Love Grows in Alaska (The Washington Triplets)

by Michelle Lynn

  “Hey.” Libby’s soft voice diverts my attention away from the movie scene unfolding in my mind.

  “Hi.” I zip my office chair around to find a swollen-eyed Libby. “Oh, Libby, I’m sorry. What did Camden say?”

  She wipes her eyes of what I hope are the last tears. “He’s not happy about it, but eventually he understood.”

  “Tell him your room will be right next to mine and I’ll post a sign that says No Boys Allowed.” I give her a small smile to decipher if humor is okay because I sense there’s more than I realized between her and Camden. She smiles back and then giggles.

  “I’ll let him know. He has no choice. I’ve uprooted my life here and I’m not going to sacrifice my job because of his caveman alpha thoughts.” Libby crosses her arms and nods her head in a defiant showing. I’m proud of her that she’s not letting Camden push her around.

  “You go girl,” I cheer and she shakes her head, amusement showing on her face, and walks back to her cubicle.

  “Now, I just need to keep reminding myself of that on the drive home,” she calls out over our partitioned wall.

  Camden never seemed like the jealous type to me, but then again, Libby stays by his side almost the whole time we’ve ever hung out, which has only been a few times. Of course, due to my parents, I’m a firm believer in the philosophy that you never know what goes on behind closed doors.

  By the time five o’clock strikes the clocks, the shuffling of feet and chairs being pushed into desks ping in every area of the open office space. Libby walks into mine with her bag hanging from her shoulder. “Here I go.” She bites her lower lip and takes a deep breath as though she’s grabbing as much courage she can. I bite my tongue about asking her directly about Camden and what exactly she’s so worried about.

  Rising to my feet, I push my chair in and grab my own computer bag. “What are you so worried about?” She turns and I follow her down the narrow opening between the windows and our offices.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe he’ll find—” She stops and opens the door for me.

  “Libby, it’s a week, not a year. You’ll be back before you know it. If, and hear me when I say if, he turns around and cheats on you, that’s a dipshit move. It only means you’re too good for him,” I honestly tell her, because I won’t stand for Libby to stick around him if he’s not allowing her to be herself. It’s the same reason I left Nate right after college. If given the chance, they’ll drag you down before you ever realize how low your self-esteem has plummeted. All these months later, I’m still insecure about myself.

  Libby quietly glances at her phone as the elevator descends and when we reach the parking lot, I squeeze her tight in a big hug. “If he’s a good guy, which I’m fairly certain he is—he’ll come around.” When I pull back from the embrace and hold my hands on her upper arms, her eyes appear wet.

  “Thanks, Marisa,” she answers and then turns around to her car.

  Libby’s situation rests on my mind the whole way home, showing me again that relationships are tough. Why was she so worried about Camden? Trust is the biggest part of relationships, and how on Earth can I ever trust a man to only love me after knowing what my father is doing in six weeks?

  Parking my car in the driveway, I walk back down and grab my mail. Flipping through the bills, advertisements, and junk mail, I open my door and relish the feeling of home.

  Although I’ve only lived here a short while, it’s mine and only mine. I can walk around naked, never get out of my pajamas, eat cereal for dinner. For the first time in my life, I’m by myself. Going from my parents, to my sisters, to Nate … it’s nice to finally experience quiet.

  Preparing some macaroni and cheese, I settle in front of the television and instantly figure out I have nothing left on my DVR because I’m a homebody. Every night and every weekend, I’ve sat my ass on this couch and not done what I set out to do when I left Chicago. I was supposed to put myself out there, have fun, meet new people. Glancing at my yoga pants and worn t-shirt only depresses me more with my current situation. Instead of crying over someone else’s romantic story, I opt for my computer.

  I cross my legs and plop the computer across my lap on my big brown couch. Creeping along Facebook, I spot my friends who are engaged, some pregnant, others rising the ranks of success in their careers. All achieving things I’m not, but oddly enough, I’m okay with it. Their fulfilled lives don’t make me jealous, just saddened by my own.

