by B. B. Hamel
My breath is taken away when I step into the main room. I remember the glass wall from the night before, but it’s so much more incredible during the day. Juneau spreads out down below in the distance and I can see unspoiled wilderness between here and there. I walk up to the glass wall, oblivious of anything else except how amazing the view is.
“Even better during the day.”
I turn around, a little startled. Carson smiles at me. He’s standing in the kitchen, clearly cooking something, and I realize that I walked right past him in my amazement.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Morning.” He grins at me. “I’m glad I got to see your reaction.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s cool at night. But it’s better in the morning.”
“Yeah,” I say, putting my hand against the wall.
“Want something to eat?” he asks. “I’m cooking you bacon, eggs and pancakes. I don’t know what you’re into, but when I heard the water get started, I went nuts.”
“You cook?” I ask him, walking toward the kitchen.
“Sure. Just because I’m rich doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.”
“That’s a complicated sentence,” I say, laughing.
He grins. “I’m a complicated man.”
“Well, I am starving. I can’t turn down food right now even if I wanted to.”
“Good. Sit.” He gestures at the island counter. I pull out a stool and climb up. He places a mug of coffee in front of me. “There’s also OJ if you want it.”
“Coffee is great,” I say, sipping it.
“What’ll you have then?” he asks, gesturing at the food.
“Everything,” I say, and blush immediately. “Please.”
He laughs. “I like that. Okay, one full breakfast coming up.”
A minute later, he places a plate down in front of me that’s piled with bacon, eggs and three big fluffy pancakes. He gives me a little bottle of syrup and finally sits down across from me.
“Aren’t you eating?” I ask him.
“Ate earlier,” he says. “Got some work done this morning so I could take the rest of the day off.”
“You worked already?”
“I’m an early riser.”
“Sorry I slept in. You didn’t need to take the day off. You didn’t need to do any of this.”
He smiles at me then reaches out and takes a slice of bacon from my plate. “Eat,” he says, “before I do.”
My stomach rumbles so I dig in gratefully. I’m acutely aware of him watching me, but I don’t care at this moment. The food is so delicious and I’m so starving that this is probably the greatest meal of my whole life.
He’s even more handsome than I realized last night. In the morning, he looks fresher, more muscular, but still mature and distinguished. I know he’s much older than me, but I still have this strange attraction to him that I can’t quite explain. I’ve never been interested in a man his age before, but then again, I’ve never met a man like him before.
I’m used to the men from my neighborhood, men like my dad. Hard working men, of course, but men that the years haven’t been kind to. They all went soft in the middle, but not Carson. He clearly takes care of himself and cares about his appearance, and it shows.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but it doesn’t matter, not in this moment. The food is too good and Carson is too handsome for me to overthink this. I know I’m going to have to leave sooner rather than later, but right now I want to let myself enjoy the first bit of kindness I’ve ever really been shown in my life.
“Listen,” he says as I am halfway finished. “I just want to say that you can stay here for a little bit, if you need to.”
I pause, looking at him. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure, you can. Look at this place. It’s just the two of us.”
“I know. But it’s your home. And you don’t know me.”
“Sure, I do. You’re Kylie. You’re from LA and you don’t own a jacket because you didn’t realize how cold Alaska is this time of year. You’re running from something, though I’m not sure what yet, and you used every dollar you had to get away, which means it’s probably pretty bad. How am I doing so far?”
I stare at him, genuinely surprised. I didn’t tell him that stuff last night, except for the part about being from LA. Somehow he figured out the other bits, about me running away, about my past. It’s impressive, but I’m not ready to open up to this guy, not yet. I don’t want him to think that I’m just some weak runaway kid.
“Not bad,” I concede. “Can I give you a shot?”
“Please do,” he says, grinning huge.
“You mentioned oil last night. You’re the rich son of an old school oil man. Probably have more money than you know what to do with. But you live alone, which means you work too hard. Your job is your life. How’s that?”
He laughs, crossing his arms and smiling broadly. “Not bad. Not quite right, but close.”
“Which part?”
“My job isn’t my life. But I do have more money than I know what to do with, that’s true.”
I can’t help but smile a little bit. “I’m going to finish eating now,” I say.
“Good. Go ahead. I’ll let you eat while I clean up.”
I go back to eating, a little bit slower, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He cleans the dishes, whistling softly to himself, almost like I’m not even here. His movements are graceful and precise, like an athlete’s, and he’s wearing a pair of heavy jeans and a light denim shirt with paint spots all over it. He looks like he really does work in those clothes, though the selvedge line on his cuffs suggest that those aren’t just some cheap denim pants.
This man has layers to him, that’s for sure, and I want to get to know them. Though maybe that’s presumptuous. But he did invite me to stay here, totally unprompted.
