Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 3

  “Me too. I just arrived in the state yesterday, actually. We should get dinner together.” He kept his voice casual, aiming for the same pragmatic tone Quill had used. And because while he was totally an opportunist, he wasn’t also rude, he gestured at Nancy. “You could come too.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got plans with a friend,” she said softly.

  “Ah. Well, you and me then,” he said to Quill. “Better than eating alone, right?”

  “Excellent idea.” Hattie squeezed Quill’s shoulder. “I’ll feel better staying with Val if I know you’ve got company.”

  Quill was silent a long minute, some sort of unspoken conversation happening between him and Hattie. Finally, he sighed. “Guess that would be okay.”

  Owen would happily work with his underwhelming enthusiasm. Some time alone with Quill? Huge win and great opportunity to find out whether all those sparks of energy he’d been feeling were one-sided. At worst, he didn’t have to eat alone in a strange city. At best... Well, at best, there were other things he might not have to do alone too, and simply thinking about that made his muscles hum pleasantly. Sure, it might only end up being a shared meal with a reluctant dinner partner, but the chance that it could be something more was one Owen had to take.

  Chapter Three

  “I’m only doing this because it lets you get on home to Val,” Quill grumbled to Hattie as he helped her pack away her materials from the presentations onto a little rolling cart. It wasn’t true, of course, and Hattie undoubtedly knew it, in the same way she knew so many of Quill’s inner workings, but he needed the illusion of doing her and Owen a favor rather than wanting to spend more time with Owen. Wanting was dangerous, an emotion he hadn’t felt in years, and he wasn’t welcoming it now.

  In the rear of the room, a number of attendees still loitered, drinking the last of the coffee and chatting. Owen was among them, talking both to Nancy from their first-aid group and the same older couple he’d sat near at lunch. Not that Quill had kept track of his whereabouts or how his mouth looked when he’d swallowed some soda...

  Stop it. He gave himself a mental shake. Getting hung up on this guy wasn’t going to do anyone any favors.

  “It wouldn’t kill you to be social.” Hattie patted his arm. “I know group stuff isn’t your thing, but one-on-one can be nice. Better than eating alone, like he said. And he seems like a nice guy. You worked well together in the first-aid class, right?”

  “Went fine.” Quill wasn’t the sort to lie simply to prove a point, and even if he’d been surprised by Owen’s take-charge nature, he hadn’t hated the experience. Far from it, actually. Usually these trainings were so boring that his eyeballs hurt, but something about Owen kept things interesting, had Quill smiling at more than one point. He’d always appreciated earned confidence in a person, and Owen combined that with an almost infectious good humor. Even when he got things wrong, like with his approach to CPR, he’d been friendly. Seemed like nothing could faze the guy, make him drop his chatty exterior. Touching him had been absolute torture though, but he sure as hell wasn’t confessing that to Hattie, who would take that information and run with it.

  “And I’ll have the question of your winter caretaker sorted out by morning—we’re meeting before training to go over some possibilities in the event that your volunteer remains a no-show.”

  “I trust you.” Quill didn’t ask to sit in on said meeting. HR type meetings were possibly one of the few things worse than trainings.

  “Try and have fun.” Hattie gave him another pat as she headed toward the door.

  Fun. Problem was that his fun wasn’t the same as what others seemed to value—concerts, movies, bars, gatherings, that sort of thing. To him, fun was snowshoeing through fresh powder at dawn. A perfect sunset over his favorite ridge. Watching the northern lights with a hot drink in hand. His hobbies. Far from noise and drama and chaos.

  Because almost all of it was solitary, he didn’t have the highest hopes of having fun with Owen. However, there were plenty of worse things in life to have to tolerate than a meal with a good-looking guy. As Hattie left, he headed over to Owen, who broke away from his group. Sunny smile firmly in place, he greeted Quill with a nod.

  “Do you need to change out of your uniform before dinner?”