  Checking Mya out, I roll my eyes at her pictures out at a club with at least five guys around her. She’s always been the guy magnet between the three of us. While she was asked to prom by three guys, one that didn’t even go to our school, I only had my old faithful, Brad, our next door neighbor.

  I switch over to check my email and there it is like a flashing neon sign. Dad, RE: Wedding. Figuring it’s best to open it now, otherwise, I’ll obsess over what it says all night. My curser hovers over his name for a few seconds before taking the deep plunge and double-clicking on open.

  To: Marisa

  From: Dad

  RE: Wedding

  I know you are still healing from the death of your mother and you disapprove of my relationship with Janet. However, we haven’t received your reply for the wedding. Again, I know you and your sisters think it's too soon and probably too sudden after your mother's passing. But, I want the three of you here with me. You are a part of me and I want to welcome Janet into our family. I'm begging you to please come back home for my wedding next month. I feel as though I can count on you Marisa, to get your sisters to attend. Please give me a call so we can talk.

  It will be held at Tillman Estates on September 15th. I’ll leave seats open for you all. Please, it would mean so much to me.

  Dad

  Weighing pros and cons of attending, I figure it’s a good sign that he wants us there. Even better that he refers to us as his family. I’m relieved that he hasn’t written his daughters off with the new wicked witch stepping in. My stomach stirs with the unpleasant thought of witnessing my own father say I do to someone I loathe more than my ex-boyfriend, Nate. I’m tempted to slam my laptop closed and throw it across the room, but instead I decide to turn to my sisters, hoping we can come together at this time, to at least console one another.

  Being the good girl that I always am in the Washington family, I shoot an email to my sisters.

  To: Mya Washington; Mikaela Washington

  From: Marisa Washington

  FWD: RE: Wedding

  I think we should go back girls. Let’s arrange a time to discuss.

  Love,

  Your big sis

  “SO, CAMDEN’S OKAY NOW?” I ask Libby, whose hands are white knuckling the armrest, squeezing any blood from my hand that’s stuck in between. “Libby?” I get her attention and when her frightened eyes dart to mine, I glance down at my hand.

  “Oh … sorry.” Her shoulders slump and she releases my hand.

  Shaking my hand, getting my blood flow back, I ask my question again. “Camden … is he alright with this?”

  The airplane dips and her hands fly back to the armrests, her fingers digging into the vinyl covering. “Yes. He calmed down once I got home.” Keeping her head forward, she shuts her eyes when it dips again.

  “Hey, Roy. You doing okay over there?” Wesley chimes in and I narrow my eyes at him across the aisle. “It’s just a plane, it’s not a space ship.” He shakes his head like duh.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of acrophobia?” I sneer and he chuckles, holding both his hands up in the air.

  “Oh, big words,” he mocks me.

  “Give it a rest, Wesley. Just go back and read your swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated, attempting to peel the pages apart,” I joke and he shakes his head in annoyance.

  “Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” he banters back, turning his attention back to the magazine.

  “Jealous of what? If I had all day to work out, tan and oh yeah, let’s not forget someone to touch up every photo o
f me, it could be Libby or me in those magazines,” I counter, and Wesley is about to say something when Pete comes back from the bathroom.

  “You wouldn’t need any touch up. You’d be the centerfold,” Pete compliments me, obviously catching the last of our conversation. He slides past Wesley and sits down, still concentrating on our conversation.

  “You guys all live in another land. Listen, Roy, the plane isn’t going to crash. It’s just turbulence. You act like you’ve never flown before.” Wesley continues to spout his mouth, tempting my hand to fly out and smack him.

  “I—have—n’t,” Libby stutters out.

  “What? How did you get to Alaska?” I quietly ask, attempting to keep nosy one and nosy two out of our conversation.

  “We—drove,” she reveals, and I’m pretty sure my jaw hit the disgusting airplane floor.

  “Lib, that’s like a week’s drive.” I stare at her in disbelief, as though she just told me a lie.

  “Camden thought it would be romantic. That we’d take our time and stop where we wanted.” She starts talking and it’s distracting her from concentrating on the plane.

  “And was it?”

  “No, we fought most of the time. Him being the park ranger know it all and me the amateur.” She imitates Camden and I giggle.

