Nick leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with open amusement. “You cooked.”
“Astute observation.”
“For all of us.”
“Also astute.” Emma drizzled the glaze over the carrots and slid them back into the oven. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Nick’s sincerity surprised her. “Seriously. This is—” He gestured at the kitchen, the food, her presence in their home. “Great.”
Before Emma could respond, Zach appeared beside Nick. He froze in the doorway like he’d walked into the wrong house. His gaze swept the kitchen—the pots on the stove, the table set for four, Emma in front of the oven with a dish towel over her shoulder—and something flickered across his face too fast for her to name.
“You cooked.”
“Relax,” Emma said lightly. “I’m not plotting to poison you.”
“Debatable,” Zach reached behind his back, unholstered a knife from his spine, and laid it on the entry table. He pulled his phone, keys, and a compact flashlight from his pockets, setting them down in a neat line next to the knife. The motions were precise, automatic—habit, not thought.
He didn’t remove the knife sheathed on his thigh. Did he ever relax?
She drew out a cutting board and started slicing the loaf of fresh bread she'd wheedled out of Chef. “You’ve been running yourselves into the ground with hurricane prep and living on junk food. Someone had to intervene.”
“I like her already.” Nick grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled onto a stool at the breakfast bar.
David swung his legs like a child. “I think she’s trying to win favor with management.”
Emma pointed the bread knife at him. “You’re not management tonight.”
“What am I, then?”
“An annoying roommate.”
Nick laughed. Zach didn’t smile but she detected an infinitesimal shift at the corner—not quite a smile, but close. She filed the tell away, adding it to her growing catalog of Zach micro-expressions.
“How’s the storm track looking?” she asked, arranging bread slices in a basket.
Nick sobered. “Helene. Category One, expected to hit upper three by the time it reaches us. It's still five days out, and we’re on the edge of the cone. We’ll see what the three-day forecast shows. That’s far more accurate.”
“Evacuation threshold?”
“Guests: Cat One. Non-essential staff: Cat Three,” Zach said. He moved to the sink and washed his hands with methodical thoroughness. “Luckily, we don’t have guests yet to worry about. Last update listed it at a high one. David’s monitoring it.”
Emma glanced at David, who pulled out his phone and swiped into what looked like weather radar. “If it hits four?”
“Mandatory evac for all personnel except the storm team,” Nick said. “We’ve got protocols in place.”
“Staff housing assignments.” She removed the carrots from the oven, thinking through the logistics. “If we reorganize them now into evacuation groups, it’ll save chaos later. Group by priority—who needs to leave first, who’s storm team, who’s backup.”
She chased that thought as she tossed more glaze on the carrots. “Hmm, let’s see. Storm team in the safest rooms: facing west, second or third floor. Non-essentials above and below.”
Zach looked up from the sink, his slate-blue eyes sharp and assessing in a way that made her spine straighten reflexively.
“That’s good,” he said.
Two words. Coming from him, they felt like a prize. Warmth spread through her chest.
“The staff building is at a higher elevation than the hotel, so the bottom floor is above storm surge levels. It’s the safest level. Put the storm team there. Backup team on the second floor. Non-essentials above.” Nick said.
“I’ll draft new assignments tonight,” Emma said. “Have it ready for tomorrow’s briefing. If it works well on this trial run, we can base long-term room assignments on that system, rather than randomly.”