I don’t know if I can take him up on that. I barely know the guy, and although he’s handsome and rich and kind, I don’t know how much of that is true. He could still be some psycho axe murderer that just lured me up into his secluded mansion to kill me. Isn’t that the movie cliché? Maybe he’s fattening me up and he’s going to try to cook and eat me. I give him a little look as he cleans a knife in the sink, a very large and very sharp knife, and a shiver runs down my spine.
I’m being stupid, though. Just because I’m in Alaska doesn’t mean every nice person is some kind of axe murderer. He could easily be a regular murderer. He might not even own an axe. I shouldn’t stereotype Alaska like that.
I finish up my plate and he takes it from me. I thank him and watch him finish up. When he’s done, he leans against the counter, drying a dish and eyeing me.
“What?” I ask him.
“You look different today.”
I glance down, self-conscious. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No, not at all. You just look a lot less... “
“Frozen?”
He grins. “Frozen. That’s it. Speaking of frozen, how are your toes feeling?”
I shrug. “Fine. No frostbite.”
“Let me take a look.”
“Really, I’m okay.”
He walks over to me then drops to one knee. “Just stay still.” He grabs my ankle then slides my sock off. I blush a little bit and feel strangely exposed as he checks both my feet. Satisfied, he stands. “You’re good,” he says.
“Are you some kind of doctor?”
“No. You just need to know the signs of frostbite out here. We had that drilled into us at a young age.”
“By your father?”
He nods. “My father the oil man.” He leans against the counter and looks at me. “You need a coat.”
“I’ll figure something out,” I say.
“I have coats, but they’re all for men.”
“That’s okay. Thanks anyway. You’ve been too nice already.”
“Stop. You won’t survive long here without the ri
ght clothes, and you clearly don’t have the right clothes.”
I sigh. He’s right and I can’t deny it, but he’s been too nice to me already. “I’ll figure something out,” I say again.
“Come on,” he stays, standing. “Let’s go into town. We’ll get what you need.”
“No, really. I can’t do that. You’ve done too much.”
“Kylie.” He looks at me seriously. “I want to buy you things. Are you really going to stop me from getting you what you need?”
“I just... ” I trail off when I see the way he’s looking at me. It’s intense, both protective and sexual, and it makes me feel strange. I can’t exactly describe what he does to me, but it’s something I never anticipated before.
“Okay,” I hear myself saying, which is so outside of my character. I’m not used to getting things from people, much less actually taking them.
“Good girl. Go get dressed. Layer up, it’s cold out. I’ll give you one of my coats for now until we can get you something else.”
“Okay,” I say again, then stand. I go to walk back to the room but I stop halfway and look back at him. “Thanks for this, Carson. You really don’t need to help me, you know.”
“I know I don’t. But I want to.”
I nod and then turn back toward the bedroom. I walk down the hall and head inside.
I layer up, just like he told me to, and when I’m finished he meets me in the kitchen again with a jacket that’s way too big, but at least I can tell it’s warm. He’s dressed stylishly but practically, with heavy looking boots, a down jacket, and a black beanie cap. Everything looks well-worn like he’s used to being outdoors in this weather, which is so strange. He’s a rich guy, probably works in an office, so I can’t really understand him.
But he wants to take care of me, or at least he wants to help me, which is the strangest thing of all. Where I’m from, people don’t have enough to give to their neighbors, much less would be willing to help a total stranger. And yet here he is, basically saving my life and making sure that I don’t freeze to death out in this unforgiving place.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here, but I can’t seem to turn away. I could refuse him, make him take me to town, but I don’t want that. I want to know him, to figure out what makes him tick. I want to know why he lives in this big house all alone and why he’d want to help a girl like me.
I follow him out into the garage and we climb into one of his cars, a big black truck. He fires it up and we head out into the snow, winding down toward the city.
Carson
The road is covered in snow, and so I decide to skip calling my usual driver in. I have my own cold weather trucks and can handle the drive myself, so there’s no reason to make someone come and pick us up.
I don’t want to become a rich man like my father. I have the money, but I don’t want to be totally helpless, reliant on all the people that I hire to do things for me. Which is why I don’t have a cook, I don’t have a maid. I cook and clean myself. I take out my own garbage, do my own laundry, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Sometimes I give in to the perks and let Albert drive me around, but mostly I take care of myself.
Which is maybe why I partially understand Kylie’s reluctance to take my help. She’s probably not used to people doing things for her, because she’s always been on her own. Or at least partially on her own. Whatever she’s running away from is still there, still inside of her.
I heard her screaming in the night. I considered waking her up, but I decided just to let her sleep. I don’t know what kind of dreams she was having, but it unnerved me. Clearly she’s escaping something, but whatever she left behind is still lingering inside of her.
As much as she hates to admit it, she needs my help. She clearly has nothing but the clothes on her back and a small little carry-on bag stuffed with a few essentials. She needs money, clothes, a place to live, even a job. And I can give her all of that.