  “So, I take it no hot sex under the moonlit sky?” I joke, and she finally loosens her grip and a small laugh escapes her lips.

  “More like mosquitos gnawing at every inch of my body while Camden was snoring louder than the coyotes’ night calls.” She rolls her eyes at the memory.

  “Flight Attendant, please take your seat. We’ve been cleared for landing,” the pilot’s static voice announces over the speaker and Libby tenses her grip, crushing my knuckles.

  “Good luck with the landing, Roy,” Wesley snips and I’m flabbergasted by how rude and condescending he’s being toward her. When I whip my head around ready to scream, his eyes aren’t on me; they’re fixated on Libby. Turning back quickly to Libby, I find her eyes staring back at him with hurt and sadness. As though I’m following a tennis match, I twist back in Wesley’s direction, only to find another set of disappointed eyes. What’s up with these two?

  “Here, hold my hand.” I place my palm out her way and she instantly takes it. It’s taking every ounce of restraint not to ask her about what I just witnessed between her and Wesley, but priority one is keeping her calm until the tires squeal to a stop.

  Squeezing so tight, my whole arm inches her way just to keep her from ripping my fingers from my body. The plane dips and steadies a few times as it makes its descent into King’s Gate. After the wheels skid to a stop, Libby relents slightly on her grip of my hand and the circulation begins pumping through my veins again.

  As usual, the rustling on the plane happens before the pilot says unbuckle your seatbelt. Wesley wastes no time standing up, giving me a visual of his ass at my eye level while he digs into the overhead compartment for his bag. My foot inches off the floor to kick him in the ass, making him tumble into the line in front of him like a domino effect, but I’m too chicken-shit to follow through.

  Once the few other passengers exit, Pete stands there on his side, letting me witness his chivalrous mannerisms while he allows me to go first. It is noted that the most gentlemanly act he could’ve done would be to grab my bag from the overhead compartment. But I figure if he would have retrieved my bag, he’d have missed my ass in his face when I turned around to stretch my body in order to grab mine and Libby’s bags. Deeply releasing a breath, I turn to Pete, whose eyes are glued on my lower half before he realizes I’ve figured him out.

  Allowing Libby to file out of the claustrophic atmosphere first, I take one for the team since Pete’s right behind me. Wes leads the way to the baggage claim and we all follow like soldiers in a line. None of us exactly thrilled to be here, besides maybe Pete, who ruins formation by walking up next to me. Ignoring him, he allows me some silence as we follow the signs to pick up our bags. Since our luggage isn’t circling yet, I decide to make a secret getaway.

  “I’ll be right back,” I whisper into Libby’s ear while double-checking Pete didn’t hear me.

  “I’ll try to keep watch.” She smirks, her eyes briefly search for Pete while her thumbs fly over the screen on her phone.

  Searching the signs hanging from the ceiling, I spot a small alcove with vending machines. Figuring there’s no way I can sneak upstairs to get the real thing, I settle for a quicker version. Caffeine is caffeine, right?

  I grab my wallet and sift through my change for the thrifty dollar and a quarter charge. The cheapest coffee I’ve ever bought. Pressing black, no cream or sugar, I wait for the little paper cup to drop. The blood in my veins itching for some energy. Nothing … no little cup drops, no dark liquid streams out. “Damn,” I mumble, noticing it only calculated seventy-five cents. Frantically digging in my purse, I pray to the higher ups that I wasn’t meticulous at putting my change in the designated spot in my wallet. That maybe, just maybe, I haphazardly tossed some change into my purse. Hearing footsteps walk up behind me, my hands become frantic to hurry up, not wanting to delay anyone.

  “I’m sorry, it ate my change. I don’t have any more. I guess it’s your lucky day,” I say to the stranger behind me without looking up.

  “Here you go.” A crisp outdoorsy aroma alerts my senses first, and reflexively my eyes search to find who’s eliciting that manly smell I’m enjoying. I watch long fingers place two quarters into the slot, noticing something familiar that has my stomach flipping.

