My attention was momentarily taken from my vision of king crab for dinner when I saw a quaint display in the window of a business I had passed several times but had not yet stepped foot into. The display featured a new type of hiking boot that, I hate to admit it, made me want a pair. It was surrounded by a professional-looking set-up of AstroTurf and what looked to be a campfire made of Styrofoam. I peered beyond the display into the rest of the store and smiled. Quaint and rustic – right up my alley. The vinyl lettering on the window read The Pine Way and from what I could tell, it was the perfect stop for my future hiking expeditions.
I walked into The Pine Way and immediately felt comfortable, as if I'd been in there a million times. It was more than the goods being sold though; it was in the way the place was decorated and arranged, right down to the faint smell of pine in the air, which might be attributed to the huge pine beams that ran across the length of the roof. I wondered why I never stopped in the few times I had ventured down to this end of town. It was one of those places that you passed without notice unless you were really looking for it.
There were three other customers in the store; two wandering the aisles and one at the register paying for their selections. An attractive woman with long, raven hair and girlish dimpled grin was behind the register, ringing up the purchases. I made my way over to the small selection of shoes in the far corner of the store which was situated beside a small fireplace that looked as if the entire store had been built to accommodate it. It really was a quaint and truly unique little place.
The pair of boots I wore were comfortable enough, but they left a lot to be desired when it came to long hikes in the woods. I wanted something that had the build and comfort. I turned around to ask the woman behind the register if they had them in my size. When I did, I collided with the woman—already on her way over to be of assistance—and nearly knocked her down.
I dropped the shoe and caught her by her shoulder as she let out an
oof
sound. She looked startled and I could feel my face flush with embarrassment.
“
Shit! I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you and—,”
“
No, no, it was me. I didn’t—,”
“
I need to watch where I’m going because I—,”
“
It’s okay. I’m okay.”
We spent five seconds speaking over top of one another as we regained our composure. She gave me a beautiful smile, clasped her hands together in front of her and said, “Let’s try that again. How may I help you?”
I looked over her pretty face for a moment, taking in the bright green and golden browns that made up the hazel in her eyes, and smiled. “I need these,” I said, bending down to pick up the display show I had dropped, “in a size thirteen and a half.”
“Hmmm. Big feet.” She twisted her head as she looked at the boot and nodded. “We might have that size in the back. Let me go check.”
“
Thanks.”
I watched her walk to the register and then through a small doorway, momentarily taking in the sway of her hips and nicely rounded ass. While she was gone, I continued to look around. The place was pretty cool, filled with tents, rock climbing gear, survival equipment, and even a selection of knives. A gun catalog sat on the register with a plaque that read WE CAN ORDER ANY MAKE AND MODEL FOR YOU AFTER YOU SHOW SOME I.D.
God, Alaska.
If the northwest and Texas had a kid, Alaska would be it. I smiled. This place suited me well.
A small rack of granola and energy bars sat by the register and I selected a few that were on sale: GoBars, they were called.
I stood at the counter when the woman came back through the door. Now that I was actually seeing her through clear eyes and not ones shaded by embarrassment, I noticed that she was attractive in a not-made-up sort of way. I know that most women hear that and think it’s a thinly veiled insult, but the woman was legitimately cute. It was refreshing to see natural beauty after having been exposed to chicks with Botox and tons of makeup for so long. While Aubrey hadn’t fallen to Botox yet and used makeup sparingly, there had been that untouchable Hollywood beauty about her. The looks of this woman as she brought me a box of shoes, was on a different level. Beautiful, long inky hair, and her skin had a slight olive tone to it.
She caught me staring, so I blinked and pretended like I was looking at one of the large pictures on the wall behind the register. There was one of a mist shrouded mountainside and another of two men hiking up an incline.
“
Thirteen and a half,” she said. “Last pair.”
“
Are they good boots?” I asked.
She shrugged and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I have no idea. These are made specifically for men. But it’s one of the best sellers across the US.”
“
Sounds good enough for me.”
She started ringing up the GoBars, the shoes and then gave me a curious look. For a moment, I was afraid that she had pegged me. She'd seen through the goatee and the hair, past the Bruins cap and the flannel, and recognized Devlin Stone. Panic bloomed in my chest, hot like fire. When she gave me her cutesy little smile again, I realized that he hadn’t notice me at all.
“
You’re one of those eco tourists, right?” she asked.
“
Um…sort of.”
