The next week, Monday morning, I straightened my spine as I stepped into the dining room, preparing myself for another half-hour of forced socialization.
“Gracie!” Natasha spotted me immediately and waved me over to an open stool at the counter. The broad shoulders and dark heads of local men occupied the stools on either side of the open one. I’d already resigned myself to Natasha’s maneuvering, so I took a breath and hung my parka over the back of the stool.
As I dropped into the seat I glanced over and nearly jumped out of my skin when I found the bush pilot staring back at me. The last time I’d seen him, I’d been standing outside in negative-forty degrees wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underpants. His expression hardened at the sight of me, and he looked away.
Well. Now I know what he thought of the view.
“Gracie, have you met Caleb Kinoyit?” Natasha asked with a smile as she poured me a cup of coffee.
“Uh, yeah. He—” witnessed the full extent of my mental detachment “—flew me in from Anchorage.”
“Caleb!” Natasha scolded. “You didn’t tell me this.”
Caleb shrugged, taking a drink of coffee. “You want a manifest every time I fly, Tasha?”
She swatted his arm. “Don’t be dense on purpose.”
His lips curled into a mild smile and he returned to his coffee, studiously ignoring me. I sat in awkward silence. All my midwestern small talk skills had completely deserted me. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed him. He had the same sable-haired, tawny-skinned look as the other locals. His face was angular, rawboned, with hollow cheeks and a high-bridged, hawkish nose. His hooded eyes were as dark as the coffee he was drinking. The rest of his face was hidden by a thick black beard.
He wore a gray thermal shirt layered over a black t-shirt. The collar of the t-shirt was stretched and flecked with bleach. The thermal shirt had a hole on the shoulder. The cuffs, pushed up over his thick forearms, were frayed. His beard needed oil and a comb. His rumpled, shaggy hair was flattened on one side of his head and obviously hadn’t been treated to a brush that morning.
Caleb’s gaze flicked over to mine. “What?” he demanded flatly. A muscle flexed in his cheek.
I realized I’d abandoned the corner-of-my-eye technique, and was just openly staring at him. “Nothing. Sorry.” I turned away, and another span of excruciating silence stretched between us.
Mercifully, Natasha appeared with my food—an egg sandwich and stewed apples. I wrapped the sandwich in a napkin and stood up, shrugging into my coat.
“Thanks, Natasha. This looks great.”
“Gracie,” she objected. “Sit. Eat.”
“I have to take care of some things before class starts today. Sorry.”
“You have to eat your fruit!” She gestured at the bowl of stewed apples.
I scooped up my bag. “Sorry. Let Caleb have them.”
The man in question scowled at me as I strode from the dining room. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
When I reached my truck, I disconnected the block heater and started the ignition. I sat behind the wheel as it idled, waiting for the heat to defrost the windows, and tried to tamp down the anxiety fluttering in my chest. It was clear Caleb didn’t like me, but why that should bother me was hard to explain. It’d been a while since I’d cared much about anyone’s opinion of me. I was self-aware enough to understand that I had to pretend, in order to get along with society at large. But I coasted through most days just going through the motions of social nicety, ambivalent to the people I interacted with. People who wanted nothing to do with me were generally a relief. That was one less audience member I had to perform for.
But Caleb’s dislike unsettled me and made me angry in return. Anger was another emotion that had previously been beyond my range of feeling, and the return of it was an uncomfortable adjustment. Absurdly, tears burned at the backs of my eyes—all because some guy I barely knew had been sort of rude to me. It was ridiculous. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, pressing the heels of my hands against them, willing the emotional turbulence away.
By the time I got to school, the anger had faded to a manageable simmer. I sat at my desk, eating the slightly-smashed egg sandwich and staring out the window at the dark sky. Beyond the low roofs of the town, dense pine forest swept up rocky hills, giving way to the jagged peaks of snow-capped mountains. In mundane contrast, a line of school buses—vans, really—pulled up to the curb, spreading their doors and barfing out students.
