“Look, you don’t have to invite me to join you because I’m your boss and you’re worried you pissed me off. I’m not going to have you fired.”

“The thought never occurred to me until just now, so… thanks? But for one, you need all the staff you can get. And two… I don’t believe that’s who you are.”

Something passes between us. Maybe it’s an understanding that we’re not whoever’s hurt us in the past. Maybe it’s the clarity that we’ll never be anything more than friends.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. His words pass through me like an unexpected static shock. Apologies were never readily handed around in our family. My mother wore the fact that she never apologized like a badge of honor. “I should have been more open about who I was—you know, that I own the Club.” He’s adorably awkward and suddenly seems ten years younger than the man who walked in here.

I sigh because I’m not sure he’s done anything wrong. We had a couple of conversations and an almost-kiss. From the outside looking in, Byron never owed me anything. But maybe he feels our connection as strongly as I do, because I appreciate the apology. It feels warranted, despite the short time we’ve known each other.

“It must have been a shock. Given what you’ve been through with Frank⁠—”

“Thank you,” I say, interrupting him. There’s no point in rehashing anything. There’s a line in the sand that’s been drawn and now we can both see it—there’s no reason to make this bigger than it is. “I accept your apology.”

His blue-green eyes draw me in, and I can’t help but smile at him. Just being near Byron relaxes me, makes me more confident. I’m going to need to keep a close eye on that line in the sand.

I lift my chin toward my booth and Byron slips off his stool. We take a seat opposite each other.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days,” I say, trying to sound breezy, like maybe I saw him, maybe I didn’t. Like I haven’t been thinking about him every minute since.

“Busy,” he says. “There’s a lot going on. Like you say, we need more staff. We’re trying to finish off the staff housing and implement health and safety protocols. Avalanche and storm procedures. That kind of thing.”

“It’s a lot of responsibility,” I say. Byron always seems so cool, calm, and collected, but there’s a lot resting on his shoulders. “How come you’re not living up there? The cabin is cozy and everything, but I’m betting the chalets are a little more luxurious.”