“
I only ask because I’ve never seen you before. Sitka isn’t a very big place, so the local faces get familiar. Yours, though, I’m not familiar with.”
“
I’m a new addition,” I said. “I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be in town. The last few days, I’ve been starting to think it might be for the long term.”
“
Sitka can do that to a person.” She laughed as she put the GoBars in a paper sack. “I take it you’ve discovered the trails all back in the woods?”
“
Yeah. I’m staying at one of the cabins on Moose Hill.”
She nodded and reached under the counter. She offered me a brochure that folded out into a miniature map. “This is just about every trail you’ll find around here. It’s easy to get lost if you take the wrong turn, so I always pass these out to the newbies.”
“
Thanks,” I said, taking the bag that she had placed the power bars in. “If this thing ever saves my life, I promise I’ll think of you.” I smiled at her.
Wait… am I flirting?
It sure felt like it. And damn, it felt weird... but good.
She gave me that shy sort of smile again and then extended her hand. “Well, although I am likely not the first, let me welcome you to Sitka. My name is McKinley Blackwell, but folks call me Mac. This is my store.”
I took her hand and shook it. When I opened my mouth, the name Devlin Stone almost slipped out. “Nice to meet you, Mac. I’m Jack Keith.”
“
Nice to meet
you
,” she said smiling warmly, tucking some of her glossy hair behind an ear.
“
So this place is yours? You own it?”
“
Yeah. The Pine Way has been in my family since the 60s. When my dad passed on seven years ago, I took it over.”
“
It’s an awesome place. If these power bars are any good, I’ll be back.”
“
Or if the shoes
aren’t,”
she said, nodding to the box I held tucked under my arm.
“
That, too. Have a good day, Mac.” I smiled at her and she returned it with a grin of her own.
“
And you do the same, Jack.”
I left The Pine Way with a smile on my face. When I made my exit, I tried to coyly look through the display window. Mac was writing something down on a sheet of paper by the register. I grinned. I wasn’t sure why I was so instantly fond of her, but it was a nice feeling.
As I made my way to Tanner’s Fresh Fish, I saw a beautiful blue float plane for sale. What occurred in my head in that moment was very much like those cartoons where a character has a very exaggerated light bulb pop up over their head. As I walked into Tanner’s Fresh Fish, I once again tried to figure out how I could get to my money without revealing my whereabouts to the rest of the world… and this time, this time I meant business. I loved to fly!
Mr. Tanner, as always, was sitting behind the counter when I walked in. He smiled instantly the moment he noticed me. Mr. Tanner gave me quite the lesson on which species of crab was the best. The old man prattled on and on but I liked it. In a way, he reminded me of my grandpa I'd taken my new name from, so I didn’t mind the lengthy conversation.
“Hey there,
Jack,” he said. “Back for more king crab legs?”
“Nope, not today.” I smiled and leaned up on the counter, glancing down at the fresh salmon and halibut filets in the glass. “
I’d like to talk to you about buying that plane you have out there.”
5—Mac
The more I thought of Tanner's plane, the more motivated I became. I let two days pass after I spoke to him, making myself wait before I did my creative budgeting to see if I could even afford the damn thing. I hoped that if there was any viable reason that I shouldn’t buy it, I’d come to the realization and talk myself out of it. But forty-eight hours later, I could find no reasons whatsoever. In fact, I wanted that plane more than ever.
So I went to talk numbers and scheduling with Mr. Tanner. I had one of my part-time workers manage the shop for an hour or so while I went out and started what I hoped would be my path to getting the plane.
I loved that The Pine Way is located right in the middle of Sitka’s central hub. This meant that I could walk just about anywhere during the day and not be gone very long. My first stop was the bank, just to make sure I had everything in order. After an in-depth look at my personal checking account
and
the store’s account from my home computer, I was pretty sure I’d need a small loan just to have as cushion for a few months. I hated numbers. I hated dealing with money, but it was a necessary evil I'd have to endure if I wanted the plane.
I walked to the bank, dreading this step in the process. But as it turns out, it was pretty easy. I asked for a loan for $5,000 and submitted the paperwork for a credit check. I was told I’d know something for sure by the end of the day but, based on my credit history and the performance of The Pine Way, it was basically as good as mine if I wanted it.
It was great news, but I relished being out of the bank and on my way to Tanner’s Fresh Fish. Being in an office and sitting behind a desk made me uncomfortable and trapped (especially when it was someone else’s office and desk). I'd never been a stuffy office girl, opting for more laid-back and relaxed environments.
