Don't look at his hands.Dammit, you looked at his hands.
"So this is the daily roster," I say, pointing at the screen. My voice is perfectly steady. "Guests check in here, and activity assignments are logged by time slot. If you need to pull someone's schedule, you search by cabin number or last name."
"Got it." He's standing too close. Or maybe he's standing a normal distance and I'm just hyper-aware of every inch of air between us. His voice is low and careful, as if he's handling something fragile. "And the…safety waivers?"
"Filed digitally and in hard copy. I can email you the link to the shared drive." I click to a new screen. I'm not looking at him. I'm looking at the monitor. "Anything else?"
A pause. I can feel him looking at the side of my face.
"Kaylee—"
"That's the full overview." I finally turn and give him my best registration-desk smile. "Connor can fill you in on anything I've missed. I've got check-ins to prep for."
Something moves behind his eyes. His jaw ticks in that way I remember from Saturday, the way it looked right before he kissed me for the first time, right before he said?—
Stop it.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For the walkthrough."
"It's my job."
He nods and stands there for one more second like he's deciding whether or not to say something else. Then he turns and walks out of the cabin, and I let out a breath.
My hands are shaking. I press them flat on the desk and stare at them until they stop.
By the end of the day, more of the crew has noticed my behavior.
They're not subtle about it, either. Rourke asks me twice if I'm feeling all right, because apparently my face has been "doinga thing" all day. Ewan mentions casually that the new lad seems decent, and watches me as if he's waiting for a reaction. Even Graham, who usually couldn't care less about interpersonal dynamics, gives me a long look when I snap at him for leaving his equipment sign-out form blank again.
"I always leave it blank," he says.
"And I always ask you to fill it out, and today I'm not asking, I'm telling. Fill out the damn form, Graham!”
He blinks. Then he fills out the form without another word.
I'm being awful. I know I'm being awful. They don't deserve my bad mood, and the worst part is I can't explain it. I can't say, "Hey, that new guy you're all being much too pleasant to? I had sex with him on Saturday night. In his truck. He told me his name was Tom. He promised to call me and he didn't, and now he works here, and every time I see his face I want to either cry or commit a felony."
I mean, I could say that. But then Teagan would know. And if Teagan knows, Connor knows. And Connor hired him, and Connor's judgment is something I respect more than almost anything, and I don't want to be the reason anyone questions that. I don't want to be drama. I just want to do my job and go home and yell into a pillow.
So I smile at the guests and file the paperwork and answer the phones and pretend that everything is normal.
And when I catch Dean watching me from across the fire pit as the crew wraps up for the day—those blue-gray eyes tracking me—I don't acknowledge it.
Let him look.
Let him feel whatever he's feeling.
It's not my problem anymore.
Except...the way he looked at me this morning and the way he said my name in the registration cabin—quietly and carefully,like maybe he wanted to say something to make me feel better—that didn’t go unnoticed.
The way he held you, how he said your name like you he’d never forget you…
I shut that thought down so fast and hard I hurt myself.
He lied. He used a fake name. He didn't call. Those are the facts.
Everything else…how his hands trembled on my skin, the way he gazed at me as if what we did was more than a late-night hook-up…that's just what Iwantedto see.