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Ruben and Shane: Footprints in the Sand

Page 23

by Lili B. Wilms

Argh. Why was I still naked? I hurried to the closet and slipped into a pair of sweatpants.

When I returned to the main room, Shane was already unpacking his bags.

“What . . . what are you doing? Stop!” I stammered.

He turned around, his eyebrows furrowed. “What do you think?”

I raised my hands and immediately dropped them again. “You can’t stay here. The guests stay in the main house.”

“I’m not a guest here. I work here.” Shane had turned away and continued unpacking calmly.

“Shane!”

He glanced over his shoulder at me again and stared at me blankly. “Ruben.”

“I . . . I was here first. You have to find a new place to stay.”

Shane stuffed a pile of clothes into his closet and turned around completely. “I don’t have to do anything, and I’m not going to. If you can’t stand being around me, that’s your problem. I’m employed here as a snowboard instructor, and I’m certainly not going to cause a ruckus because you don’t approve of me.”

“What? What are you talking about? That’s not what this is about. You have to understand . . . ” What the hell was Shane talking about? I didn’t approve of him? What was that supposed to mean? I approved of him more than enough. Only . . . I couldn’t say that, considering what had happened since I announced that I was moving on with my truck. Damn it.

“I understand enough. For example, I’m not going to get on my team leader’s nerves on the first day because my roommate would rather live with someone else.

I bit my lip. Damn it. Who could I talk to? Human resources? The thought made me shudder. They would just stare at me with dead administrative eyes and go back to their desks. My head chef, who had brought me onto the team?

My stomach turned at the thought. Connie might be an affable person. But she was my boss this season. The person I had come to on recommendation and who would decide how my recommendation to the next kitchen would look like. Damn.

George?

What would I say to George? George, get Shane another room. He’s a knucklehead. He doesn’t love me; he replaced me immediately when he found out my ass wasn’t freely available every night? I rubbed my face. Fuck. Fuck. My. Life.

When I opened my eyes again, Shane was watching at me with that damn grin that had fascinated me from afar for years.

“Yeah. I guess that settles that.” As if he hadn’t turned my entire winter—my entire life—upside down, he turned back to his stuff and continued to make himself at home.

I looked longingly at the door. Run away. That would have been nice at that moment.

As dogged as I was in my work, I was just as easily thrown off balance in my private life.

Unlike my work, however, I had not received years of education and training in matters of love. There was no manual for me to consult on how to get my exuberant insecurity under control.

The words of one of my old professors ran through my mind. “No textbook will get you as far as life and experience. Every mistake in the kitchen will stick with you more than the explanation in a textbook.”

Shit. But in a kitchen, there was always someone on hand to correct my mistakes. Here I was, alone with Shane, not knowing what to do.

Angrily, I grabbed my pants, sweater, socks, and T-shirt and changed in the bathroom. After today’s shift, I wasn´t up to anything other than lying in bed and listening to an audiobook. How could I ever relax again with this person lying next to me?

I would sign up for all the late shifts from now on. When Shane was out on the slopes during the day, I would sleep and work and clean the kitchen at night for as long as possible.

I quickly got dressed and rushed into the main room of the cabin. While I was putting on my snow jacket and boots, Shane paused and watched me.

I ignored him as best I could. I steadied my breath and calmed myself. I would find a solution.

As I stood at the door, his words overwhelmed me, engulfing me and choking out the fleeting calm I had worked hard to achieve.

“You’re running away after all. No surprise there.”

White anger settled on my speech center, and the only sound I was capable of making was slamming the door loudly behind me.