“Grace?”
I turned to see Margaret Huditiltik standing in the doorway. She was dressed as if she were about to chop wood—thermal-lined work pants, gore-tex boots, and a button-up flannel shirt. I glanced uncertainly at my knitted sweater and tapered wool trousers. I’d worn my snow boots to school, then stowed them under my desk and changed into leather oxfords. Was I overdressing? After a second’s deliberation, I realized I didn’t care.
“Hey Margaret,” I said, swallowing the last of my sandwich and crumpling the napkin. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Just coming by to see how you’re doing.” She walked into the room. “Settling in alright?”
“Everything’s going well.” I hesitated. It felt unnatural to purposely invite personal conversation, having avoided it for so long. But irritation was still prickling at me, and I needed an answer. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded, leaning her hip against my desk.
“Do you know if I did something to offend Caleb Kinoyit?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Caleb? No. Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He likes me about as much as Harold Lance does—but Harry’s kind of…” I trailed off, unable to think of a diplomatic word. “Anyway, Caleb seems to get along with everyone else just fine. So I was worried I did something.” Well, there was that whole thing where he caught me standing half-naked on my balcony in deadly cold weather, but hating me for it was kind of unfair. I was only a threat to myself, not anybody else.
Margaret shifted, pursing her lips as she considered her words. Finally, she said, “You may have noticed some of the locals don’t care for outsiders.”
“Ah. He’s one of those.” I thought about it for a second. “But wait—I’ve seen him talk to Eric and Harlan. And Sam. And Lucia.”
Margaret shrugged. “Caleb takes a while to warm up to people. Don’t take it personally.”
I snorted. “Right.”
Margaret pushed off of my desk and squeezed my shoulder. “Caleb’s not so bad. And for what it’s worth, I’m very happy you’re here, Grace. I saw Daniel Gray reading during lunch period. That’s very…well. I had to pinch myself.”
I pulled Daniel up in my memory—a stocky, stubborn-chinned, angry-eyed boy from my sophomore English class. He hadn’t yet spoken up in class, but the fact that he was choosing to read the book on his downtime filled me with a flush of happiness. It was stronger than the anger Caleb had inspired, and I sat up straighter in my chair.
“Thanks, Margaret. That’s really—” As unused to strong emotions as I was, the feeling nearly overwhelmed me. I felt my throat tighten. I swallowed hard, trying to play it off as a dry cough. “That’s great.”
Margaret left, and I threw myself into my classes, engaged by a vigor I hadn’t felt in months. Each day a few more kids started speaking up, participating in discussions and asking good questions. Each day, the new-teacher-skepticism faded just a little more. Each day, even the quiet ones became more engaged—their expressions and postures shifting from bland disinterest to watchful listening.
The change thrilled me, but the high feelings didn’t last long. By the end of the week, I was a shell again—living for class, just going through the motions during every other waking minute.
Friday night, I trudged up the steps to my room and tried not to think about the two-day void opening up in front of me. Without work to occupy my mind, the hollowness would take over again. Last weekend, I’d managed to busy myself with lesson planni
ng and grading the first-week assignments I’d given out. Now, my lesson plans were squared for the next several weeks, and I’d caught up on all the grading. I had nothing to do. Once upon a time, that would’ve been a reason to jump for joy.
I dug in my bag for my key as I reached the top of the stairs. As I turned onto the third-floor landing, somebody else was emerging from their room at the end of the hall. I stiffened with recognition. Caleb Kinoyit.
He pocketed his key and strode towards me. The hallway was narrow, forcing me to shrink to the side he could pass without touching me. He made no such accommodation for me, staring straight ahead and marching past as if I weren’t even there.
Annoyance flared like a struck match. How was it that the only person who made me feel anything beyond numb exhaustion was one who wanted nothing to do with me?
Margaret’s assurances that he was just slow to warm up to people dissolved like smoke. His dislike was obviously personal. I had done something to piss him off, and I couldn’t figure out what it was.
