“It's late.” She straightens up and grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder in one quick motion. “I should go. What time do you want me here tomorrow?”
“Kiera—”
“Six work for you again?” She's already moving toward the front door, and I follow her, mentally kicking myself.
“Yeah, six is great.”
I follow her through my house. She reaches the door and pauses with her hand on the knob. “Sorry I ran out of your editing room like that. The footage was really good. I just... needed to start cleaning up.”
It's a lie. A polite one, but still a lie. We both know it.
“No problem,” I say, because what else can I say?Please tell me what I did wrong so I don't do it again?Stay and let me get to know you?Why do you keep running away from me?
“See you tomorrow.” She opens the door and slips out into the warm evening air before I can respond.
I stand in the entryway, watching through the window as she hurries to her car—a beat-up Honda Civic that's probably older than she is. The taillights flash as she starts the engine, and then she's gone, disappearing down the driveway.
I close the door and lean against it, letting my head fall back with a soft thunk.
“Great job, River,” I mutter to the empty house. “Really smooth. Ask her about the one thing she's clearly not ready to talk about. Perfect strategy.”
I push off the door and make my way back to the editing room, dropping into my chair with less grace than usual. The frozen frame of the shoreline is still on my monitor, waiting patiently for me to continue working.
But I can't focus on it right now. My mind is stuck on the look on Kiera's face right before she shut down. The way her walls slammed back into place so fast I almost got caught under one.
I spin my chair slowly, looking at the room without really seeing it. For a first day of Kiera working for me, it could have been worse. She made peanut butter and jelly into a fun delicacy. Her fries were perfect. We ate together—that was a win. We did dishes together—another win. We even had a real conversation for a few minutes where she wasn't completely guarded.
And then I ruined it by mentioning her parents.
I scrub both hands over my face and let out a long breath. Tomorrow. I'll do better tomorrow. I'll keep things light, professional. Let her set the pace. Prove that I'm not going anywhere, that she can trust me not to push when she's not ready. Even if it takes all summer to get her to open up to me, I'm willing to wait.
CHAPTER 5
KieraEmmerson
Monday, May 31
I pressRiver’s doorbell and immediately regret every life choice that led me to this moment.
The printed form in my hand is already getting damp from my sweaty palms, which is just perfect. Very professional, Kiera. Show up to your second day of work looking like you ran a marathon and clutching a piece of paper like it’s a life preserver.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the anxiety that’s been building since I woke up this morning. Yesterday started out fine. Good, even. We ate peanut butter and jelly sushi, watched some of his documentary footage, and I managed to keep things professional.
But then he mentioned my parents, and I freaked out. I ran. I got out of there so fast that I’m pretty sure I gave myself whiplash.
River didn’t try to stop me. He just let me go. But I know he has questions, and that is only natural. I’m sure he wants to know why I live with my sister, why I don’t have contact withmy parents, why I deflect every personal question like my life depends on it.
The last thing I need is River Stone looking at me with pity in those stupid gorgeous eyes when he finds out I’m the girl who got kicked out by her parents for being an idiot. The girl who slept under a bridge. The girl who was used and discarded and gossiped about and?—
The door opens, and River’s standing there in jeans and a t-shirt that should be illegal because it fits him way too well. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been frustrated while editing his footage, and there’s a hint of stubble on his jaw that wasn’t there yesterday.
“Hey,” he says, and his whole face lights up with this genuine smile that makes my stomach do gymnastics.
“Hey.” I clutch the paper tighter in my hand. “Ready to work?”
“Always.” He steps aside to let me in, and I walk past him into the house that still feels ridiculously huge. We head to the kitchen together, and I’m hyper-aware of him walking beside me. The house smells like coffee and something woodsy—probably his cologne or soap or whatever makes him smell annoyingly good.
Focus, Kiera. You’re here to cook, get paid, and leave. That’s it.
