And I was here. Because I'd volunteered before anyone else could open their mouth.
The guys were going to give me so much shit for this. I could already hear Hux's voice in my head, throwing my own words back at me. All those times I’d needled Mason about Gabby. All those jokes about our new fire captain getting domesticated. And now here I was, sitting in an empty bar, waiting for a woman I'd barely spoken two words to, feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.
The swinging door to the kitchen creaked open, and I straightened on the barstool before I could stop myself.
Kameron walked out, clipboard nowhere in sight. She'd fixed her ponytail at some point—it was neat again, pulled back tight—but there were shadows under her eyes that hadn't been there earlier.
She stopped when she saw me still sitting there, like she'd expected me to have disappeared. "Everyone's settled in back," she said. "Gabby's already half asleep. Elsa and Allegra are set up too."
"Good." I nodded and tried to think of something clever to say. I came up empty. "That's good."
Smooth. Real smooth.
She walked behind the bar, putting that solid wooden barrier between us, and started wiping down the counter. It already looked clean to me, but what did I know?
"You should get some sleep too," I said. "I've got the front. That's the whole point of me being here."
"I'm fine."
"You've been running this place all day. Probably on your feet since, what, six in the morning?"
She looked up at me, and there was something guarded in her expression. Wary. Like she was waiting for a punchline.
"Nine," she said. "But I'm used to long days."
"Nine until now." I glanced at the clock behind the bar. Almost eleven. "Fourteen hours on your feet. And you're still going."
Nothing. Not even a flicker of a smile. She just went back to wiping the already-clean bar.
I was bombing. Completely bombing. This was not a sensation I was used to. I was the guy with the quick comeback, the easy joke, the charm that smoothed over any awkward moment. But right now, sitting across from this woman, every word out of my mouth felt wrong.
"Seriously," I tried again. "Go rest. I'll wake you if anyone shows up."
"I'm not leaving you alone out here."
"Why not? I'm a trained professional. I can handle sitting in an empty bar."
She stopped wiping. Set the rag down. Looked at me with those dark eyes that seemed to see right through every line of bullshit I'd ever spoken.
"Because it’s my place,” she said. “If someone comes through that door needing help, I’m the one who should be here."
There was something in her voice that made me pause. Not anger, exactly. More like…exhaustion. The kind that went deeper than just a long day.
"Okay," I said. "Fair enough."
She blinked, like she'd been expecting me to argue. When I didn't, something in her posture shifted. Just slightly. The tiniest release of tension in her shoulders.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Sure."
She turned to the pot behind her, and I watched her move. Efficient. Graceful, even when she was clearly running on fumes. She poured two cups without asking how I took mine, then slid one across the bar toward me.
Black. She'd remembered from all those times I'd ordered at the counter with the rest of the crew. Or maybe she just assumed. Either way, she was right.
"Thanks." I wrapped my hands around the mug, grateful for something to do with them. "So. Looks like we're stuck together for a while."
"Looks like it."
