I slipped out of the booth as quietly as I could, retrieving my shoes from where I'd kicked them off. The floor was cold through my socks, and I welcomed the discomfort. It grounded me. Reminded me who I was.
The manager. The responsible one. The woman who didn't make reckless decisions based on feelings she couldn't trust.
I found my clipboard in the kitchen, right where I'd left it, and the familiar weight of it in my hands felt like armor clicking back into place. There were things to do. Inventory to check.Staff to coordinate. A dozen practical concerns that had nothing to do with the man sleeping in my dining room.
When I came back out, Conner was awake.
He'd straightened up in the booth, scrubbing a hand over his face, and when he saw me, a slow smile spread across his features. Warm. Genuine. The kind of smile that made my chest ache.
"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine." The word came out clipped. Professional. I saw something flicker in his eyes—confusion, maybe—but I pressed on. "Storm's stopped. Roads should be getting cleared soon. You should probably check in with your captain."
He was quiet for a moment, watching me. I busied myself straightening chairs that didn't need straightening, avoiding his gaze.
"Kameron."
I didn't stop moving. "I need to check on Gabby and the others. Make sure everyone's okay back there."
"Kameron." His voice was firmer now. I heard the booth creak as he stood. "Look at me."
I didn't want to. Looking at him meant seeing that warmth in his eyes, and I couldn't handle that right now. Not when I was trying so hard to convince myself that last night had been a mistake.
But my body betrayed me. I turned, clipboard clutched to my chest like a shield, and met his gaze.
He crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping just in front of me. Close enough that I could smell him—soap and sleep and something underneath that was just him. My fingers tightened on the clipboard.
"What's going on?" he asked quietly. "And don't say nothing. I can see it all over your face."
I should lie. Make an excuse. Blame it on stress or exhaustion or the hundred other things I could hide behind. But something about the way he was looking at me—steady, patient, like he had all the time in the world—made the truth slip out instead.
"Last night was…” I swallowed. "It was a lot. And I don't know what it meant to you, but I can't be someone's blizzard story. The night you got snowed in with the uptight manager and she turned out to be fun after all."
His expression didn't change, but I saw his jaw tighten. "Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't know what this is. That's the problem." I took a step back, needing the distance. "We've known each other for less than twenty-four hours. People don't fall in love in one night, Conner. That's not how real life works."
"Maybe not for most people."
The words hung in the air between us. I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the deflection, the joke that would let us both off the hook. It didn't come.
"I'm not good at this," he said. "The serious stuff. I know that. I've spent my whole life avoiding it because it was easier than taking a risk." He took a step closer, erasing the distance I'd tried to create. "But I'm not avoiding this. I'm not avoiding you."
"You don't even know me."
"I know you've been running this place by yourself for eight months, and you're exhausted but won't admit it. I know you laugh like you're surprised by it, like you forgot you were allowed to." His voice dropped lower. "And I know that when you let your guard down, you're the most incredible woman I've ever met."
My eyes were burning. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
"That's not enough," I whispered. "That's one night of conversation. That's not a relationship."
"You're right. It's not." He reached out, gently prying the clipboard from my grip and setting it aside on the nearest table. I let him, even though every instinct screamed at me to hold on tighter. "So let me take you to dinner when this storm clears. And then breakfast the next morning. And then whatever comes after that."
"What if you change your mind? What if you wake up in a week and realize this was just the storm talking?"
He cupped my face in his hands, tilting it up so I had no choice but to look at him. His thumbs brushed over my cheekbones, gentle and sure.
"Then I'll be the biggest idiot in Wildwood Valley. But I won't change my mind." His forehead touched mine. "Give me a chance to prove it. That's all I'm asking."
