Page 35 of Sawyer

Second of all, everyone in Alaska knows who her father is. I’ve seen Alexander Caswell on the TV news more times than I can count. Caswell Coal is the biggest coal outfit in the state—maybe in the whole country. To put a fine point on it, Ivy’s dad is a millionaire, and she’s his only child. That’s some intimidating shit.

And last, as Ivy got older, it seemed like she became—I don’t know—a little superior. Snobby. Like, yeah, she comes to Skagway every summer to stay with her uncle and earn money with us working-class grunts, but the fact is, she doesn’t need to. Ivy’s an heiress, pure and simple. It’s hard to ignore that.

Besides, we’re not exactly an organic match. No one would look at her, then look at me, and think we belonged together.

The summer after her freshman year at UAF, she arrived in Skagway with these big Paris Hilton-style sunglasses, and a wardrobe of expensive clothes that made her look like Elle Woods from one of Reeve’s favorite movies,Legally Blonde. She started staying in an apartment over the Kozy Kone, instead of at her uncle’s place. She drank beer. She drankvodka. She even smoked cigarettes now and then when she got tastefully wasted. She was cool and funny and way too gorgeous for Skagway.

I, on the other hand, was not attending college, had no trendy clothes, and had not suddenly become rich. I still shared a tiny cabin with my brothers up in Dyea on my family’scampground. I still led summer tours with my family. Sure, my siblings had been sneaking me beers since I was fourteen, so drinking was no big deal to me. But by any standard, I was—I am—a pretty simple guy. And while I like my simple life, I don’t love comparing it to her glamorous one.

But underneath those flashy sunglasses and designer bags, she was still Ivy. If she called me or texted me,Wanna hang out?, I’d still say yes, no matter what. And we’d drink beers and skinny dip and hold hands and kiss goodnight, just as we always had. That’s how it was. That’s how it’s always been.

…untilthissummer.

Thissummer feels…different.

From the moment I clapped my eyes on her last week at the Kozy Kone, I could tell something had shifted in her. I could feel her eyes on me—hotter and more focused than ever before—and I knew, like a male animal knows when its female counterpart is in heat, that something seminal about Ivy Caswell had changed since last summer. And I think—god, it makes me fucking hard just to consider it—that Ivy isn’t a virgin anymore.

I don’t know what happened at college this year—fuck, part of me doesn’t even want to know—but after years of kissing at midnight, I have the sure and solid notion that things between me and Ivy could shift into something a lot more intense this summer, and I am one hundred and fifty percent interested in finding out what that something might be.

For the first time ever, I’m going to ask her out on a date.

I walk into the Kozy Kone on a fairly quiet afternoon the Tuesday after Memorial Day.

“Hey,” I say, grinning at her.

“Hey,” she says, smiling back. “Vanilla with sprinkles?”

I shake my head. “Nah. I was hoping to talk to you.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Outside,” I say, gesturing to the door with my chin.

“I only have a minute,” she says.

“I only need a second.”

She follows me out the door, standing across from me on the boardwalk. Cocking her head to the side, she narrows her eyes playfully. “This is all very cloak and dagger. What’s going on with you?”

I skip to the chase. “You dating anyone?”

“No,” she says, her playfulness fading. “Iwas…but we broke up.”

“Can I take you out on a date?” I ask her.

For a second, her lips quirk up in a grin. “A date? A real date?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve never gone out on a date.”

“I know, but I’d like to.”

She takes a deep breath, her smile fading. “Full disclosure, Sawyer? That break up? It was bad. Really bad. I-I’m not ready for anything serious.”

These aren’t words I’m excited to hear, but I nod, the friend in me kicking in. “I’m sorry someone hurt you.”

“He did,” she whispers.

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