a knot untwisting in my gut. The block of ice coursing through my shoulders melts away and with it, the intense stutter. She doesn’t comment on it, but I notice a corner of her lips lifting knowingly.

"How are you feeling since yesterday? Did you get much sleep?" she asks, frowning her beautiful, wild brows with worry.

"You-you worry about me?" I say, my voice hoarse and raspier than I wanted it to be. The crimson doesn’t wait long before flushing her cheeks, and she nods.

"I do, yes," she boldly admits.

"I slept twelve hours and then I g-g-got to the station this morning and, um, an old lady had brought cinnamon rolls t-t-to the sta-station, said we saved her house. I-I-I don’t know, felt g-good. Wish I-I could have done more, b-b-but still, I was proud to be, to be a part of the folks who helped," I confess.

"You’re a true local now," Alaska giggles gently.

"Nah, it’s…t-temporary." The thought of going back to the city doesn’t seem so appealing to me anymore. I never thought I’d think this way, but it’s the truth. Her smile shivers at the word temporary and I hate it. I shove the thought away, putting it back once again. Not now. I can’t think about going back now. My phone rings and I apologize, having to take it if it’s an emergency. "Sorry, I-I have to take this." She smiles at me as I stand and go near the window.

"Parkson."

"Captain." The gruff voice of Captain Raines from Minneapolis makes me grind my teeth. It’s never good news when he calls me, even if he does sound chummy.