I made the half a mile walk between the bank and Tanner’s, passing a few people I knew and giving polite nods as we passed. Moments such as those made me wonder if I might be a little too anti-social. When my husband walked out on me three years ago, he’s taken a lot more than himself; he’d also taken a nice portion of our money, the better car, and my self-confidence. The one close friend I had in Sitka moved for a better job last year, leaving me in a town I loved dearly, but without anyone to share any time with.
I was lonely, but I could admit that it was all my fault. A night out for me consisted of heading to Twin Moose Tavern for a glass of wine, getting irritated at nosy people, and then heading home to be by myself. My weekends were even more dull as I worked on a novel that I had forced myself to start after the husband had left (I referred to him only as the husband because the thought of his name made me nauseous even to this day).
But maybe this plane would be the beginning to a whole new me. If all went as planned, the plane would not only give The Pine Way a huge boost in business, but it would more than likely open up my social life. This was not a pitching point that I intended to share with Mr. Tanner, though.
Mr. Tanner was behind the counter, wrapping up a purchase for an elderly woman when I walked into his shop. I watched him roll a sheet of butcher’s paper around a three large salmon, fascinated with just how quickly and artfully he was able to do it. Once he had taped up the butcher paper, he placed it all in a plastic bag and handed it over to the customer. It was refreshing to see an older man that still loved his work, still able to perform his craft with the materials he was comfortable with and not forcefully pushed into technology.
I waited for the elderly lady to pay for her salmon and then I approached the counter. Behind me, the small bell over his door jingled as the woman made her exit.
“
Hey, Mac,” Mr. Tanner said. “What’s up?”
“
I want to buy your plane,” I said with a smile. “I crunched the numbers and am confident that I can make it work. I just wanted to let you know. I can probably be over in a few days with a check for you.”
“
That’s great,” he said, scratching his chin with a frown. “There is another person interested in it. I’ve actually had several people ask, but when I shot the price at them, they backed away. But you and this other guy seem pretty determined. Looks like I might have something of a bidding war on my hands.”
I didn’t even bother trying to hide my surprise. “Who is the other person?” I asked, hating the way I sounded. I sounded spoiled and slightly fretted.
“
Now, I don’t think I can tell you that,” Mr. Tanner said with a knowing smile. “I don’t want to start any arguments.”
“H
ave they offered money?”
“
Yes. In fact, they offered to place a down payment on it until they could bring me the rest of the money. But I told them that there was no need in that.”
“
How will you decide who to sell it to, then?” she asked.
“
I really don’t know,” he said. “Mac, I’d love to just give it to you because I’ve known you for—what? Damn near fifteen years now. But I have to be fair. I may just have to sell it to whoever can come up with the money first.”
I wanted to be upset with him but just couldn’t bring myself to do it. He was trying to be fair; playing favorites in a business was a bad decision. My own father had taught me that a long time ago. Surely a man of Mr. Tanner’s background and stature knew that sage old rule of business, too.
I nodded and also made a point to let the disappointed look on my face linger a bit. “Well, I’ll get mine to you as soon as I can. Do you at least know when this other person is supposed to bring you the money?”
“No I don't
. Of course, you have an edge now; they don’t know that there is another interested party. Maybe they’ll take their time.”
“
Maybe…,” I said, but I was already deflated. The motivation I felt just a few minutes ago (after leaving the stuffiness of the bank, of course) was gone. It had been replaced by an emotion I couldn’t quite name. Whatever it was, it made me feel foolish and I didn’t like it at all.
“
Thanks.” I turned towards the door.
“
Sure thing,” Mr. Tanner said.
I left his shop, at odds with the fact that I was placing some of my anger on Mr. Tanner. He knew me well. He knew the crap I had gone through in the last few years with the divorce and nearly losing the shop. He knew I was a dependent and reliable person. It made me wonder who the other person was and what sort of relationship they might have with Mr. Tanner.
But that avenue led me towards a pity party…something I was not about to allow myself to do. So I did what I had been doing ever since I had suddenly found myself single again four years ago: I bottled it up and acted like I didn’t care. I went back to work and chiseled out the rest of the day, unable to get my mind off of that damned plane.
****
I locked the front door to the Pine Way at 4:59, giving myself the one extra minute of freedom as a reward. It had been a slow afternoon and after I had gone through inventory lists, swept the floors and restocked a few shelves, I had ended up leafing through a year old Glamour magazine that I had already been through a dozen times.
