"Son of a—" She hopped on one foot, knocking over a jar of brushes, which sent a cascade of pencils rolling off the counter and onto her sketchpad. "Oh, come on."
The camper responded with the settling creak of metal and wood that she'd come to think of as its personality.Deal with it,the creak seemed to say.You're the one who chooses to live like this.
Fair point.
She collapsed onto the edge of her bed, shoving aside a pile of clean laundry she'd been meaning to fold for three days, and pressed her palms against her eyes until colors bloomed in the darkness.
Tarmek Stonefist.
She'd researched him, of course. The moment Sam had mentioned the team captain, she had done what any self-respecting millennial would do and stalked his entire online presence. A presence which had been frustratingly sparse. A few official team photos. A handful of interview clips where he spoke in careful, measured sentences about discipline and teamworkand the importance of consistency. No social media accounts that she could find. No candid shots. No glimpses into his personal life.
Just hockey. All hockey, all the time.
She'd expected someone intimidating. Someone rigid and humorless and easy to dismiss. She hadn't expected the way her heart had stuttered when he'd crouched down beside her, all controlled power and dark eyes and a jaw that could have been carved from granite. She hadn't expected the rough velvet of his voice, or the way he'd seemed genuinely confused by her chaos rather than contemptuous of it. She hadn't expected the flash of something almostvulnerablewhen she'd asked if he belonged in his own arena.
And she definitely hadn't expected to find him attractive.
Hugely attractive. Devastatingly attractive. The kind of attractive that made her want to do stupid things like stay in one place long enough to find out if his intensity extended to other areas of his life.
"Nope." She dropped her hands and stared at the camper's low ceiling, where fairy lights twinkled in cheerful defiance of her spiraling thoughts. "Absolutely not. We don't do that. We don't do complicated. We don't do feelings. We do murals and then we leave."
The cat poster stared at her from across the narrow space. HANG IN THERE.
"I'm trying," she told it.
Her phone buzzed.
Sam: How's it going? Did Tarmek find you yet?
Me: Yep. He was very friendly.
Sam: ...
Sam: LOL. Sure he was. Don't let him scare you off. His bark is worse than his bite.
Me: Does he bite often?
Sam: Only when people touch his stuff.
She grinned despite herself.
Me: Noted.
She tossed the phone onto the bed and stretched, her spine popping in three different places. The smart thing to do would be to make some food, take a nap, and return to the lobby that afternoon with fresh eyes and a clear head. The smart thing to do would be to focus on the mural—the actual reason she was here—and forget about orc hockey captains with intense stares and absurdly organized lives.
She had never been particularly good at the smart thing.
Three hours later, she was creeping through the arena's back corridors like a very colorful burglar.
Exploring,she told herself.Artists need to understand their space. This is professional reconnaissance.
The camper had felt too small after her nap, the walls pressing in with that familiar restlessness that always came after staying somewhere too long. Which was ridiculous since she'd only been in Greenwood Hollow for two days. But the feeling was there nonetheless, itching under her skin, whispering that maybe it was time to move on. Find the next project. The next town. The next temporary home.
Temporary was safe. Temporary meant no expectations. No disappointments. No one getting close enough to leave.
She'd learned that lesson early. Foster homes and group facilities and the endless parade of well-meaning adults who promised forever and delivered maybe-for-now. By the time she'd aged out of the system at eighteen, she'd understood the fundamental truth of human connection. Everyone leaves eventually. Better to leave first. Better to keep moving.
The camper was perfect for that. It was small enough to be mobile, and big enough to hold everything she cared about. A home that went where she went, that couldn't be taken away or reassigned or sold to someone else.
