Farther down, there’s a hardware store, a small post office, and two bars that face off as rivals on opposite sides of the street.One is The Grizzly Den, with its log-cabin exterior and an old neon bear in the window.The other is The Rusty Nail, with its large windows, it looks slightly more inviting than the Grizzly Den.Next to The Rusty Nail is a hairdresser who also offers beauty services, and next to that is a sporting goods store.
The grocery store, Northern Lights Pantry, has a lot of things in bulk, which I guess makes sense for life up here.The only thing I’m missing is flour and I’m standing in front of a twenty-five-pound bag, wondering if I’ll ever use all of it.
You got a problem there, young lady?”asks an older gentleman.
“I was kind of hoping for a five-pound bag.”
He chuckles.“Sold out.We can order it in for you, but it won’t be here until next week with our normal order.”
“I might chicken out if I wait that long.”
“Excuse me?”
My face goes a nice shade of red.“I’ll take the flour.”
He grins at me and shakes his head.“Okay, do you have something to store it in?”
Shaking my head, I say, “No.What would you recommend?”
He walks a little farther to the back of the store, stops, and looks at me.“I’m Staten Cole.I own this place, not that I’m here very often.”He holds out his hand.
Putting my hand in his, we shake.“I’m Hannah Greer.I just moved here.”
“Oh, I know you’re the Cheechako who got stuck in a ditch.”
With my eyebrows raised in surprise, I ask, “Did he tell everyone?”
“He?”Staten shakes his head.“Nope, but Mandy and I see each other from time to time.She’s what you’d probably call my lady.Mandy owns Betty’s Café across the way.”
“Right, and how did she know?”
Staten shrugs.“Small town.Everyone eventually finds out about everything, well, almost everything.”He moves farther into the store.“Now flour keeps best in air-tight containers.Glass is best, but we do have plastic, and if you can store it in your freezer, it’ll last forever.”
“You can say that again,” I say more to myself as I glance back at the twenty-five-pound bag.“How many glass containers am I going to need for all that flour?”
Staten taps his chin as he thinks.“Ah, I’m thinking five.”
“Five?”
“Tell you what, if that’s too many, you can bring them back.How does that sound?”
“It sounds like I’m buying five glass containers and twenty-five pounds of flour to make a batch of cookies.”
Staten laughs.“I’ll get it all rung up for you, and I’ll even get my son, Davis, to carry it to your car.”
“Appreciate that.”
Staten winks at me.“Davis!”
“Yeah, Dad?”Turning, I see a younger version of Staten poking his head out of the back room.“Can you carry out five of these and a twenty-five-pound bag of flour to Hannah’s car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can I have your keys?”asks Staten.
This is something I’d never do in LA.There’s no way I’d hand over my keys to a complete stranger, but here in Alaska, it feels right.
“Sure.”