  “Don’t want to keep you waiting,” Quill hedged, even though he would have changed for dinner with Hattie and Val—no drinking in uniform and he liked blending into a crowd more in regular clothes when he was off duty.

  “It’s no bother. Are you at the place just down the street?”

  “Yeah,” Quill reluctantly admitted, already both dreading and thrilling to Owen’s response.

  “Great. Me too. I’ll change into something more casual myself, meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes?” He gave Quill an expectant look.

  Resisting the urge to sigh, Quill nodded as he followed Owen out of the room. Who was he to argue with sound logic? “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Now, where should we go?” Apparently not one to walk in companionable silence, Owen was already digging out his shiny phone with a surprisingly whimsical case featuring cartoon characters before they even cleared the doors to the DNR offices. “Let me see what’s close.”

  Somehow Owen managed to both click around his phone and keep walking without tripping. His...self-sufficiency, Quill guessed one would call it, was both appealing and amusing, making Quill do something he seldom did and involuntarily laugh.

  “What?” Owen frowned, looking up from the phone.

  “Figure I’ve been downtown here a time or hundred. You might try asking me, not Yelp, for recommendations.”

  “Oops.” Owen’s grin was endearingly contrite. “You’re right. Sorry. My bossy side seems to know no limits today.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Quill said before he could think better of the words. He didn’t mean to sound flirty, because that was a skill set he simply didn’t have, but from Owen’s wide eyes, that appeared to be how he took it.

  “Just saying, I respect resourcefulness. That’s all.” His lame explanation probably only dug him in deeper.

  “Good.” Owen’s tone was warmer than strictly friendly now. “So, what do you recommend?”

  A vision of Owen’s mouth popped into his brain again, the exact way his lips pursed when sipping a drink, and the low curl of arousal made it hard to stay focused. His body was more than happy to answer that question for him, but he coughed, forcing himself to push aside the temptation for a flirty reply. He didn’t flirt. Period.

  “Any allergies? Do you eat meat?” He was never sure with West Coasters, who always seemed to be on whatever the latest fad diet was.

  “I eat some meat.” Owen shrugged. “Seafood, yes. Chicken, mostly. Not crazy about heavy meats like steak. And I’m always up for ethnic or unusual, local places.”

  Quill had to discard the classic chain steak place that was his standard when in town, racking his brain for other options as they arrived in front of the hotel, the same budget place favored by all state employees. “I know a place in walking distance with first-class salmon. Not especially ethnic or unique, but it’s got the local flavor you’re probably after.”

  “Perfect. See you in a few.” Owen gave him a little wave as he headed for the stairs. Giving him a moment, Quill checked his own phone for any message, not wanting the added temptation of knowing which floor Owen was on. When he finally reached his room, he changed quickly, pulling on a polo shirt, jeans, his same boots, and a jacket in deference to the bite in the air. First snow wasn’t far off at all.

  Owen too had dressed warmly, in a hooded Stanford sweatshirt and faded jeans that made him look both younger and more approachable than the business clothes had.

  “You’ve got winter wear, right?” he asked Owen as he headed back toward the street.

  “Of course. Coat. Snow pants. Insulated
gloves. I talked to some prior volunteers about what to pack.” Owen sounded mildly put out that Quill had questioned his preparedness. “There’s a message board with forums for parks volunteers around the country. I got a lot of great info.”

  “That’s good.” In Quill’s mind, there was no substitute for actual firsthand experience, but he didn’t want to further irritate Owen by questioning the value of online opinions.

  The place Quill had picked was a few blocks over, a local brew pub known for Alaskan cuisine like elk and seafood, a little touristy for his tastes but Hattie had dragged him there enough times for him to trust the food.

  As usual, the sounds of downtown kept distracting Quill—traffic passing them by and other pedestrians to navigate around. Ahead of them, three well-dressed men were having an impassioned discussion about some work matter, the largest of the group with a bombastic voice that carried, sending part of Quill scurrying back three decades and making him glad yet again that his contact with colleagues was minimal.

