Mostly because honking was a little rude.
He could give me any number of responses in his expression.
He could be like what, you needed help?
Or he could be like don’t give me shit for doing what you could’ve done.
But what does the man do?
The man who haunted my thoughts all night with wanting to make his life easier, with wanting to make him hurt a little less, with making him want to trust a little more?
He smiles.
He smiles at me again, a broad, uninhibited, tooth-baring grin ofyeah, that was fun.
And my stupid heart melts just a little more for a man who’s clearly unavailable.
Not that that’s what I’m here for.
But apparently the cost of choosing the path where I take Daphne’s side over my parents also means choosing the side where my own heart works harder, and my own heart working harder means I feel more for the people around me, especially the people who wear their damage on their sleeves.
I burst out laughing, shake my head at him, wait a few more minutes to be sure the moose has fully left the area, and then I climb out of my car and get to work.
He’s still in his truck.
Watching me.
Waiting to make sure I get to work safely, but at a safe distance for his own heart.
Freaking man.
He’s entirely too likable.
15
SHE’S PLAYING WITH FIRE
Rhys
It’sa slow day at work. Yesterday was a heavy turnover day, and today’s almost as busy, but everyone’s behaving themselves.
I avoid Margot in the staff room by having an early lunch, even if I find excuses to spy on her from a close distance when I know she’s working the chalets since Mr. Robe-and-towels is here for one more night.
Mrs. Pinsley, the elderly woman working on her first novel, is checking out today, and I spot her hugging Margot as another of the security guys loads her luggage onto the retreat’s golf cart, which will transport her up to the main building and the shuttle to the airport.
“Now, no arguing. The tip I left is exactly what I meant to leave, and it’s for you, understand?” Mrs. Pinsley says.
“That’s not—” Margot starts, then catches herself, and smiles at the older woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Pinsley. Getting to know you has been reward enough in itself, but I appreciate your generosity.”
“Bah. It’s the least I can do.”
“Keep working on your novel. I’m going to check your website to make sure you did it.”
Mrs. Pinsley beams at her.
And even though I know I shouldn’t, after the old lady has been loaded up in the golf cart, and after Margot’s had enough time to switch out the bedding and towels and gather the trash and clean up the rest of the room, I circle back to the chalets.
She’s pushing her cart back toward the robe-and-towel dude’s room.