Chapter Four
I found that there really wasn’t much I missed about Chicago. The lack of big-city conveniences didn’t bother me. The extremely limited nightlife, the quietness, the lack of competition over things like the latest fashion and the latest tech, and all those other luxury possessions, were all a welcome change.
However…there was one thing I missed. The delicious, take-on-the-world rush that came from a double-shot macchiato.
As I sat down to breakfast on my third Monday in Longtooth, I caught Natasha before she poured my usual cup of coffee. “Hey, Natasha—I know this is a longshot, but is there anywhere in town to get espresso?”
Four seats down from me, Harry Lance scoffed so hard, I was surprised he didn’t blow himself backwards off his stool. “Espresso?” he echoed, as if I’d asked for it in gold-plated bone china, with my portrait drawn in the foam. “Might have to go back to Chicago if you’re going to need an espresso every morning, darling.”
Next to him, Caleb Kinoyit chortled like an asshole.
I bristled and leaned over the counter so I could look Harry in the eye. “Well, darling, since Chicago’s a long fucking way from here, I guess I’ll have to learn how to do without. I sure hope I don’t chip a nail hefting a regular old coffee mug like you tough Alaskans.” I’d started speaking before I even realized what I was doing, and by the end of it, my heart was pounding in my throat. I refused to play into their notions of the out-of-her-element city girl who couldn’t hack it in whatever their idea of “the real world” was. I might have moved to Longtooth from a big city, but I’d grown up in a place where cows outnumbered people. I knew how to drive a tractor, how to field dress a deer, and I could split a cord of wood with nothing but an ax and a can-do attitude. Meanwhile, Harry Lance would probably have an aneurysm if he had to drive through Chicago rush hour traffic.
“She’s teaching our kids with that mouth?” Harry groused.
Behind him, Caleb was grinning down into his coffee. With a smile on his face, strong white teeth contrasted against thick black beard, he was alarmingly attractive. He looked up, caught me watching him, and his grin abruptly vanished. It took me a second to tear my gaze away.
“So…coffee, then?” Natasha asked. She had a carefully fixed expression that hinted at a suppressed smile.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Black,” I said firmly.
I drank my coffee without tasting it, wondering where that burst of outrage had come from. For the longest time, I hadn’t cared enough about anything to feel self-righteous or angry. It was a strange feeling—and not a good one. My heart was racing, my skin flushed. I ate quickly, a slight tremble in my hand.
Natasha hovered nearby, wiping down a coffee carafe. “Gracie.”
I managed not to flinch, but adrenaline was still coursing through me. If anybody startled me, I was going to shoot through the roof like a cannonball. I looked up at Natasha with a calm expression. Or at least I hoped so.
“This Saturday, we are having a party for Roger Yidineeltot’s sixtieth birthday. Here at The Spruce.”
“Oh.” An inkling of dread bloomed. “That sounds nice.”
“Everyone will be there. You should be there, too.”
The dread pooled in my gut. Everyone will be there.
“You know Roger already, of course. But it will be a good chance for you to meet the rest of the town.”
The rest of the town. So many strangers. “Oh. Uh.” My mind raced to find an excuse for not attending. The problem with small towns was that everybody knew your business. Not only did everyone know my business in Longtooth, but Natasha, as my landlady, knew all my comings and goings down to the minute. And even if that weren’t the case, Longtooth was so small and the next decent-sized city—Fairbanks—so distant, that there was no reasonable excuse for any other obligations.
“Don’t worry about a fancy dress or a gift. It’s just food and music.”
There was absolutely no reason for me not to attend. I understood that. But that didn’t stop the sickening dread from churning my stomach and squeezing my throat. “Sure,” I made myself say. “That sounds fun.”
Natasha smiled, and her gaze traveled around the dining room. She was probably picturing all the single men she could throw at me. “Good. It will be fun. Everyone will be glad to meet our new resident.” She replaced the carafe on the coffee machine and disappeared into the kitchen.