  “Oh, cool sign.” Predictably, Owen whipped out his phone to snap a picture of the wood and wrought iron sign as they arrived at the restaurant. The two-story building was otherwise very industrial looking with few windows. The interior was a weird mix of industrial, Alaska kitsch, and wood and iron details that echoed the sign. Luckily, even though it was typically crowded and noisy, there wasn’t a wait for a table, and a young server with wavy blond hair led them to the second-story seating area. She stopped in front of a curved booth with a black leather padded back.

  Fuck. This was the sort of social dilemma that Quill hated. Did he sit close to the edge, hoping Owen took the hint and sat opposite him? Or did he scoot farther in so they’d have a chance of hearing each other over the din? Would that look too much like a date?

  Owen, however, seemed to have no such internal angst, and gave the server a winning smile before sliding in, more toward the middle, giving Quill no choice but to do the same or risk looking even more antisocial than he actually was. The server handed them the mammoth menus, which were at least half drink options. Quill already knew exactly what he was getting, but he opened his simply to have something to do with his eyes other than stare at Owen.

  “Do you drink?” Owen asked. “All these local brews are tempting me, but I’m not sure which to try.”

  Quill with his simple tastes was a piss-poor tour guide for a gourmand, but he dutifully turned to the drinks section. “When I moved here years ago I was still a Bud Light drinker, but Hattie got me onto the local brews. The Solstice IPA is what I get, but if you want something darker, Hattie loves the stout. They’ve got tasting flights too. But you like unusual, right? Hattie’s wife likes their Twig and Berries cocktail.”

  God, why did places have to use such ridiculous names for ordinary foods? He hoped he wasn’t blushing. Perhaps sparked by the men on the sidewalk, his father’s voice echoed in his ears, a harsh tease about how easily he’d become flustered. And he’d worked damn hard at leaving all that behind, being a man who could handle darn near anything, even a little innuendo.

  “I do like...twigs.” Owen’s eyes sparkled. “But I’ll try the IPA. Back home, I drink a lot of Liberty Ale, so that one looks good to me too. Would you like to split the seafood artichoke dip with me for a starter? That sounds really tasty.”

  Splitting things felt suspiciously date-like to Quill, but he did it all the time with Hattie and others, so he supposed he shouldn’t make a fuss. “Sure.”

  “You said you drank Bud Light back home? You’re not originally from Alaska?”

  “I—”

  “Ready?” The server came back for their orders before he could answer—Quill getting the same elk burger he got every visit here and Owen ordering the grilled salmon.

  After she left, Owen leaned forward. “You were saying?”

  “No, I’m not originally from Alaska. Been here twenty years though. But I grew up in Spokane, Washington.” More memories crowded his brain, most things he tried not to think about, so he worked hard to keep his voice neutral, distant even.

  “How’d you end up in Alaska?”

  “Roundabout way. I knew I wanted an outdoor career like being a ranger, either state or national. Went to college in Seattle, majored in Resource Management, did some fieldwork around the northwest in the summers. Then after graduation, I took a summer ranger position at Denali. Wasn’t really looking to settle down anywhere, but a job with the state opened up right as I was about to start my hunt again, and I’ve been based out of the Mat-Su area ever since. It suits me here, I guess.”

  He left out a whole bunch of essentials, like how he’d been running from so much—his dad’s death, JP, family expectations, all of it—when he took the Denali job, and how he’d found himself drawn to staying, to this way of life, to what he’d discovered about himself while here. The years here had chased a lot of that noise away, the not-so-great memories fading, countless moments that proved he was more than he’d thought, letting this place into his veins and psyche over the past two decades until he couldn’t imagine being elsewhere.

