Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Dex
As it turns out, Sayla doesn’t snore or talk in her sleep at any volume, but I still lie awake for hours.
In the quiet of the cabin, I listen to her steady breaths and the occasional soft sigh, wondering what she was thinking when she decided to tell Tori we’re dating.
And why the thought of dating Sayla for real stirs something in my chest that’s not entirely … terrible.
But that’s how things always go at night, right?
Little stuff gets magnified. Your brain catches itself in a loop, and you can’t let go of something that wouldn’t be a big deal in the daylight.
So I stare at the ceiling, watching the moonlight shift across the room, waiting impatiently for the first signs of dawn.
Everything will seem clearer in the morning.
Tomorrow, Sayla and I can sit down and force ourselves to come up with a plan for when the SACSS visits.
Later, we’ll share what we’ve brainstormed with Bob and Hildy.
With their approval, we’ll finish up the rest of this retreat and earn a great report with flying colors.
Meanwhile, Tori will steer clear of me thanks to my imaginary relationship with Sayla.
Hopefully, the two of us won’t have to act too couply around her to sell the story.
Or maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing.
As long as I can still sufficiently annoy Sayla.
Could be kinda fun to be in on something like that together.
Wilford wants us to cooperate, after all.
Of course, this slippery slope thinking comes with a fair amount of risk. Sayla and I are both completely focused on our jobs right now. And beyond that, neither one of us is interested in dating, let alone anything more.
So don’t enjoy that fantasy too much now, Dex.
Still, after several stern internal warnings (okay, probably fifteen), I finally give up and let myself imagine what holding Sayla would be like. I figure as long as this is all in my head, nobody’s getting hurt, right?
She’s so much smaller than I am. I picture my chin notched up over the top of her head as she tucks herself into my arms. I can almost feel her softly breathing into my neck, our chests rising and falling together, slow and easy. In tandem. A perfect rhythm.
We stay like that for a while, gently swaying, as I take in the scent of her.
Pretend everything that’s happened before is behind us.
Our future is wide open. And when she finally pulls back, just far enough so I can lift her face to mine, her expression is so open and pure.
Perfectly beautiful. Full of hope. Her lips part, and she whispers my name.
Dex.
I’m dying to devour this woman, but I want to savor the moment. Take my time. So I drop my chin as she arches her back, exposing her bare neck to me. Slowly, carefully, like she’s made of glass, I press a tender kiss to her throat. Taste the pulse of her there first. Her heartbeat speeds up and—
The blare of an alarm jerks me awake.
My phone is screaming, right where I left it next to my pillow. Man. I must’ve drifted off after all. I fumble to shut the thing off, then haul myself up, using my fists to rub the crust from my eyes. When my lids open, the daylight is bright behind the shadow on the bed across from me.
“Thanks for not snoring last night.”
Sayla.
I squint over at her, blinking myself back to reality.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, smelling like fresh soap and sweetness.
Her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, her hair towel-dried and adorably disheveled.
She’s wearing soft gray yoga pants and a loose pink sweatshirt.
She looks so open and innocent with her phone in her lap and a travel mug of something steaming cupped in her hands.
“Coffee,” I croak.
“I had some time to run to the mess hall after my shower.” She angles her chin toward the lidded mug on the nightstand between our beds. “I got you some, too.”
“Bless you,” I groan.
“They had cream and sugar packets, but you take yours black, right?”
“Man.” I shake my head. “Your attention to detail really is impressive.”
“If you saw how many notes I’ve taken on people since we’ve been here, you might be less impressed and more creeped out.”
She offers me a half smile, and I hope this is a sign that the rest of our day will be better than the last three years. We might as well try to get along while we can. Until Wilford decides on the FRIG.
If he chooses her department, I’d like to think I could be the bigger man and still be friends with her. Won’t be her fault, after all. But watching the theater and the associated rooms be transformed while the gym and fields get ignored would be rough.
If I get the FRIG, though, I can’t imagine Sayla being cool with it. She finally doesn’t hate me.
And that setback could set off a fresh spiral.
“I saw Bob when I was grabbing coffee,” she says, snapping me out of my worst-case-scenario brain. “And look what he gave me.” She holds up her lanyard with a fresh name tag. SAYLA.
“Nice. No more Sailor.”
“That’s the good news,” she says. “Unfortunately, he asked if we’ve come up with a plan for Mr. Wilford yet, and I had to be honest with him.”
I bob my head. “What did he say?”
“He wants us to meet with him and Hildy in the main lodge after lunch. According to the agenda, the rest of the group will be doing nature painting.”
I let out a little snort. “I’m okay skipping that.”
“Really? I kind of wanted to do the painting.”
“Sorry.” I reach for the mug, pop the lid, and steam curls up, warming my face. I take a long sip, and the hot, dark roast slides down my throat. I can already feel the cobwebs breaking up. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever tasted,” I say on a moan. “I owe you one.”
“You definitely do,” she says. “Because you also got me in trouble with Loren.” Her lips twitch, so whatever happened couldn’t be all that bad. But now I’m curious.
“How exactly?”
“You talked to Bridger yesterday. A lot, apparently.”
I take another sip of coffee, struggling to remember any details of my life before now, but I mostly come up blank. Guess I’m still a little dazed from that wild dream starring Sayla. “But Bridge was at staff development all day yesterday,” I say.
“Exactly.” Her face is smug. “Loren was sitting with him the whole time you were texting. Meanwhile, I was focused on our retreat like we were supposed to be. So I ignored my phone and woke up to a whole slew of snarky messages asking why we aren’t friends anymore.
” Sayla chuckles. “I’m going to have to do some damage control before breakfast.”
I flinch. “Oops. Good luck with that.”
“Oh, please.” She waves my comment away. “She was only kidding. Our friendship’s rock solid. You and Bridger do not get to win the friendship wars.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “You and Loren take home the gold for sure.” There’s a pause, so I take the opportunity to ask. “What’s the story with her fiancé? I know almost nothing about the guy besides his name.”
“Duh,” Sayla says. “Because Loren’s my friend, not yours.”
“I’m allowed to like her, though.”
“Of course. Everyone likes Loren. She’s the absolute best.”
“Do you like the man she’s marrying, though?” I ask. “Foster, right?”
“Yes.” Sayla sets down her coffee. “He’s a neurologist. He’s been treating Loren’s dad for the past couple years. That’s how they met.”
“Ah.” I blow out a breath. And now I feel terrible for secretly hoping Foster Abel was some kind of jerk. I guess a part of me just wanted to be able to root for Bridger over him. But if Foster is her father’s doctor, I genuinely hope he makes her happy.
Sayla sighs. “I just wish there was something more I could do for her, you know?”
“Yeah. I do.”
Her eyes go soft, and something warm flickers behind my ribcage.
Oh, man. I like this woman.
Really like her.
I clear my throat, just as her phone goes off, echoing with the staccato pulse of a FaceTime request. She checks the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” she says, hopping off the bed. “It’s Loren. I’m gonna take the call outside.” She starts for the door. “You’d better get dressed. Breakfast is in ten minutes. And—”
“On time is late,” I say. “I remember.”
“You’re learning.”
“You’re a good teacher.”
“I am, aren’t I?” A slow smile breaks across her face.