Page 18 of The Lair

The only response I get is a grunt.

Or, at least, that’s what I think until he asks in that deep voice, “Are you sick?”

I think I might be, but not in the way he thinks.

“I’m fine. It’s probably just a bug.”

It’s not. I threw up because I panicked, but I can’t tell him that. I don’t want to answer the million questions that will come after that. Although this is Travis I’m talking about, so more like two.

But after fourteen months of being around him, I should know better than to think I can fool an ex-military man who seems to read minds.

“I know what happened with those people,” he says.

I’m sure you don’t.“It’s fine.”

I fold the towel into a perfect square and give it back to him. He accepts it wordlessly, his gaze trained on my face as if he were looking for something I’m sure he won’t find.

“It’s really okay,” I assure him. “It’s not the first time a customer’s been rude to me. I’ll get over it. Thanks for checking on me, boss man.”

I fight the urge to overthink why he followed me here in the first place. Travis isn’t the caring type. At work, he keeps conversations strictly business—at least with me. Maybe he hasin-depth talks with Jude and Sandra after hours, but I wouldn’t know or care.

Liar.

But he’s here now, and maybe it means something.

That he wants me to go back to work, possibly.

I’m about to leave when my eyes land on a box of tampons and pads on the bathroom counter.

“Did you get those?” I ask him, my throat dry.

The stiff nods he gives me makes my heart leap. “Just in case customers need them.”

He bought tampons for the bathroom.For the remainder of my shift, I’m unable to think about anything else, forgetting about my breakdown.

I can’t stop thinking about how his actions speak for him more than he knows, how he’s the best boss I’ve ever had, how his grumpiness is endearing, how I always feel safe when he’s around.

And then I force myself to draft my two-week notice when I get home.

One thing I’m not going to miss about Bannport is my apartment, that’s for sure.

I was lucky to find something within my limited budget, but Apartment B isn’t the best. It isn’t evengreatorgood. My landlord, the mechanic I took my car to when it broke down the day I arrived in Bannport, conveniently forgot to tell me about the humidity problem in the building—which makes black mold grow on my walls. I clean it up as soon as it appears, but…mold.

Finding an apartment in this small town is a pain, I’ve come to learn. It’s full of vacation rentals, which I would have to move out of every few months. I’m not about that at all.

But hey, at least I have a place to stay, mold and all. My apartment has a small kitchen and living room area, and my bedroom and bathroom are decent sized. I’ve had it much,muchworse while living in the lap of luxury.

If nothing else, I’m thankful for my independence. I have a roof over my head I can afford all on my own, food in my fridge, a car that still runs, and money in my bank account to buy as much hair dye as I need.

And up until today, I had a job I loved and co-workers I felt comfortable around. I haven’t resigned yet, but my mind is set.

I think.

“Honey,” Jada greets me from the other end of the line when I call her later that day. She sounds way more enthusiastic than I’m feeling. “Do you know what you’ll be doing for Christmas?”

Jada and Paul invite me over to their home every year, but I haven’t been back to Los Angeles in six years. Much to their disappointment, I won’t start now.

I plop down on my thrifted couch I got the same day I signed my lease and stare up at the popcorn ceiling. “I’ll be staying here, I think.”

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