“Morning,” Seth said, the word coming out a little rougher than usual.
Paige glanced up with a quick smile. “Good morning.”
Mya gave him a nod as she passed. “Morning, Seth. Grab a plate before it’s all gone. You’d think those boys never had a home-cooked meal this morning.”
Ashley banged her hand on the tray, babbling at him as if she had something important to say. Seth huffed out something that might’ve passed for a chuckle, tapping the tray lightly. “Hey, sweetie.”
He entered the dining room and grabbed a mug from the sideboard, filling it from the large urn. The heat bit into his palm as he carried it to the table.
Shane and Tucker were already there, along with most of the guys who lived on-site. The rest of the employees—those who lived in town—weren’t due in for another hour.
“Morning,” Shane said, glancing up.
Seth gave a curt nod as he sat, then lifted the mug and took a long drink. The coffee burned going down, but it didn’t cut through the irritation still sitting in his chest.
“Sleep okay?” Jamie’s tone held a hint of amusement.
Seth didn’t look up. “Yeah.”
That should’ve been the end of it.
“You sure about that?” Derek Bishop cut in from down the table, grinning. “Her truck was out front earlier. Thought you didn’t do overnights.”
Seth’s grip tightened around the mug. “Eat your damn breakfast.” The words came out sharper than he intended.
Derek lifted his hands, still smiling. “Hey, just making an observation.”
“You’re bein’ an ass.” The edge in his voice cut clean enough to quiet the table for a beat.
“Language!” Paige called from the kitchen.
Shane’s gaze shifted to him, assessing, but Seth ignored it, staring into his coffee like it held something worth focusing on.
He set the mug down harder than necessary and reached for a platter of food, dragging a couple strips of bacon and some eggs onto his plate, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
It wasn’t Derek or the comment.
It was her.
The way she’d pulled back. The way she’d left, as if what they’d shared hadn’t been anything more than a hookup.
But for once, it’d felt different to him. Not just another night with some random woman he could walk away from without a second thought. There’d been something there—something he couldn’t quite name, but he’d felt it all the same.
Or maybe that had just been him. Maybe she hadn’t felt anything for him at all.
The thought didn’t sit right.
He didn’t do clingy. So why the hell did it bother him that she’d run?
By the end of her shift, Shylo’s feet ached, her lower back throbbed, and the mix of beer, grilled meat, and fryer grease clung to her like it had no intention of letting go. Bar None had thinned out over the last half hour, leaving the dining room almost empty. A couple of regulars lingered at the bar, nursing drinks while a game played on the TV overhead, the low murmur of commentary blending with the clink of glassware and the occasional burst of laughter.
It should’ve been comforting. Familiar. Predictable. Work had become that for her—a place where she knew exactly what was expected and what she had to give. Take orders. Deliver drinks. Keep moving. Don’t think too much.
The routine kept her occupied and everything else at bay. Usually.
Unfortunately, her mind had been doing whatever it wanted all weekend—mainly thinking about Seth.
She wiped down one of the bar area’s pub tables with deliberate strokes, turning the rag over and doing it again even though the surface was already clean. Four days had passed since she’d slipped out of Seth’s bed before the sun was fully up, muttered something about seeing him around, and left.
