Love Grows in Alaska (The Washington Triplets)

by Michelle Lynn

  Sitting straight up, it’s not Pete, but a hot guy with a cocky grin splashed across his face instead. “Tonight must be my lucky night.” He winks and my heart skips a beat.

  “HI,” I GULP THE LAST bit of saliva from my mouth.

  “Hi.” He’s so confident, I’m positive he’ll see through my cool girl impersonation and quickly figure out I’m borderline ordinary at best.

  My hand reaches out to grab my water, when the waitress comes over. “What can I get you, Mr. Greer?” The middle-aged woman smiles warmly at him. He must come in here a lot.

  “Hi, Nancy. Could we get a bottle of the house Chardonnay?” He orders and spots my menu on the side. “Did you want to order dinner?”

  “Um … no.” I swat my hand at him. Absolutely, no way could I eat in front of this man.

  “Nancy, can you get us the crab cakes, shrimp cocktail and smoked salmon dip?” He takes charge of ordering appetizers and I’m enjoying this dominant characteristic, as long as he doesn’t take it too far.

  “Of course, Zach … um … Mr. Greer,” she stammers and he chuckles lightly, easing her tension.

  “Zach please, Nancy.” She smiles, patting him on the arm. “Didn’t know if things changed on that front.” She kindly handles the situation and I’m curious as to what I’ve missed. When Nancy remembers me, her grin widens. “You’re lucky Miss. Zach doesn’t even compare to other men.”

  “Oh, Nanc, don’t go promising her stuff I can’t deliver on.” That low laugh of his continues and my whole body heats.

  “I never lie, Zach.” She winks at me and swiftly leaves the table. Once she’s out of ear range, Zach turns to me and those silver dollar dimples are pointed at me.

  “She’s kind hearted,” he remarks, as though squashing her compliments.

  “I think she knows you pretty well.” I sip my water and place it back down, trying to cool my body from the waves of desire rapidly flowing.

  “Well, I can tell you a lot about Nancy, but that’s not what interests me right now.” He leans back in his chair with smooth ease. Not really knowing how to respond, I bite my lip. “That was my awfully sly way of saying you’re the one that interests me.” My stomach somersaults with his intentions. I’ve never had a man approach me like Zach and as much as I love it, I’m not sure I have what it takes to handle it.

  “What do you want to know?” I cross my legs and lean back, attempting to imitate those romantic comedies where the girls appear unfazed by a man’s approach.

  “Anything. Where are you from?” Just then Nancy returns with the bottle and two glasses. She begins to open it, but Zach snatches it from her grasp. “I got it Nancy, don’t worry.” She pats him on the back, giving me a small nod, silently saying I speak only the truth, this one is a keeper. God, I want to believe her. A man like Zach, after only two encounters, already has my imagination running wild with the future.

  I watch his strong hands manipulate the corkscrew, the veins in his forearms pulsing when he pries the cork from the bottle. Every mannerism he has is sexy as hell. I fixate on the pouring of the wine in each glass, willing my body to cool slightly but it’s ignoring me. Can I blame it? Never has a man pumped so much adrenaline though my veins.

  He hands me the glass and I tensely take it by the stem, praying I don’t spill. “No more stalling, where are you from?”

  Placing my glass down, I sit a little straighter, composing myself better. “Anchorage right now,” I answer and he shakes his head with one corner of his lips turned up.

  “Before Anchorage?” he persists.

  “Chicago,” I answer, matching his smile.

  “What a beautiful city. Why would you leave the lower forty-eight to come up to Alaska?” He takes his own sip of wine and then places it back down, awaiting my answer. His intriguing eyes asking about my life are hard to believe.

  “I don’t know. Change of scenery.” I half lie, half tell the truth but Zach’s cocking of his head confirms he knows that’s not the whole reason.

  “Marisa, the only people that change their life to come up for scenery are the ones that live off the grid. With no modern conveniences. You live in Anchorage, which means, not a whole ton has changed for you except you’re miles away from where you fled.” Shit, how does he already have me completely figured out?

