by Piper Rayne
“We were friends once.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “King, you were friends when you were adolescents, before puberty hit and feelings developed. She’s the girl you’ve always loved. How can you possibly just be friends with her?”
Obviously, Juno kept the fact that she knows Stella is talking to Lou to herself. “Last night at Tipsy Turvy, she met Lou and they exchanged numbers.”
Austin’s jaw drops, but he recovers before he thinks I’ve seen his reaction. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s all happening again?”
I nod, unable to really process that I lost her before I even knew she was back. Then again, she decided to keep her return a secret. She went to a blind dating event to meet someone new, knowing I was a short drive down the highway. I’ll be damned if I look like the lovesick puppy dog following after her with my tongue hanging out—again.
“No, it’s not happening again. Because I’m gonna move on with my life.” I grab my phone and click on Instagram, unfollowing her with the tap of my thumb. “It’s time I move forward in my life without the name Stella Harrison haunting me.”
“What do you mean?” Austin leans back in the chair.
“I’m going to start looking ahead to my future.”
“I’m proud of you. It takes guts to do that.” He smiles, happy because he believes, like the rest of my family does, that I don’t care about the future or value my life all that much.
Maybe I’m just the last one to know that Stella Harrison and Kingston Bailey aren’t meant to walk away into the sunset and live happily ever after.
Four
Stella
The following Friday after seeing Kingston live and in person, Lou knocks on my apartment door. I’ve tried to push Kingston from my thoughts all week, but it’s proven to be easier said than done.
A seed of guilt sprouts every time I talk to Lou on the phone. I’ve had boyfriends since high school, but nothing that turned serious. Only one guy ever called me out on my need to keep my emotions close to my chest. But I think that was because I allowed our relationship to continue when I should have ended it weeks earlier.
But Kingston was so quick to suggest that we just be friends, what am I supposed to think? Not to mention I purposely didn’t tell him I was in town. The anger I saw in his eyes isn’t unwarranted.
I open the door to find Lou dressed in a pair of nice jeans and a button-down shirt. He’s attractive, and I’m sure a lot of women admire his broad shoulders and tall frame. Pushing Kingston out of my head, I grab my purse from my kitchen table and join him on the other side of the door.
“You look stunning,” he says.
I smile. “You look great too.”
The typical awkward silence of a first date blankets us as we walk out of my apartment to his truck. I keep having to remind myself that I’m back in Alaska, where the truck to car ratio is two hundred to one.
He’s a gentleman and opens the door for me, waiting for me to be situated before shutting it slowly to secure me. He rounds the hood of the truck and climbs in next to me.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“I am.”
“Me too. I had no time for lunch today, so you’ll have to excuse me if I look like a starved animal at the dinner table.”
I laugh. “You’re already forgiven.”
He heads onto the interstate. Once we’re driving for a few minutes I figure someone better know where I’m going and who I’m with. I pull out my phone and text my mom.
Me: I’m on a date with a guy named Lou and he drives a red pick-up truck. He’s a carpenter from Anchorage and we’re going to dinner.
The three dots appear right away.
Mom: Okay, license plate would be nice next time. LOL
Lou glances over.
I shut off the screen and shove my phone back inside my purse. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m sure that being a doctor, you’re on call a lot.”
We talk about the differences between my job in New York compared to here. I find out Lou is actually from a smaller town up north, and to him, Anchorage is a big city. He’s been here since he graduated high school and has no desire to go back.
As we continue heading south, we pass a sign saying Lake Starlight - 5 Miles. A knot forms in my stomach.
“Where are we headed?” I ask.
He never takes his eyes off the road. “Lake Starlight. Have you been there before?”
I laugh. “It’s where I grew up.”
He glances over. “I figured you came here for your residency. I didn’t realize you grew up here.”
I recall all the things I told him the night we had a drink together. I was ambiguous about my past. Probably because I stopped telling people I was from Alaska when I was in New York. They all asked the same questions about moose, dark winters and sunny summers, crab, and the cold weather. At first, I would negate all their assumptions that we live in igloos and hunt for our food, but after a while, talking about all the great things Alaska has to offer made me sad because I missed it. But I didn’t know how to come back without causing strife.
“Yeah, I lived here until I left for college.”
“That’s crazy. I have a buddy from here. I’m actually taking you to his brother’s restaurant. I’ve had his food a few times at family get-togethers and he’s mad talented.”
My gut churns. I glance at his back window. There it is. How did I not notice that earlier? “Lou?”
“Yeah?”
“You said you’re a carpenter.”
“Yeah. Remind me to tell you about this house I’m doing with this beautiful stained glass—”
“And this is your truck?” I glance around the interior.
He nods. “Yeah.” Glancing over when we get to the stoplight, his forehead wrinkles. “Why?”
“What’s with the firefighter sticker?”
He smiles but tries to stop himself. “Yeah, well… I was kind of keeping that to myself because you know how women are with firefighters.”
“How is that?”