  “I’ll say.” Owen’s assessing look made Quill want to squirm. “Funny how life seems to work like that. Putting us in the right place at the right time. I had no clue what I wanted to do in college. Bounced around a variety of programs my first two years before my parents told me I had to get serious. I ended up friends with a lot of business majors, and next thing I knew I was on the MBA track—there might have also been a cute guy involved though.”

  “Ah.” The back of his neck went hot and prickly despite not being all that surprised. It didn’t take particularly strong gaydar to have a clue that all Owen’s warm looks and light tones probably indicated a certain level of interest.

  “He didn’t last through graduation.” Owen gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “How about you? Married? Kids?”

  “Married to the job.” It was the answer he always gave, sidestepping any tricky questions. “No room for anything else.”

  “Nothing?” Owen’s dark eyes sparkled.

  “Not really.” Quill wasn’t lying—he hadn’t been celibate since JP, but he also hadn’t dated since coming here. There was a bar in Anchorage he went to on occasion, but he sucked at the pickup game and wasn’t about to get one of those phone apps, up his game to include cyber-flirting when simply making small talk was often beyond him. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a sex drive, but sex was...messy. Complicated. And often left him feeling way lonelier than before, so most of the time he made do with his own company, which hadn’t failed him yet.

  “That’s a shame.” Owen shook his head, but his easy smile said that Quill being single was hardly unwelcome news.

  Their beers and appetizer arrived right then, and Quill was more than relieved at the excuse to change the topic. But sharing the food was even more torture than touching Owen during the first-aid training had been, each accidental brush of their hands when grabbing chips sending electricity crackling to parts that really didn’t need any more of a reason to take notice of Owen. It didn’t help that Owen made little happy noises while eating, making Quill want all sorts of dangerous things he couldn’t have. He had rules. Compartments. Work life and private life, and he’d worked decades keeping them separate. And given how disappointing hookups often went for him, he had no desire to break down those barriers, but Owen had a way of wiggling right past his resolve. Hell, at this rate, he might not survive the entree.

  Chapter Four

  Quill was exactly the sort of challenge Owen had been craving. Owen still hadn’t figured out whether his reticence was a sort of shyness or simply a love of brevity, but he liked the effort of getting Quill talking, getting him to open up. When he did speak, he had a great voice, deep and rich and self-assured. The shyness, if that’s what it was, was more subtle—a sort of bashfulness around the eyes that went away the more he talked, only to return
when Owen pressed him about things like being single.

  Owen took “married to the job” to mean “closeted as hell” but that was okay. It wasn’t like he wanted any grand romance with the guy, so he didn’t need to deconstruct Quill and figure out whether he was simply a private person or had something deeper going on. Owen liked the guy, a lot more than he did some hookups, but ever since the letdown of his last breakup, he’d been more pragmatic about these things. Closeted or not, they could still have a nice night together if Quill were open to that, and if not, well simply having pleasant conversation was good too.

  “You were right. The fish really is good.” Owen always enjoyed eating new food and trying new things whether it was appetizers or sports or sex, but the food at the place Quill had picked really was tasty. “And yours is elk? Was it hard getting used to regional food differences when you moved here?”

  “I ate game most of my life.” Quill shrugged. “So, no. My grandfather was a big hunter. He always made sure we had venison for the freezer and fish in the summer. I had a hunting license long before a driver’s license. You’ll see when you overwinter, though, it’s often humble food, especially when you can’t get out. Nothing I wasn’t used to from camping and eating simple, but for some it can be a challenge.”

  “Other than not caring for heavy meats, I can eat almost anything. I grew up with my grandmother making a lot of traditional Vietnamese foods, my mom doing a mix of cuisines, and having many friends from other cultures. I’ll be fine.”

  Quill looked skeptical, but aloud he only said, “Probably. If you’ve got a favorite candy or something, stock up here in town before you head out. Little trick I learned from Hattie. Makes it easier when it’s the same canned soup four nights running if you’ve got something you like squirreled away for after.”

  “You and Hattie worked together a lot of years?”