The thing about working with Kelly Foster is that she doesn’t mean to take up space. She just… does.

She’s the kind of person you hear before you see — boots crunching on gravel, her voice warm and confident as she calls out to keepers across the path. She doesn’t hide behind her work the way you do. She’s out there in the open, talking to visitors, wrangling deliveries, somehow keeping the whole zoo from collapsing into chaos.

Which is probably why Benjamin Mee has been hovering around her all morning.

From your spot inside the giraffe enclosure, brushing down the rails, you can see him leaning a little too close, laughing at something she said. Kelly’s not exactly flirting — she’s working — but she’s smiling, head tipped toward him in a way that makes your stomach knot.

You keep your eyes on the brush in your hands, telling yourself it’s none of your business.

The sound of boots on dirt pulls your attention up again. Kelly’s making her way toward you, Benjamin still at her side. You straighten automatically, smoothing a hand over your hair without thinking.

“Hey,” Kelly calls out. “You seen the new hay delivery? I can’t find half the bales.”

You shake your head. “Haven’t left here all morning.”

Benjamin grins at you, that easy, practiced smile he gives everyone. “You should get out more. It’s beautiful out here today.”

“I’ve got work,” you say simply.

Kelly shoots him a look you can’t quite read, then steps closer to the fence. “You’re going to turn into one of your animals if you keep hiding in here.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Mm,” she says, skeptical, eyes flicking to the brush still in your hand. “You know you can hand that off sometimes, right? Come join the rest of us?”

You glance past her, to where Benjamin is still waiting, watching the two of you. Something in your chest tightens. “The animals need me more than the rest of you do.”

Kelly studies you for a second, her brow furrowing like she’s trying to figure out if you’re upset or just being stubborn. Finally, she leans on the fence, arms crossed.

“You know,” she says quietly, so Benjamin can’t hear, “he’s harmless. You don’t have to look at him like he’s going to steal the place out from under you.”

“I’m not,” you lie.

Her mouth quirks like she doesn’t believe you. “Right.”

Before you can answer, someone calls Kelly’s name from down the path. She gives you one last look — the kind that lingers longer than it should — before she pushes off the fence and heads back toward Benjamin.

You watch her go, the sun catching in her hair, the easy way she laughs at something he says.

And you tell yourself you’re not jealous. You’re just… protective.

Or maybe you’re lying to yourself about more than just that.