Page 50 of Famous for a Living

I am not going to open up to him about everything going on.

I’m not.

“Anyway, thanks for picking me up from the airport and helping me to my cabin and showing me around. You’ve been very hospitable.” I press my lips together, remembering the way I must’ve looked on the hike. “Even to a girl throwing a tantrum in the snow.”

His lips curve upward. “It was no trouble.”

And while we both know every interaction between us has been pretty much only trouble, I smile.

Just like that it’s over. All of it just water under the bridge.

He nods to the box of shirts. “They’re promotional shirts for the winter carnival. Kevin made them before you got here.”

“Oh.” I rise and move over to the box. Lift a flap of the cardboard. The shirts are olive green, the same color as the rangers’ uniforms. The words across the front are the color of coffee with a splash of cream. The font is thick, squiggly, childish.

They’re a little hard to see folded up, but the words visible seem to be, “Kannery National Park. So fun you—”

I take the top shirt from the stack. Unfold it. “KAN’t resist.”

“Wow.” It’s the best I can say. It’s the only thing I can say.

It’s moments like this that I understand why Uncle Terry turned my twenty-three hundred followers and average of forty-two likes from last week into a pie chart with the proud declaration, “With Catherine’s aid, we have already grown 200 percent.” As though we are on the cusp of getting calls from National Geographic and the White House.

When Kevin was my predecessor, yes.

This. This suddenly makes sense.

I’m almost afraid to, but I flip the T-shirt over.

It can’t get worse than the front.

It can’t.

It can.

There is a giant photograph of one of the trash bins beside the parking lot. Overlaying the photograph (which is blurry, I might add) are the words, “Come! Don’t throw your weekend plans in the KAN.”

Oh boy.

“That one’s for you.”

“What?”

Zaiah’s frowning at my expression. “He worked really hard on that, Cat.”

Oh no. And here we’re already doing it again.

I clear my throat. Clutch the shirt to my chest. “And it shows. It’s just so . . . so creative—”

“It’s awful.”

“Yes.” I exhale, dropping my head as I see the smile playing on his lips. “I mean, I’ve seen all kinds of drastic measures for attention work, but this . . . it’s a pun using a trash can. You are quite literally aligning the park with trash. Blurry trash.”

Zaiah chuckles as his crinkly eyes watch my tension ease. “Believe me. Aside from Kevin, no one will blame you if you accidentally forget it at home.”

“No, no. I’m part of the team now. I’m all in.” I frown, a new thought occurring. My eyes flick to the window, where flurries are being thrust by the wind so fast they move sideways. “So what’s this about a winter carnival? Isn’t that a little . . .”

“Crazy to do in the middle of January? If you haven’t noticed, we’re a bit limited on winter activities.”