  My neck flames with warmth and I imagine my skin as pink as it can get with my olive skin tone. He inches a little closer to me, the sweetness of the wine coming off his breath. “Am I right?” he whispers and the hairs on the back of my neck rise to attention—his attention.

  “My mom died six months ago,” I blurt and have to stop my hand from flying to my mouth as though I could take those words back.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. My uncle just passed recently.” His mischievous grin falters into a frown. Knowing the last thing I want is to have some sad conversation about the ones we loved, I do something I never do, take charge of a conversation.

  “But the reason I left was I wanted to get away. I’m the oldest of identical triplets,” I confess, which usually floods people’s mouths with an array of questions, detouring the conversation from myself as an individual.

  “Triplets? There’s two other versions as gorgeous as you out there?” If my face didn’t resemble a tomato before, it sure as hell does now. I nod. “I’m glad you were the one who decided to move up to Alaska.” He compliments me as an individual and my heart is soaring with it.

  “You don’t even know me.” I fight it, hoping to convince myself that what he says isn’t how he truly feels.

  “I know enough—enough that I want more. Maybe your sisters would intrigue me too, but it isn’t your looks that peek my questions.” I seriously want to rip my heart out and toss it on the table. He can have it, steal it and captivate it forever. Completely speechless, I have no idea what to say. “What was it like being a triplet? I can imagine it’s hard to stand out.” He grabs his glass, taking a sip, unknowing that he just nailed my whole reason for fleeing Chicago.

  “Yeah, it’s hard to explain. I mean I’m not so sure siblings can have the same bond as any multiples, but I could be wrong. It’s only ever been us. We were definitely type-casted as kids, put into a specific stereotype it seems.”

  “I think that can happen in any family, although, I wouldn’t know, I’m an only child,” he divulges, giving me an easy distraction from my own family dilemma.

  “My biggest wish growing up. No one to steal your clothes, or share your toys with. You’re your parents’ only priority.” I could ramble all day on the things I prayed for when I was younger.

  “No one to play with, no one to talk to, no one to fight with,” he counters and I laugh because his point is made with three statements.

  “No one to go in front of you. You probably don’t even know what reverse birth order means.” He chuckles and nods.

  “That’s a good one and no, I don’t.” He bends over in a fit of laughter and then composes himself again, portraying a very serious tone.

  “No one to ride with at amusement parks.” He half frowns and all I envision is a sad little blue-eyed boy standing in line for the Tilt-A-Whirl all by himself.

  “Not having to play rock-paper-scissors to decide who sits alone on rides,” I counter, mighty proud of myself for coming up with that on the fly.

  “No one to help you sneak out of the house or divert your parents’ attention.” His one eye arches and I crack up because my sisters and I did that all the time. Makes my heart happy just remembering.

  “Maybe just one sibling would be good,” I offer, relenting and he nods.

  “Yeah, looks like we were on opposing sides of life with that one.” The tension and anxiety, at least for me, begins to diminish. “You left your two sisters and your dad back in Chicago then?” he questions, and I wonder how the discussion circled back my way again.

  “No, just my dad. My baby sister, Mya, has lived in New York for the past two years, and Mikaela moved to California rece
ntly.” How does he get me to disclose such personal facts of my life?

  “Your dad must be lonely.” His voice so sincere, because that’s what people would expect, right? My dad alone on his couch at night, watching some repeat of Matlock or something mundane. But not my dad; he hopped on that saddle before my mom’s tombstone was placed.

  “He’s definitely not lonely. His mistress keeps him company.” I can hear the rancid tone in my voice. Zach doesn’t flinch, but he looks for Nancy, probably for a distraction to not have to deal with this nut case of a family across from him.

  Not seeing Nancy and the restaurant slowing down, he has nowhere to turn but back to me. He reaches across the table and grabs my hand in his, sending a current up my arm. “That’s truly shitty, Marisa. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He squeezes my hand, producing a warm feeling as though trying to shelter me from the pain.

