Chapter 5
KAMERON
Iwoke up to gray light filtering through the windows and the unfamiliar sensation of being watched.
No. Not watched. Protected.
Conner was slumped in the booth across from me, head tipped back against the seat, arms crossed over his chest. His breathing was slow and even, and sometime during the night, his mouth had fallen slightly open.
He looked younger like this. Less polished.
Just a man who'd stayed up most of the night keeping an eye on things.
On me.
I lay there for a long moment, studying the lines of his face, the stubble darkening his jaw, the way his hair stuck up on one side where he'd leaned against the booth. My body ached in unfamiliar places—good aches, the kind that reminded me of what we'd done in my office just hours ago.
And that's when the doubt started creeping in.
I'd slept with a man I barely knew. Not just slept with—given my virginity to. In a cramped office during a snowstorm, like something out of a romance novel. The kind of story where the hero falls instantly in love and everything works out perfectly in the end.
But this wasn't a book. This was real life. And in real life, men didn't fall for women in a single night.
I sat up slowly, careful not to make the booth creak.
The tablecloth I'd been using as a blanket slipped off my shoulders, and the chill of the dining room hit me immediately.
Outside, the snow had stopped falling, though drifts piled high against the windows and the parking lot was buried under a thick white blanket.
The storm was ending. Which meant normal life would resume soon. The roads would get cleared, the crew would regroup, and Conner would go back to being the joker who teased his friends about their love lives.
And me? I'd be another story. Maybe not even a story—maybe just a footnote. That night we got snowed in and the manager let her guard down.
My stomach twisted. I'd been so careful for so long. Building walls, keeping people at a distance, never letting anyone close enough to hurt me. And in one night, I'd torn all of that down for a man with a charming smile and a reputation for not taking anything seriously.
What had I been thinking?
I slipped out of the booth as quietly as I could, retrieving my shoes from where I'd kicked them off. The floor was cold through my socks, and I welcomed the discomfort. It grounded me. Reminded me who I was.
The manager. The responsible one. The woman who didn't make reckless decisions based on feelings she couldn't trust.
I found my clipboard in the kitchen, right where I'd left it, and the familiar weight of it in my hands felt like armor clicking back into place.
There were things to do. Inventory to check.
Staff to coordinate. A dozen practical concerns that had nothing to do with the man sleeping in my dining room.
When I came back out, Conner was awake.
He'd straightened up in the booth, scrubbing a hand over his face, and when he saw me, a slow smile spread across his features. Warm. Genuine. The kind of smile that made my chest ache.
"Morning," he said, voice rough with sleep. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine." The word came out clipped. Professional. I saw something flicker in his eyes—confusion, maybe—but I pressed on. "Storm's stopped. Roads should be getting cleared soon. You should probably check in with your captain."
He was quiet for a moment, watching me. I busied myself straightening chairs that didn't need straightening, avoiding his gaze.
"Kameron."
I didn't stop moving. "I need to check on Gabby and the others. Make sure everyone's okay back there."
"Kameron." His voice was firmer now. I heard the booth creak as he stood. "Look at me."
I didn't want to. Looking at him meant seeing that warmth in his eyes, and I couldn't handle that right now. Not when I was trying so hard to convince myself that last night had been a mistake.
But my body betrayed me. I turned, clipboard clutched to my chest like a shield, and met his gaze.
He crossed the room in a few long strides, stopping just in front of me. Close enough that I could smell him—soap and sleep and something underneath that was just him. My fingers tightened on the clipboard.
"What's going on?" he asked quietly. "And don't say nothing. I can see it all over your face."
I should lie. Make an excuse. Blame it on stress or exhaustion or the hundred other things I could hide behind. But something about the way he was looking at me—steady, patient, like he had all the time in the world—made the truth slip out instead.
"Last night was…” I swallowed. "It was a lot. And I don't know what it meant to you, but I can't be someone's blizzard story. The night you got snowed in with the uptight manager and she turned out to be fun after all."
His expression didn't change, but I saw his jaw tighten. "Is that what you think this is?"
"I don't know what this is. That's the problem." I took a step back, needing the distance. "We've known each other for less than twenty-four hours. People don't fall in love in one night, Conner. That's not how real life works."
"Maybe not for most people."
The words hung in the air between us. I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, the deflection, the joke that would let us both off the hook. It didn't come.
"I'm not good at this," he said. "The serious stuff. I know that. I've spent my whole life avoiding it because it was easier than taking a risk." He took a step closer, erasing the distance I'd tried to create. "But I'm not avoiding this. I'm not avoiding you."
"You don't even know me."
"I know you've been running this place by yourself for eight months, and you're exhausted but won't admit it.
I know you laugh like you're surprised by it, like you forgot you were allowed to.
" His voice dropped lower. "And I know that when you let your guard down, you're the most incredible woman I've ever met. "
My eyes were burning. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
"That's not enough," I whispered. "That's one night of conversation. That's not a relationship."
"You're right. It's not." He reached out, gently prying the clipboard from my grip and setting it aside on the nearest table.
I let him, even though every instinct screamed at me to hold on tighter.
"So let me take you to dinner when this storm clears.
And then breakfast the next morning. And then whatever comes after that. "
"What if you change your mind? What if you wake up in a week and realize this was just the storm talking?"
He cupped my face in his hands, tilting it up so I had no choice but to look at him. His thumbs brushed over my cheekbones, gentle and sure.
"Then I'll be the biggest idiot in Wildwood Valley. But I won't change my mind." His forehead touched mine. "Give me a chance to prove it. That's all I'm asking."
I wanted to say no. I wanted to rebuild my walls and retreat to the safety of schedules and spreadsheets and a life where no one could disappoint me because I never let anyone close enough to try. But I was so tired of being safe.
"Okay," I breathed. "One dinner."
His smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. "I'll take it."
When he kissed me, soft and slow and full of promise, I let myself believe—just for a moment—that maybe real life could be like the books, after all.