“Obsessive. Some of them date us just so they can say they’re dating one. But I was gonna tell you tonight. Next week I’m taking some paramedic shifts and you’d probably see me around the hospital anyway.”
There’s so much I want to say right now. I’m upset that he held back information that’s important for reasons he has no idea of. So instead of addressing his lack of transparency, I focus on the most important thing at the moment—finding out if it even matters.
“Who is your friend from Lake Starlight?” I close my eyes.
There’s no way this is happening. They must work at different engine companies. Surely there’s another brother duo who lives in Lake Starlight where one’s a firefighter and one owns a restaurant. It has to be someone else’s brother besides Kingston’s brother Rome, who owns Terra and Mare. This cannot happen twice in my lifetime. It just can’t.
“Kingston Bailey. You know him?”
My throat closes and I cough, even though I knew in my gut it was him.
“Oh shit, were you guys, like, enemies or something? He’s pretty cool now but kind of conceited. Is that how he was when you knew him? Is that why you don’t like him?” Lou rambles on while I wrap my head around the news, pushing away the assumption Lou has that we don’t like each other when it’s always been the complete opposite.
“We went to high school together. We were… close friends.”
“Oh shit, did you guys date?” His eyes are wide now. He pulls over by the curb in downtown Lake Starlight, where Rome’s restaurant is their version of nightlife.
“We never dated.” Which is the truth. We never officially dated.
He lets loose a long breath. “Thank goodness. That’d be awkward.”
Oh, Lou, you have no idea. “Did you tell him about me? I mean…”
Seriously, Stella, I doubt he’s gushing to his best friend about the great woman he met days ago.
“I mentioned
you, but he’s been out because of his concussion.” He glances at me, and the streetlight glowing into the cab reveals his questioning eyes. “I sense there’s more.”
This isn’t something I can hide from him. When Kingston finds out I’m dating… actually, I have no idea if they’re even good friends. “How close are you and Kingston?”
“King? We’ve been tight since the academy.”
My head falls to the headrest. “Oh, Lou, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“What am I missing?”
“Kingston and I never dated, but we share a past just the same.” Instead of looking at Lou, I scour the people walking into Terra and Mare. The people I’ll have to address if I walk in there with this man.
“What kind of past?”
There’s no way I can fully explain the situation to him. “In high school, I was dating his friend, Owen. Kingston and I were friends—”
“High school?” He laughs, and my attention is stripped away from the patrons of the restaurant and over to him. “That was almost a decade ago.”
“But—”
“Stella, I’m asking you to have dinner, not to marry me or even classify us as dating. At Tipsy Turvy, I felt like we had a connection. At least enough of one to explore, which is what spurred me to ask you to dinner.”
“You don’t understand.”
He can’t. He didn’t witness the situation that unfolded. The fights in the hallways, the screaming and arguing and tears. All the nights my head wound up in my mom’s lap.
“Believe me, whatever you had with Kingston hasn’t stopped him over the years.”
I look up from my lap, and he nods, confirming my fear that he earned the nickname Romeo the way one would assume. Which he had every right to. We were never a couple. It doesn’t stop the jab in my heart though.
“Let’s do this… one dinner,” he says. “That’s all I ask. We can eat as friends and get to know each other. But we’re already out and here. Come on.”
My stomach churns as I watch people walk in and out of Rome’s restaurant. I fear that silverware will screech across plates and conversations will halt the minute I step inside. Whispers of “She’s back. Does Kingston know?” being murmured as we’re seated.
“Okay, but can we go anywhere but here?” I ask.
He turns the keys in the ignition. “Definitely.”
Luckily, Lou is a cool guy and he takes me to a great burrito place in Portage Glacier, far enough away that I won’t see anyone from Lake Starlight.
And we do have a great night. Midway through dinner, I finally forget that he’s close friends with Kingston. I’m not sure if he feels as though I don’t want to talk about myself or if he’s worried I’ll end up crying over our chips and salsa, but he carries the entire conversation. Impressively enough, he weaves in sly questions about me but never stays on the topic of me long enough to go too deep.
At the end of the night, he pulls up outside my apartment and he walks me to the door.
“I had a great time,” Lou says.
“I did too. Thanks for pushing me to keep it. You’re really a great guy, but I have to be upfront with you. You and me dating isn’t a good idea since you’re friends with Kingston.”
He rocks back on his heels. “So if I ditch him as a friend, you’ll date me?”
I laugh, and thankfully he does too. I promised myself a long time ago I’d never get between Kingston and a friend again. “I’m sorry, but I’m definitely up for being friends.”
Lou nods. “I can’t convince you, huh?”
I smile but shake my head. “No. Again—”
He interrupts me right away. “You can stop saying you’re sorry now. It’s starting to feel like a breakup.”
I chuckle, grabbing my keys out of my purse. “So I’ll see you around the hospital?”
“Sure will. Friends… for now.”
“Lou,” I say before he thinks he can pull out all the stops and get me to agree to more. “I’m serious.”
He nods. “Don’t worry, I’d never pressure you too much, but we’ll give it some time.” He steps forward, and I stiffen. His lips press to my cheek. “Goodnight, Stella.”
