October 12, Sunday
bung the stopper used to seal the bung hole
I brACED myself for another awkward encounter with Naomi as I approached the tour bus, mentally rehearsing neutral responses to whatever pointed observations she might make about my appearance or living situation.
Sunday tours often brought smaller groups, which meant more intimate conversations and fewer places to hide from her penetrating questions.
But when I climbed aboard, Jett was sitting alone.
His hands rested on the steering wheel, his attention focused on something through the windshield that seemed to require intense concentration.
The bus felt different without her perfume and musical laughter filling the space—quieter somehow, but also less charged with the subtle tension I'd grown accustomed to navigating.
"Good morning," I said, settling into a seat a few rows back and trying not to sound as relieved as I felt.
"Morning," Jett replied, his voice carrying a flatness I didn't recognize.
"No Naomi today?" I asked, aiming for casual curiosity while my heart performed an inexplicable little skip of satisfaction.
Jett's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he turned back to face the windshield. "She's taking a break from the tours."
The carefully neutral way he delivered this information told me there was more to the story, but I waited for him to elaborate rather than pressing for details. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the diesel engine's rumble.
"Turns out she didn't appreciate the fact that I've been spending time with you outside of work," he said finally, his voice carrying an edge that made my stomach clench.
I tried to laugh it off, though the sound came out more strained than I intended. "What, like taking me to see Bigfoot enthusiasts? That hardly counts as scandalous behavior."
"Apparently it does when your girlfriend thinks you're developing feelings for your coworker."
The word 'girlfriend' hit me with unexpected force, a reminder of the relationship dynamics I'd been trying to ignore. I found myself studying the back of Jett's head, looking for clues about how he felt about Naomi's assessment of the situation.
"I mean, you told her we're just friends, right?" I asked, keeping my voice light despite the way my pulse had quickened.
Jett's shoulders lifted in a shrug that looked more defeated than dismissive. "I tried to tell her that. But Naomi seemed pretty convinced that you have a crush on me."
Heat flooded my face. "A crush? What are we, twelve years old? That's ridiculous."
But even as I protested, something uncomfortable twisted in my chest. Was there truth to Naomi's observation?
"Some reporter she is if she can read a situation so completely wrong," I continued, hoping my voice conveyed more conviction than I felt.
"Yeah," Jett said, and I caught the hint of a smile in his reflection in the windshield. "That's exactly what I told her."
His agreement should have been reassuring, but instead it left me feeling oddly deflated.