  In slow motion, I hear the quarters clink, watch the cup drop and the steaming liquid pour into it. My mouth waters for the taste of any coffee at this point. Then it’s his strong, large hand that picks up the cup and holds it out in front of me.

  “Thank you,” I say, as my eyes slowly travel from his hand to his arm covered by a navy thermal, up his shoulders, before landing on the most intriguing blue eyes I’ve now seen twice in my life. “You?” I murmur.

  “Excuse me?” He inches closer, as though I wanted him to hear what just blurted out of my mouth. He holds the cup out further in front of me and my now trembling hands grip onto it.

  “Nothing,” I lie, shaking my head, hoping like hell he doesn’t ask me to repeat myself.

  “Are you okay?” he asks and I nod my head, obviously unable to speak because the man I’ve been picturing all week when I lay in bed is standing right in front of me. “I mean, last time I saw you, you kind of stumbled out right before the doors shut.”

  My eyes bulge and the fact that the one thing he remembers me by is an embarrassing display of my clumsiness elicits heat in my face.

  “Oh … that. Yeah, someone caught my fall,” I say, right as an arm wraps around my shoulders and mystery elevator man’s eyes dart to my left.

  “That someone would be me. Pete Voss.” He introduces himself and places his hand out in front of him.

  Mystery man’s blue eyes look at the hand, then to Pete and lastly on me while he shakes Pete’s hand. “Zach Greer,” he answers while his line of sight remains on me. A small smirk forms on his lips before they turn straight and his attention concentrates back on Pete. “Nice to meet you. Good thing you were there. I would have hated to see—” He cocks his head my way, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

  “Marisa … Marisa Washington,” I stammer. “I would have hated to see Marisa Washington get hurt.” He winks at me, and all of my insides go soft and gooey.

  Pete pulls me in tighter, and I’m so concentrated on Zach Greer that I barely feel it until his cheek is practically on mine. “Oh, I would never let anything happen to Marisa,” he says and I move my head back, furrowing my brows. “Our bags came off already. They’re with Libby and Wes. I thought you gave up the caffeine? I got you that kale smoothie this morning.” Pete continues and I want to place my hand over his mouth to shut him up. Also, I wouldn’t mind shoving him out of this private alcove I’d like to share with Mr. Zach Greer. My
eyes roam up and down his body just to make sure this very casual attire can maybe fill my dreams tonight. So, I’ve seen him business, casual and next will hopefully be nothing. I’m laughing inside since the likelihood of that happening is slim to none.

  “Oh, I guess I slipped off the wagon,” I say, taking a sip of the coffee that has had time to cool down now.

  “Come on, Marisa, you’re stronger than that,” Pete continues and I roll my eyes, bringing the cup back up to my lips.

  “Quitting caffeine?” Zach asks, and I look at Pete, who’s concentrating on some commotion outside.

  Shaking my head, Zach laughs and I’m almost positive he just figured out my relationship with Pete.

  “Well, I better get going. It was nice to meet you Pete Voss and Marisa Washington. Enjoy your time.” He shakes both of our hands, but lingers with mine slightly longer than Pete’s, igniting a stir of butterflies in my stomach.

  “Oh, we’re only here for a stop. Heading down to King’s Gate. Do you know anything about it?” Pete stops him to ask him questions while I finish downing my coffee, wishing I had more money for a second cup.

  “Are you doing a tour down there?” Zach asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

  “Yeah. I think Reckle’s Guide Tours; they’re supposed to be the best.” Pete would know. I’m guessing he’s already been on one, or at least he knows someone who has.

  “Reckle’s, huh?” Zach purses his lips and slowly nods his head. “They’re good. Very knowledgeable tour guides.” He gives us some information and Pete seems satisfied.

  “Thank you,” Pete says, “we’re really excited.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I quietly chime in. Not that I’m completely upset like Wes and Libby, but spending a week in the woods isn’t my thing really either.

  “You didn’t want to come?” Zach questions me directly, stepping back into the room to engage me into conversation. His sultry eyes search for answers and my body steps up, desperate to break the distance between us. Pete matches my steps closer and I wish I had been straight with him prior so that maybe I’d be alone with Zach right now.