“I thought so, too. I asked if it was in a floodplain and the owner assured me that it isn’t. The stream’s just high right now.” Anna ruffled through a few printouts. “I asked her to send over plat information and a survey, but it doesn’t look like I have it yet.”
“I definitely want to see that,” Jack agreed, but in his mind, he was already placing buildings. He was home.
He couldn’t wait to tell Layla.
* * *
* * *
You look good, Miss Cora,” Layla told the other woman as she spotted her. The Pine Grove assisted-living facility had some depressing residents, and she’d been a little worried that her visit might cause problems. The people at the front desk were extremely nice, though, and thrilled to see Oscar. Layla signed into the guest registry before she was led down a hall and into a chaotic-looking private room.
Cora was a woman after Layla’s own heart. Not the endless Elvis Presley pictures and motifs that covered every surface, but that Cora was clearly unafraid to be her own person. She wore bright pink lipstick, a neon purple blouse, and a baby pink skirt with glittery sneakers. An equally pink bow was in Cora’s fluffy white hair, and she had rings on every finger.
“I was wondering if you were going to show up with my dog,” Cora said. She sat in an easy chair that had a bright chartreuse knitted shawl across the back, her walker nearby. The room looked a bit like Lisa Frank had vomited everywhere, but it was cheery.
“Don’t get up,” Layla said. “I’ll bring him to you. He likes to be held all the time.”
“Of course he does. Who wouldn’t?” Cora held her arms out for the dog, and Layla carefully placed him inside, mindful of the hand situation. Oscar settled in against Cora’s narrow body as if he’d always belonged to her, his tail whipping happily as he licked her hand. Cora’s face creased into a bright smile. “I’m glad to see you both. It’s been a hell of a week.”
Layla giggled. “Do tell.”
It was really a lovely visit. Layla had never been close to her own grandparents, because her mother had no relationship with her parents and her father lived overseas. Visiting Cora was like having a grandmother, she supposed, as Cora went on and on about gossip at Pine Grove. Or so she’d thought . . . because the gossip quickly got dirty.
“I told Dottie to quit sleeping around because she was going to give everyone chlamydia, but no.” Cora rolled her eyes, patting Oscar. “Next thing you know, Hubert and Frank both have it.”
Layla cleared her throat politely. “I’m sure she didn’t give it to them—”
“I’m sure she did. Ever since her husband died, Dottie thinks she’s queen bee around here. If she was smart, she’d keep her legs shut. There’s no good dick to be found around here.” Cora leaned in. “Speaking of, how is your handsome young man?”
The look in Cora’s eyes was far too sharp. “Um, great?” Layla rocked in the rocking chair across from Cora nervously, playing with the hem of her T-shirt. “I saw him yesterday, you know. For our official date.”
“The one you paid for?”
Layla grimaced. “Yep. Everyone in town has been giving me shit for it, too.”
“Nosy bastards.”
That made Layla laugh. “Indeed. I guess I can’t blame them, though. Jack is the hottest guy I’ve seen around here and I did pay quite a bit for him.”
“Doesn’t give them the right to stick their noses in your business.”
Oh, she liked Cora a lot. “I thought so, too. But we had a lovely date.”
“How lovely?” The sly look was back in Cora’s eyes.
“Not quite that lovely. We kissed. That was all.”
Cora snorted. “Sounds boring. You’ve got to bring me better gossip, honey. It’s sad when Dottie gets around more than you, and she’s eighty-three.”
Layla’s lips twitched, and it was an effort not to burst into laughter. “Well, we have another date this weekend.”
Cora nodded. “Good. Lock that shit down before he gets away from you. Men that pretty don’t stay single for long.”
“That’s kind of what I’m worried about.” Layla bit her lip, wishing she had her crochet or some cross-stitch to occupy her hands. Maybe she’d bring some next time. She could work while Cora held Oscar. The dog himself seemed to be loving the attention—Cora scratched his fat flanks constantly and he was cradled perfectly in her arms, his head tucked into the crook of her elbow as he slept. “I’m a little nervous about the date,” Layla confessed.
