Winter Longing by Tricia Mills Page A

stood with my tray.
    “Okay. See you in history.”
    I forced myself to maintain a casual demeanor as I dumped my tray and left the room. I walked down the hall and turned the corner that led to Drew’s locker. A quick scan in each direction revealed I was alone, so I retrieved the milk and poured it through the slats in the top of the locker. I hoped he wouldn’t visit it until the milk got nice and stinky.
    For the first time in weeks, I really smiled.
    “I see your mom decided to increase the number of love quotes this year,” I said as I stepped inside Tundra Books. Quotes hung from or were tacked to every available surface.
    “She swore it increased sales last February,” Spencer replied. “What do you think? Will this make people buy more romance and relationship books?” He extended a piece of white paste-board toward me.
    I took it and read the quote:
    “Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much a heart can hold.—Zelda Fitzgerald”
    I looked up at him and said, “Quotes do help people say what they can’t themselves.”

CHAPTER 15
     
    “Name the three groups of Southeastern Coastal Indians,” I said from my spot in the worn, red corner booth at Oregano’s.
    Lindsay didn’t pause as she refilled the Parmesan containers on the tables. “Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian.”
    I consulted my study notes as we prepared for the next day’s test in Alaskan history and culture. “Who founded the first permanent Russian settlement on Kodiak Island?”
    “Grigory Shelikhov.” She snapped the Parmesan container closed. “Murdering bastard.”
    I winced. But Shelikhov had, in fact, murdered hundreds of indigenous Koniag in order to establish Russian dominance on the island. Similar story as the one for the Lower 48, just different white guys coming from a different direction.
    “Have you studied for the essay portion yet?”
    Lindsay moved on to refilling napkin containers. “Some. I think I’ll be okay. Comes pretty easy to me.”
    History was her favorite subject. She did well in it without really trying. She had a good chance of following in my sister Kristen’s footsteps to become a history teacher. That would certainly put her several notches above the rest of her family on the ambition scale.
    “So, I have a question for you.” Lindsay stopped her tasks and leaned one hand against the booth across from me. “Any idea how milk got in Drew Chernov’s locker?”
    “I think I tripped as I was walking down that particular hallway consuming my daily vitamin D.”
    She barked out a laugh, the first I’d heard in weeks, and wrapped me in a crushing hug.
    The ringing of the phone allowed me to breathe normally again. I studied my notes as Lindsay took someone’s order. Learning the names and dates and facts, which I’d always found interesting, held less appeal than it used to. Most things did. I thought of the untouched sketch pad on my desk, then refocused on my notes, trying to keep the image at bay.
    “So, next question,” Lindsay said as she slid onto the end of the booth opposite me.
    Before I could formulate a question, the front door opened. In walked Caleb Moore, alone. Lindsay slid out of the booth without looking to see who’d entered. When she saw Caleb, she started and turned to me. Her eyes had gone huge, and her body tensed. A sure sign she had it bad—nothing typically freaked her out like this.
    “Calm down,” I said under my breath so Caleb couldn’t hear me. “Just treat him like any other customer.”
    “Not that many hot customers come through the front door,” she hissed back at me before heading to the front counter.
    True. Freddie McClain had passed up hot a long time ago—if he’d even ever been hot in the first place.
    “Hey,” Caleb said with a smile.
    “Hey.”
    I hoped only I could hear the tremor in Lindsay’s voice because I knew her so well.
    “What can I get you?”
    His smile grew wider, and I’d swear I could see a blush beneath