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My sentence dwindles as I realize how little sense I’m making.
I glance up, expecting to see signs of rejection, but he looks amused, and then, THANK GOD, the wave of children finally descends upon us, demanding our full attention.
I thought the shifts I worked with Derek last week were endless and misery-inducing, but somehow, this is worse.
His theory is a big fat cloud sitting over our heads. I can’t even look at him, especially after a guy tries to get handsy with me and Derek intervenes. Ryan wouldn’t have even noticed. In the ten months I worked with Ryan, I had countless men act inappropriately toward me while I was in costume as Princess Elena. Nothing scary, just sly comments and not-so-sly innuendos, a few phone numbers hastily written on scratch paper and shoved into my hand, but apparently that sort of thing won’t fly with Derek by my side. When a young man—slightly inebriated and very cocky—demands I take a picture with him and then lingers by my side, arm around my waist, Derek forcibly removes him.
“Aw c’mon, I was just asking her out! Look at her, man!”
I don’t hear what Derek says to him, but the guy’s face pales and he holds his hands up in innocence before walking away. Apparently, his interest in me wasn’t worth incurring Derek’s wrath.
When Derek walks back to take his place beside me, straightening his jacket, I offer him a small smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He nods, and that’s that. He might as well have said, I’m just doing my job.
After our shift, Derek surprises me by staying back. Most of the time, he’s the first to leave. Heather is always hovering nearby with her phone pressed to her ear and her clipboard in hand, ready to immediately jump into park business. Today, however, he holds his finger up to her and turns to me.
“Forgive me for overstepping earlier. It was inappropriate to ask you to dinner while we were at work.”
His tone is more formal than I’ve ever heard it, steel where before it was velvet.
I open my mouth, grasping for a response, but I’m left shaking my head.
I want to tell him it’s okay. I didn’t take offense in the least, but he’s already turning to join Heather, too busy to wait around for me to get my head on straight.
Later, I wonder if he assumed I’d lumped him in with that drunk guy. I didn’t. Not in the least. Even if I have no plans of giving in to his flirtatious advances, I still want Derek’s attention. It’s an ego boost to the teenager left inside me.
At lunch, Carrie sits across from me, showing me some of the sketches and fabric samples for the holiday parade costumes. We have our first rehearsal on Friday and the parades start up in a few weeks. She’s worried she won’t be able to get everything done in time.
While we talk, a shadow falls over us and my gut clenches. I assume it’s Derek. I grab my fork. Then, realizing I don’t need a weapon where he’s concerned, just a rock-solid set of armor, I release the fork and glance up to find Thomas there instead.
I sag in my seat.
Carrie lights up like Times Square.
“Hi Thomas.”
“Hey, I’m glad I caught you. I know we’re supposed to meet at 3:00 to go over costuming, but is there any chance we could talk now? I have a meeting at 2:30 that might run long.”
“Of course.” She nods enthusiastically, brushing her half-finished lunch out of the way like she’s not sure why it was there in the first place. Most of it spills onto my tray. Uh, thanks. Her apple rolls onto the ground with a thud, but she doesn’t care. “I was actually just going over designs with Whitney, anyway.”
As a manager in the Entertainment Department, Thomas is in charge of producing the holiday parade. As it happens, Carrie is helming the costume crew this year. They’ll have to work together closely, and by the sounds of it, neither one of them minds in the least.
Her gaze finds mine, widens with a silent plea, and already I’m collecting my things.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“No. Not in the least.”
I get up and move to a table filled with a few of the girls from my dorm. Their joy at having me join them for lunch makes me feel good, like maybe, even with everything going on, I’m still doing a good job as their residence hall coordinator. Then, after my butt barely makes contact with my seat, they all lean in, tones hushed, and demand information about Derek.
“We know you’re working with him now!”
Apparently, word has spread.
“Is he as good-looking as everyone says?”
I don’t answer that.
“Are you guys going to have to kiss in the holiday parade or is that just a rumor?”