Saturday was five days away. Every moment that my mind wasn’t occupied, I would spend dwelling on the upcoming social gauntlet. My breakfast turned into sawdust in my mouth. I choked down another few bites, picked up my coat, and left.
True to my expectations, I spent the following days working myself into an absurd lather over a simple party. I knew my fear was irrational and that the right thing to do was to attend the party. I didn’t want to be a socially incompetent basketcase, but I couldn’t seem to get out of my own head.
My social anxiety wasn’t normally so overwhelming—or at least, it hadn’t been in the past. Before everything that landed me in Longtooth, I only hated loud, crowded places like bars and clubs. They made me feel antsy and irritated and like time slowed to an unbearable crawl. But after everything with Alex went to hell in a handbasket, I couldn’t stand crowds. Couldn’t stand to be in any place where I didn’t know everyone present—where I couldn’t keep an eye on them all.
And that’s exactly what this party would be—a crowded, loud space filled with an unknowable number of strangers who’d surround me on all sides. I wouldn’t know anybody, but they’d all know me. They’d all be watching me.
Friday night, I didn’t sleep at all. I lay in my bed, shivering from both the perpetual cold inside of me and the nervous dread of the next day’s party. A thousand different scenarios played through my mind—all the ways things could go wrong—and the night passed too quickly. I only realized it was dawn because I heard other doors opening and closing in the hall. The voices of my neighbors greeted each other with sleepy good mornings.
I got up, showered, dressed, and hauled myself downstairs. I was exhausted, but even if I went straight back to bed, I’d never fall asleep. My eyelids were heavy and my brain was soup, but my body was filled with nervous energy. The party was less than ten hours away.
“Gracie,” Natasha greeted me with worry in her voice. “Are you alright?”
I knew I looked terrible. The bathroom mirror had shown me what a night of no sleep had done to my already hollow-eyed, haggard face. “I’m fine,” I told her calmly, trying to hide the unhinged weirdo who lived inside my skin.
“Are you sure?” Natasha’s golden charm bracelet clattered as she reached across the counter and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead. I surprised myself by relaxing against her touch. A gentle warmth radiated from her skin, seeping into mine.
Natasha let out a little gasp. “You’re cold as ice!”
“I’m alright
.” I touched a hand to my cheek, even though I knew my icy fingers would feel nothing. “I always run a little cool.”
Natasha gave me a skeptical look. “There is cool, and then there is frozen. You look half-dead, myszka. You should be in bed.”
It suddenly occurred to me that if I played up my “illness” into the afternoon, it’d be the perfect excuse to avoid the party. I wouldn’t even have to beg off. Natasha would order me to bed, and I could hole up in my room where it was quiet and secure.
Don’t be such a fucking coward, my own mind hissed at me. “No, really, Natasha. I’ll be fine. I just need coffee and something to eat.”
Natasha frowned, but she poured me a cup of coffee.
When I finished breakfast, I allowed Natasha to badger me into returning to bed. I did need to get some sleep if I was going to survive tonight’s party. But just that thought alone was enough to ensure I didn’t sleep at all. I huddled beneath the blankets and went right back to my brain’s favorite activity—constructing elaborately catastrophic scenarios that could happen at the party and then torturing myself by playing them on repeat.
I stumbled back downstairs around supper time. The dining room was already being shifted for the party. HAPPY NEW YEAR decorations were being replaced with HAPPY BIRTHDAY ones. There were a few people at the diner counter. I took a seat between Wade Evers and Jessica Taaltsiyh.
“You feeling okay?” Jessica asked.
I flushed. If I were truly ill, their concern would be touching. But the fact was that I was a nervous wreck due to my own constitutional weakness. Every time somebody noticed how wretched I looked, it was just further confirmation of that weakness. “I’m not feeling amazing,” I admitted.
Cold Hearted: An Alaskan Werewolf Romance Page 3