  “Thank you.” I leave my hand out, but he pulls back and soon my fingers are cold again, just like my heart for my dad. “There isn’t much you can say.” I give him an out because I would be stunned into silence if it was me in his shoes.

  “I was just going to say, I’m sure that’s hard for you.” The lighthearted conversation turns too serious for me and I would do anything to shove that declaration back into my mouth.

  “Well—” Just then Pete walks back to the restaurant, strutting back to the table. Fear that my time with Zach is finished, Pete surprises me when he stops a few tables back from ours. Staring down at the back of Zach’s head and then back at me, I see the unsure sad eyes. I do feel bad and wish I would have been honest with him beforehand. He gives one small nod of his head and then twists around and leaves the restaurant. It’s hard to concentrate on Zach when I know I just hurt someone, and although it wasn’t intentional, that doesn’t change the fact.

  “You still with me?” Zach swipes his hand in front of my face and then glances over his shoulder. Thank goodness Pete’s already left.

  Blinking a few times, “Yeah,” I respond and smile. “What did you ask?”

  “Just wondered who you work for in Anchorage.”

  “Henbrook Drilling.” Zach effortlessly distracts me away from the issues of my dad and I welcome it immensely.

  “What do you do at Henbrook Drilling?” he continues and I could kiss him for steering the topic away from my family.

  “Human Resources.”

  “Oh.” His hand covers his jaw and he rubs the five o’clock shadow that’s gracing his face a few times. “Interesting.”

  Giggling, “There’s nothing interesting about keeping track of paperwork and making sure men go in for their updated physicals and drug tests.” I joke about my own job and he shakes his head.

  “You’re selling yourself short.” He boosts my ego slightly. “All of your friends work for Henbrook?”

  “Yeah, it’s a team retreat.”

  “So, that one guy that’s always putting his hands on you. He’s not your boyfriend?”

  “No, he’s not.” My skin flares with the hopes that this means he wouldn’t mind taking that spot.

  “That’s good. When I saw him touch your forehead earlier, I thought I could be encroaching on someone else’s space.” He shoots me that million-watt heart fluttering wink.

  “No.” Is the only word I’m able to squeeze out because if he wants the spot, it’s his, hands down.

  I see Nancy emerge from the kitchen with the tray of food Zach ordered. The minute she places it down on the vacant table next to us, Zach straightens up and unrolls his silverware wrapped in the cloth napkin. Mimicking his actions, I rest my napkin across my lap. I try to make room for the three appetizers that are bigger portions than most meals while Zach refills our wine glasses.

  “Anything else, you two?” Nancy asks us and Zach shakes his head.

  “Everything looks delicious,” Zach tells her, except his eyes are pinning me in my seat, eliciting me to uncross and then cross my legs again, trying to decrease the urge to kidnap him to my room.

  A laugh sneaks out from Nancy before she semi-composes herself. “All right then, enjoy the appetizers, you two.” Without a word from either of us, she leaves us. Zach doesn’t break the contact, instead he licks his lips and I can literally feel my pulse increasing the longer we stare. I’m positive thoughts of what he’d do to me are flooding his mind, and I wish like hell he’d just drag me up to my room to show me.

  Then like a record player scratching to a stop, a blonde barrels around the corner, glancing around the room until she spots the back of Zach’s head. “Zach!” she yells, and our eye contact breaks. He twists his head around and the blonde rushes over hugging him immediately.

  “Bree,” he sighs.

  “God, I missed you,” she continues, kissing his cheek and my heart literally breaks in half. That quickened pulse drops to the depths. How could I think he was available?

  Taking a deep breath, I try to compose myself and force a small smile. Not even looking, I snatch my purse from the floor and stand up. Hearing my chair, Zach looks over, his eyes fearful of what might have just happen. Poised as always,, I fake it. “It was nice seeing you again, Zach. Have a great evening, you two,” I remark and put my head down, walking back through the empty restaurant.

