Page 24 of The Lair

What am I doing?

I can’t be attracted to Travis. Not to the point where I’m unable to stop my thoughts from spiraling.

Falling for my boss is inconvenient enough, but falling for my much-older boss who doesn’t give two craps about me outside of the workplace? That’sbad.

Which means this…attraction or whatever the hell I feel for Travis needs to stopnow.

If I had the tiniest of chances with him, maybe I would throw caution to the wind—but I don’t. I know where we stand, and it’s okay. He will never set his sights on a woman more than a decade younger than him, and my past is too heavy of a secret burden to ignore.

This is the path I chose for myself, the sacrifices I decided to make, the lies I chose to tell. I made my own bed, and I will lie in it.

Shutting down my intrusive thoughts, I grab two packs of hair dye and head for the register. Only I don’t make it that far.

Something—someone—catches my eye in one of the aisles. Like a puppet on a string, I turn in the direction of the last person I expected or needed to see on my morning off.

Travis hasn’t spotted me yet, but I have no doubts I only have a seconds-long advantage before he does. He’s scratching his beard as he ponders something in front of…

The toy aisle?

Why is Travis looking at children’s toys?

He has a whole cart full of them behind him. A mix of pinks and blues, yellows and greens, andholy crap. There must be at least twenty different things inside that cart.

My mind scans for the piece of information I must be missing, but I come up empty-handed. Travis doesn’t have children; it would have come up in the year I’ve been working for him.

And I distinctly remember—for reasons that are neither here nor there—Uncle Neil saying how he was still waiting for grandkids. Or grandnieces and grandnephews, technically. So no, Travis isn’t a dad. I would know.

I also remember he’s an only child, so maybe all those toys are for his friends’ kids? But so many? Christmas is only three weeks away, yet…

As I remind myself that whatever he spends his money on is none of my business and that it’s not socially acceptable to blatantly stare at people, his head turns in my direction.

Shit.

I try to hide the two boxes of hair dye behind my back, but I’m too slow. His gaze shifts from my hands to my face, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

Before I know what I’m doing, and because it would look weird if I just ran away, I give him a tight-lipped smile and move closer to him. Enough for him to hear me when I say, “Morning, boss man. Doing some shopping?”

The tension in the corners of his mouth catches my eye, and so do those wide shoulders clad in the same flannel shirt he was wearing when we met.

His head tilts just barely, a small nod of acknowledgment that feels too much like a dismissal. “Allie.”

And that’s it. No “How are you doing?” No “How’s your shopping trip going?” No nothing.

Fair enough. He doesn’t owe me a thing outside of the bar.

That realization doesn’t make the stinging sensation go away, though.

“I’ll see you around,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t come out too awkward. I think I fail.

He’s seen my hair dye, and I’ve seen his toys, but neither of us brings it up. We don’t acknowledge the reasons why my hair color might not be natural or why he needs to give gifts to so many children. To be fair, I don’t think I have the right to ask.

I give him a smile I’m sure doesn’t reach my eyes, and he only nods again.

When I said he isn’t big on wasting saliva, I really meant it. There’s no reason for me to be upset that he doesn’t look too enthusiastic about bumping into me.

So why does Travis ignoring me outside of The Lair, like I don’t even exist when I’m off the clock, hurt my heart so damn much?

The next day, my foot is barely out of the changing room after our shift ends when Charlie declares, “This might be my best idea yet.”

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