“Thanks, Matt. It’s good to see you.” I painted on my best fake smile and sat in the chair he offered.
Once we were all seated, a waiter descended, and Matt ordered sangria. Poor guy was trying to be accommodating. I got that. Still didn’t make sitting across from the two of them any less painful. When did I get so sensitive, so petty?
When would my sharp New York edges return? I was defenseless. Damn.
Meg picked up her menu. “Matt and I were here last weekend. We had the duck, and it was downright divine, wasn’t it, sweetie?” She turned to Matt, who was looking at her through glassy eyes.
Meg elbowed him, but I read the satisfied smirk on her lips. “The duck, Matt. It was good, right?”
“Y-yes. It was.” He picked up his menu, but his eyes never left Meg. Clearly he wanted to order her off the menu.
I buried myself in my menu, hoping the night would pass quickly, but highly doubting it would. None of the over-described entrées called my name. What I wanted was tomato soup. The kind my dad used to make for me when I was a kid. He served it with a slice of buttered American bread, which we dunked into the tomato soup. That meal always made everything seem as if it were going to be okay.
“What are you going to get?” Meg tipped my menu down with her index finger.
I shrugged one shoulder.
“C’mon, Alanna. At least pretend to be happy about making it to another birthday.”
I raised my eyes to meet Meg’s. “I’m sorry. I’m being an ass.”
“Again.” Meg’s gaze shifted to something behind me.
“Is this seat taken?” a scratchy male voice asked.
“No,” I barked without looking up. “Why would it be taken? I’m alone. Can’t you see that? I’m on my best friend’s date. I’m taking up space.”
Tears stung at the corners of my eyes threatening to spill at any moment.
“So I can have this seat then?”
“Yes, dammit. Just take it.” I thrust out my hand toward the chair.
“Jeez. Poke, poke, beast.”
A finger jabbed my arm, and the chair shuffled as it was pulled out from the table. No, this guy wasn’t actually
sitting
in the seat, was he?
I turned to blow up in this moron’s face, but all the angry words lost their sizzle when my eyes connected with two lovely green ones. I reached out a hand and then gasped when he took it and brought it to his lips.
“Yes. It’s really me,” Dale said. “Happy Birthday, Alanna.”
I hopped out of my seat and climbed into Dale’s lap, blissfully drowning in his laughter. When his lips crushed down on mine, I squeezed my arms around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. His lips were the best thing I’d ever tasted. The heat of him warmed the places inside of me that had grown icy since leaving Alaska.
When we came up for air, Dale hooked a strand of my hair behind my ear, and we looked at each other for several quiet moments.
“This is the best present ever!” I dropped more kisses down Dale’s neck.
“You’re welcome,” Meg said.
“You did this?” I reluctantly tore my gaze off Dale to look at Meg.
“Uh-huh.” Meg’s grin was ultra-satisfied. She held up her hand. “No need to crawl into my lap to thank me though.” She took a sip of her sangria. Matt planted a kiss on her cheek, and the Great Meg Petrisi actually blushed.
“Meg emailed me,” Dale said. “Described you as a ‘Sarcastic Zombie,’ I believe were her exact words.” Meg nodded when Dale looked at her. “Sounded like the ‘Cantankerous Bloodsucker’ term, Vince used to describe me. So…here I am.”
“I can’t believe you’re here.” My fingers reached out to his cheek to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“I’ve got a present of my own for you.” Dale edged me back over to my chair and shook his head at my pout. “Just for a minute.”
He dug into the pocket of his jacket. When he held out his hand, a wooden, heart-shaped box sat in his palm. He placed it in my hand, his eyes darkening to a rich hunter green. I got lost in the lush forest of his eyes and almost forgot to breathe.
Dale closed my fingers around the box.
“Did you carve this?” I traced my fingers over its delicate contours.
Dale nodded. “Open it.”
I pulled off the top of the box and nearly dropped it when a diamond twinkled at me from inside.
“Emailing with you or talking on the phone is not enough for me, Alanna. Alaska sucks without you. Home is wherever you are, so marry me, Gaia-girl. Please.”
Suddenly Violet’s words flooded my mind.
Maybe you are home.
She had been right. She had been so right.
“I’ll marry you, Sled-dog, but only if you promise home will be your log cabin in Alaska.”
Three sets of eyes widened in perfect synchronicity.
“What about New York and your job and your life here?” Dale asked, taking both of my hands in his. His gaze swam over my face, wanting to believe me.
“Not what I want anymore. I want you, Dale. I want Gypsy and Zynk. Ram’s chicken wings. Noah, Riley, and Mick.” I brushed my lips against his. “I want Alaska.”
“Stole your heart, did she?”
“And she can have it. You can have it.”
I got back into Dale’s lap, snuggling close to his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and I was home.
aramsden:
Read my latest story yet?
mpetrisi:
Read it yesterday. It’s the best thing you’ve written in my humble opinion. Love the column’s title. “From the Heart of Alaska” has such a cozy ring to it.
So glad writing from Alaska is working out for you.
Sucks for me, by the way.
☺
aramsden:
You could join Dale and me in Alaska. Matt seemed to like it here when you guys came for the wedding. You’re persuasive. Bet you could convince him to follow you here.
mpetrisi:
That goes without saying.
☺
aramsden:
And didn’t you love Violet? She’s like the third musketeer we’ve been looking for!
mpetrisi:
LOL. I did love her. But Alaska wouldn’t know what to do with me if I stayed long term. What would I do with all my high-heeled shoes? And you know how I feel about flannel!
aramsden:
C’mon, Meg. Just come.
☺
Christine DePetrillo spends her days teaching children to love reading and writing, and her nights writing everything from adult romance, young adult romance, and science fiction to poetry. She fell in love with writing the first time she held a crayon in her hand and realized the blank wall in her bedroom was full of possibilities. Since then, she has been mystified by the magic of words and enjoys playing with them every chance she gets.
Christine’s other works include
The Last Stallion
,
Midnight Mistletoe
,
and
Table for Two Hearts
. Christine holds a Master’s Degree in Elementary Education from Rhode Island College and belongs to Rhode Island Romance Writers, Romance Writers of America, the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators, and the Alliance for the Study and Teaching of Adolescent Literature. She lives in Rhode Island with her husband, two cats, and a lizard.
For more about Christine, visit