The real question I’m trying to avoid is why I’m doing all this. It’s not exactly a good time to be taking in a girl like Kylie. I should be at work today, but instead I’m skipping to be with her, which is definitely a bad idea. I’m walking a very fine line as it is, and I don’t want to jeopardize my future at all.
Elliot will swoop in the second he smells blood in the water. He’ll find a way to use this situation against me, I can be sure of it, despite the fact that I’m doing something good. I should give this girl some cash and send her on her way. She’d be fine and I could easily afford it.
But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to just give her some money and send her packing. I’m drawn to her, for better or for worse. She’s younger than I’m used to, but I feel strangely protective, and that excites me.
“How long did you plan on being in Alaska?” I ask her as we head into town.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “It was a last second decision.”
“What made you choose here?”
“It’s far from where I used to be.”
I nod, not surprised. “Alaska is pretty much the opposite of LA.”
“More or less.” She looks out the window. “People can be pretty shitty here, too, though.”
I laugh, nodding. “That’s the damn truth.”
“I don’t mean you,” she says quickly, looking at me. “It’s just, last night I must have asked twenty people for help and gotten twenty different answers.”
“People in Juneau don’t trust or like strangers, especially ones that need help.” I sigh, shaking my head. “The shit part is, this town is built on the backs of strangers coming here and working.”
“Have you ever helped someone like me before?”
I glance at her then quickly back at the road. “No,” I admit. “But I hire a lot of people like you. People that come here and need a job. Even if it’s just temporary.”
“What do you do, exactly?” she asks.
“I’m upper management for Price Oil. I guess you could say I’m next in line for the CEO spot.”
“Really?” she says, sounding surprised.
“What, you think only old guys can be CEO?”
“Pretty much,” she says.
“Well, my father is an old guy, and he’s going to pass soon. When he does, the job is supposed to be mine.” I decide not to go into detail about Elliot and the drama just yet.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says. “That can’t be easy.”
“It’s not... and it is. I don’t know. Hard to explain.”
“I get it,” she says softly. “I don’t think I’d be upset if my dad died. But I’d feel something.”
I glance at her and the picture of her world suddenly grows. “You and your dad aren’t close?”
“No,” she says firmly. “How much further to town?”
“Not far,” I say, getting the hint. She wants to change the subject and that’s fine with me. I launch into a little monologue about the surrounding area, giving her a little history of Juneau and, by extension, of my family, since we’ve been in this town for as long as it’s existed.
But really what I keep thinking about is her reaction to talking about her father. He must be the reason she ran away from home and came here. I can’t see it any other way.
I don’t know what her father did to her, but I can easily imagine. I’ve lived with a difficult father my entire life, and I’m an adult. My father never outright abused me, though, but it’s very possible that’s exactly what she was dealing with back home.
I pull into downtown Juneau, trying to keep her distracted with talk about the town as we park. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable around me, and I can sense that possibility in the moment. Once I get a spot, we climb out and head into an outdoors store.
“Okay,” I say to her. “Pick out what you want.”
She pauses, looking around. “I honestly don’t know,” she says, laughing.
“Want me to ask someone?”
She shakes her head.
“Let me look around.”
“Whatever you want.”
She starts looking through the racks, picking out jackets, checking their price tags, and putting them back with a frown. I follow her at a distance, but I don’t want to crowd her.
It soon becomes clear that everything is too expensive, or at least she seems to think so. As she moves back toward the sale rack, I turn and walk up toward the front of the store and pick up a jacket she had looked at the longest. I guess her size, take it up front, and buy it along with a pair of gloves, two hats, and two scarves. By the time it’s all paid for, she’s standing near the back, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, approaching with the bag in my hand.
“I just... ” she trails off, looking at the bag. “What’s that?”
“This?” I ask innocently. “Oh, nothing.”
“Carson.”
“Look, you clearly aren’t comfortable letting me spend money on you, so I just did it anyway.” I take the jacket out and hold it up. “Like it?”
She nods her head once but doesn’t reach out to take it. “I’ve never had something that expensive before.”
“It’s just a jacket, Kylie. Take it, put it on, think warm thoughts.”
She slowly takes it, tentatively. “Are you sure? I hate taking from you.”
“Kylie. Put it on.” I step toward her, eyes locked on hers. “Put it on now.”
She bites her lip then slips the jacket on. She zips it up. “What do you think?”
“Perfect,” I say softly. “Warm?”
“Very.”
“Good.” I hand her the bag. “Gloves, scarves, hats.”
“This is too much.”
“We’re just getting started.”
She shakes her head. “Carson—“
“Listen to me, Kylie.” I stand close to her. We’re alone in the back of the store. The lights are low and the music is loud, and I know nobody can see the two of us back here, though someone could walk back at any moment.
“Let me buy things for you,” I say. “You need help. And it makes me happy to help you.”