He walks down the short sidewalk back to his truck, and I turn to my door, inserting my key. I remind myself that I made the right decision, because Kingston and I are a web that no one ever escapes, and I won’t let anyone else get tangled in.
Five
Stella
Ten Years Old
First day of school
I walk into the classroom and everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at me. I smile and put my head down, heading to the teacher’s desk. All the chaos I walked into starts back up.
Mrs. Nickelson, Mrs. Nickelson. I’ve repeated her name multiple times so I don’t mess it up.
“Owen, I told you to stop picking up Annie. This isn’t wrestling class.” Mrs. Nickelson rolls her eyes, but when she spots me, her smile turns warm and welcoming. “Stella, right?”
I nod and swallow. My stomach feels like I’m about to go down the hill of a roller coaster and my mouth is so dry, I had to stop at the water fountain on my way from the office to here.
“Welcome. Class.” Mrs. Nickelson snaps her fingers, and when the boys and girls continue to mess around, she claps. There’s some rustling, but the students find their desks and sit. “This is Stella Harrison. She’s a new student.” She sits on a stool a few feet away from me. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?”
I look up, and all their eyes are on me. That light feeling in my stomach quickly weighs heavy as if there’s an anchor in there now. As I scan the students, my eyes rest on one boy who has his head in his hand and is weaving figure eights on his desk with one finger. He’s sitting smack in the middle of the class, so I pretend I’m talking to him. It feels safer since he obviously doesn’t care to listen to my life story.
“Okay… I’m Stella. Um…”
“Where are you from, Stella?” Mrs. Nickelson asks, and I turn to her. She really seems nice from how much she smiles.
“I’m from Arizona.”
“Yikes, you’re not used to winter at all, are you?” Mrs. Nickelson asks.
I shake my head. “The first time I saw snow was when we moved here.” On the plane, when my mom pointed out the window at the snow-peaked mountains under us.
A few of the kids murmur about how crazy that sounds.
“And who did you move up here with?”
Thank goodness Mrs. Nickelson is asking the questions. I don’t have a very interesting life story.
“My mom.”
“Very nice. And I think I heard she’s opening up a bed-and-breakfast?”
“What’s that?” a boy in the back asks.
The boy I’ve been watching glances over his shoulder at the kid and rolls his eyes before staring at his desk again, watching his finger slide around the top of the desk. The boy looks sort of sad.
“It’s like a hotel, but more personal,” the teacher says. “The person who owns it usually cooks your meals, and sometimes you share a bathroom with other guests.”
“Why would someone want to do that?” the kid asks.
“It’s a different experience. Like I said, it’s more personal and quaint.”
“What’s quaint mean?” another boy asks.
Mrs. Nickelson’s smile falters slightly. “I’ll dig out more information for you and we’ll discuss it tomorrow. Let’s focus on Stella right now.”
No, please.
“And what do you like to do, Stella?” she asks.
“Um… I like to… play outside. My mom’s an artist, so we do a lot of things with paint and clay.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun. Doesn’t it, class?”
The class says ‘uh-huh’ as if they’ve rehearsed it.
“Go ahead and have a seat, Stella. There’s one right there between Owen and Kingston.” She points at the only empty desk in the room. “Kingston, be a dear
and raise your hand so Stella knows who you are.”
I wish I could tell her that’s not necessary, but the boy who’s been doing figure eights with his finger puts his arm in the air without ever looking up at me. Kingston is the sad boy’s name.
When I slide into the desk, the boy on the other side leans toward me. “You don’t have a dad?”
I shake my head.
“Why?”
A year ago, I would have teared up, but I’ve been practicing at night before I go to bed because I knew people at my new school would ask questions and I’d have to answer them. “He died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” The kid, who was leaning back in his chair, puts all four legs back down on the carpeted floor.
Mrs. Nickelson tells everyone to open their textbooks. “Stella, you can share with either Kingston or Owen until we get you one.”
I look at the sad boy and slide my desk over next to his. He opens his textbook and slides it my way, apparently not caring if he can see it or not. I push it so it rests on both of our desks, but he never looks up. Mrs. Nickelson talks about plants and oxygen, but I can’t stop thinking of this boy next to me. She assigns us a project and says we can work as a team since I don’t have my textbook yet.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
He looks at me. His eyes are a soft brown. “Yeah.”
We sit in silence for a while.
“How did your dad die?” he asks.
“Cancer.”
Please don’t ask anything else. I don’t want to think about it today. Not when my mom moved us up here to get away from her memories, not caring at all what I wanted. I loved that I remembered my dad in every room of my old house, or the pool out back where he would throw me in the air. Now I’m in some town in Alaska where it’s cold and snowy and miserable.
“Mine died in a snowmobile accident,” he says.
“Your dad died?”
“My mom and my dad.”
“That sucks,” I say quietly.
His eyes lock with mine and there’s something there. An understanding maybe. He nods. “About your dad too. I guess at least I don’t have to move like you did.”