  “Marisa,” Zach calls out, and I wish I had the guts to turn around. Throw a drink in his face or smack my palm across his face. I guess you can’t change who you are, because here I am running like always.

  Thank goodness the elevator doors are open when I practically run to them, because I’m able to press the fourth floor button and the doors begin to slide shut. If even possible, I shutter when there’s no vision of Zach trying to reach me. I remind myself that this is what happens when you try to be someone different. Maybe Nate’s right; I’ll never be good enough to be someone’s number one.

  WE GET OUT OF THE guide tour van and I’m already fleeing into the hotel, eager to escape Pete’s running mouth and touchy hands. I hear the three of them behind me, discussing dinner plans. I feel like a child about to throw a tantrum if I have to sit at a table with them again. Even Libby, who is still damn chipper this morning with her phone tucked away. Some new found friendship between her and Wes left me mostly in my own solitude today, which only filled my doubts further about myself due to Zach’s actions last night.

  Walking into the lobby, the scent of coffee diverts me to the complimentary refreshments. Grabbing a cup, I pour the dark liquid, sighing with the thought of the taste. I sit down on the couch and pull out my phone. Luckily, the three others continue up to their rooms and don’t join me.

  Searching my emails, I see no more responses from my sisters. I’m mad at Dad too, but this is a time we should come together. I sense our bond to each other slowly fading in the last few years. Mikaela deciding not to attend college with Mya and me. She missed the good times our freshman and sophomore years that Mya and I had. Of course, when I started dating Nate, my relationship with Mya started drifting away. She was always going out and having fun, making me slowly spend more time at Nate’s apartment before eventually completely moving in. As happy as I believed Nate made me, I missed her flat iron on the bathroom sink and having to move her make-up from the sink. I yearned for our movie and pig-out nights, or when she would make me up to go to the club, where people would get confused on who was who. It was the only time, I never worried about what other’s thought, because I could say I was Mya and no one would know better.

  I would visit the house and sometimes Mikaela would be there. Not that I ever felt comfortable enough to hop on her bed and gossip about anything; she’s so closed off, I’m never sure what is going on with her. I’ve tried on more than one occasion to pry her open a little, but she shuts down so quickly that I gave up even attempting it.

  Mya packed up her stuff and left for New York right after we walked across that stage for graduation. Barely even an email from her, let alone a phone call. Not that I was much better, hung up on my life with Nate. H
is tainted words about independence and leaving the security of my sisters and family to be with him still reside in me. How I should cut my hair to be different, or when he would grab my ass and say there’s too much. Little cut downs that I never even realized were diminishing my self-esteem until it was so low I was doing anything to gain Nate’s acceptance.

  I remember the last time I saw my mom and we went shopping. I struggled trying to find a dress for a wedding, putting things on and tossing them in a corner. Frustrated and annoyed, I broke down in a fit of tears, saying how ugly my body was and asking why I didn’t have Mya’s breasts or Mikaela’s ass, which is absurd because we are identical triplets. There aren’t very many differences between us physically. Unless you consider a mole here or there.

  My mom bent down on her knees in front of me and placed her hands on my cheeks in the most loving motherly way. Forcing my face to the side so I could look in the mirror, she told me, “You’re beautiful, Marisa. You don’t need anyone else to believe it or see it, you need to feel it. I’m not sure where all this doubt is coming from since you were always so sure of yourself, but listen to me. You are a very beautiful and attractive girl who any guy would be lucky to have. I’m not so sure Nate understands just how fortunate he is.” She stood and left the dressing room. It was the first twinge of uneasiness in my relationship with Nate.

  When Mom died and Nate didn’t attend the wake because he had to work, Mya’s flared nostrils and tight fists were a sure sign of her feelings. She hated him from the first moment he approached me at the bar, warning him with a finger to the chest not to mess with me. They’d get into wicked fights at the apartment, always arguing about something stupid, leaving a pressure to pick sides.