“She asked if there were any guided activities this week,” she continues, too casually. “I told her kayak rentals were easy, horseback rides were outside town, and if she wanted anything involving the cliffs, she should speak to you.”
“She already did.”
“I figured.”
I look at her.
Kelsey’s eyebrows lift. “What? She came back from the lake looking like she’d seen a half-naked man. Around here, the odds favored you.”
“Careful.”
“Oh, please. Don’t growl at me.”
“She’s supposed to meet me in a few minutes.”
Kelsey looks past me toward the cabins. “For a jump?”
“For a lesson.”
“With Layla Whitman, second-grade teacher from wherever safe people come from?”
I narrow my eyes. “You got all that from check-in?”
“I got Layla Whitman and second-grade teacher from check-in. The safe people part came from the cardigan folded over her suitcase and the way she apologized for asking where the ice machine was.”
That sounds like Layla. Too careful and polite. Too ready to make herself smaller.
My jaw tightens.
Kelsey watches me over the rim of her mug. “Oh.”
“What?”
“You like her.”
“I pulled her back from a ledge.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I don’t know her.”
“You don’t have to know someone to like looking at them.”
I turn toward the dock. “I’ve got work.”
“You’ve always got work when a conversation annoys you.”
“Most conversations annoy me.”
“Also true.”
I set the coffee on the dock post and crouch to inspect the loose board. The screw has pulled up on one side, probably fromwet wood expanding and shrinking in the sun. Easy fix. I keep a small kit in the storage shed, but the board can wait.
Layla cannot.
I hate that I think it that plainly, like she’s already some responsibility I took on. She isn’t.
Layla is a guest. A pretty one with sad eyes and more nerve than sense yesterday, but still a guest. I’ll show her the safe ledge, teach her the jump, get her laughing in the water, and send her back to her cabin with a story. That’s all. By next week, she’ll be gone.