I went home quickly and was fortunate to catch green lights the entire way. The drive from the shop to my house was less than ten minutes and, truth be told, I could have walked it in twenty or so. But the urge to walk just hadn’t been in me that morning. It hadn’t been in me for a while, actually. Some girls could pull off the whole walker/runner thing. Some of them looked cute with their ponytails and pretentious little calorie counters on their wrists. Others just looked flat out sexy with their sheen of sweat on their collarbones and upper chest, their awesome bodies perfectly outlines through outfits that were nearly a size too small.
I fell into neither of those categories. I looked like a bored, average looking woman that was in no particular hurry. Plus, I had done a lot of walking and jogging after the divorce and I didn’t want people to associate my walking with some sort of depression. I knew I was over thinking everything, but dammit, I couldn't help it. That was just the way my brain worked.
The way I saw it that afternoon as I pulled my car into my garage at 5:08 was that driving allowed me to get home quicker. I wasted no time, kicking my shoes off in the living room and made my way to the kitchen. I opened the fridge, pulled out the white wine and poured a glass. I sipped hard on it as I looked across the wide open space of the house. A breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the living room. The high ceilings made it appear bigger—and feel emptier.
I grabbed the TV remote from the bar and flipped on the TV, clicking over to the input that allowed me to pull up the web browser. I went to favorites, pulled up Pandora, and was listening to Norah Jones ten seconds later. With the soothing music playing, I decided that I would skip what would likely be a small and hastily-thrown together dinner, and make myself work on my novel.
My novel was a private thing. No one knew I was writing one. It was a project three years in the making. I had never been the best writer, but a friend of mine had recommended it when was at my lowest point after the divorce. She also recommended that I drink when I write because it would lessen my inhibitions and I’d be more willing to write about things that were painful.
I masked my agony in the guise of fiction. Whether or not it was worth a damn, I wasn’t sure. But it was cathartic, it was fun and, deep down, I actually thought it was pretty good.
So I spent that afternoon writing. I sat at the small desk that I had tucked into the far corner of the living room, and started working. It was one of those empowering stories that I usually just glossed over in bookstores. Part of me wondered if I might actually summon up the nerve to send it to agencies and publishing houses. It seemed like some delusional fantasy, but I thought it might be worth a short anyway.
I wrote for two hours, stopping for one primary reasons. I couldn’t ignore the rumbling in my stomach any longer. Slightly tipsy (on my third glass of wine), I wandered into the kitchen and threw together a ham and cheese sandwich. I ate it while standing at the counter, looking to the laptop on my desk and mulling over the second reason I had stopped writing.
The next part was about one page away and I was facing my first sex scene ever. I was not an erotica writer and even writing about a simple kiss in an earlier chapter caused me to blush. The sex scene was going to be done tastefully and, if I could manage, maybe even artfully. But still… I hadn’t been with a man in that capacity in nearly four years. Writing about sex, I figured, was just going to depress me.
Get over yourself,
I thought.
If you want to get laid that bad, just head down to the Salty Dog, grab a spot at the bar, and start flirting.
As tempting as one night of raucous sex was, it also made me remember the few morning-afters I’d suffered through in college. I’d like to think I had more dignity that that these days. Besides… Sitka was a small town full of tongues that liked to wag.
My ham and cheese didn't distract me from the coming task, neither did the last bit of wine I greedily slurped down. My porn-bent train of thought lead me to the man that came into the store earlier in the day... Jack. He’d been hot in a weird rugged sort of way. And I hadn’t been absolutely certain of it, but I thought that he'd flirted with me at one point. I thought about his face and wondered what he might look like if he shaved his goatee. I had nothing against them per se, but while they did look good on some men, I had never liked kissing a man with a ton of facial hair. I also wasn’t a fan of the way it scratched certain areas of my body, particularly the ones that were usually covered by clothing.
Wow… simply thinking those thoughts were enough to color my cheeks with warmth and awaken parts of my body that had long been neglected.
Huh.
I put the wine glass in the sink, cautious of what a fourth glass would do to me.
Four years,
I thought.
Has it
really
been that long?
The idea of heading down to the Salty Dog became all the more appealing. Before I could act on my carnal thoughts, I changed into my pajamas: a tank top and a pair of sweat shorts that had been with me since my college days.