“Nervous? Why?”
“He’s out of my league.” She tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. “Jack’s gorgeous. Flirty and gorgeous. It’s a lethal combination, you know? I really think he could get anyone, and me, well . . .” Layla gestured at her outfit—jeans and a T-shirt, her hair tucked into a bun. “I’m very . . . average.” That was the nicest way she could think to put it.
“Bullshit.” Cora shook her head. “You’ve got sparkle. That makes up for a lot.”
“Sparkle?”
Cora nodded. “Guys like him can get any girl they want, you’re absolutely right. And he’s probably had a ton of pretty girls in his past.”
“This isn’t making me feel much better—”
“But you have sparkle. You’re smart. And witty. And you’ve got a smile that lights up your whole face. You’re happy. It shows.” She nodded sagely. “Sparkle wins out over a pair of big boobs any day.”
“I need to cross-stitch that onto a pillow,” Layla joked.
“See? Sparkle.” Cora winked. “Looks fade. Tits sag. Sparkle stays.”
“I think I love you, Cora.”
“Good. That means you’ll come back.” The older woman sighed and hugged the dog against her chest. “This place gets really dull sometimes. I like having visitors.”
Layla’s heart squeezed. She wanted to ask where Cora’s family was, where her grandkids were. Maybe they visited and Cora was just being dramatic. Maybe she didn’t have anyone. It didn’t matter. “Can I come back on Tuesday? I promise to bring Oscar.”
Cora’s smile was sweet. “I’d like that. How are you at cooking?”
“Cooking?”
“Yeah, I could go for some cupcakes.”
Layla sputtered. “Is this a shakedown for a treat-delivery service?”
“Maybe.” Cora lifted her chin defensively. “You take your pleasures where you can find them.”
“Now you sound like Dottie,” Layla pointed out, and Cora barked with laughter. Her phone pinged; it was a text from Jack.
JACK: You should see this place. It’s everything I wanted.
JACK: And the price is just right.
She beamed down at her phone. She could practically imagine his excitement, and she wanted to share it with him.
“That your man?” Cora asked.
“It is.” Layla blushed. Her man. If anyone else asked, Layla would have denied it. But there was something about Cora’s blunt nature—or maybe it was her obvious loneliness—that made Layla want to confide in her. “Sometimes he texts me just to get pictures of Oscar throughout the day. I think he misses him.”
“Right. He misses the dog.” Cora winked exaggeratedly. “Do you send him nudes?”
“What? No!” She mock-frowned. “I’ve got sparkle, remember?”
“Sparkle only gets you so far, girlfriend.”
And Layla collapsed into the rocker with laughter.
* * *
* * *
Jack watched his phone, waiting for Layla to text back. She’d said she was busy, but he needed to hear from her. Needed someone else to be excited for him.
Finally, the text came through.
LAYLA: That’s amazing! I’m so excited for you. You’ll tell me all about it on Saturday? Bring details and we’ll do some online investigating. And bring your financials so
I can work up a P&L for you.
LAYLA: So proud of you!
Jack grinned at his phone. That was what he’d needed to hear. And a moment later, when he got a picture of Cora, Layla, and Oscar all making funny faces, he burst into laughter.
Today, he decided, was a great day.
JACK: I want to come on the next visit to Cora. Tell her I said hello and that she looks beautiful.
LAYLA: She says she knows and her calendar is free.
His own calendar was filling up, and for the first time since leaving Alaska, he was looking forward to what Painted Barrel had to offer.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
All things considered, Layla was having a pretty good week. Sure, there were a few ugly spots—her mother had sent her a couple of snotty texts, implying that Layla was ungrateful and worthless, but not to worry, Janet had things covered. She was going to sell her land and make a fortune and then Layla would be sorry for being so mean to her mother.
Layla just rolled her eyes.
Then, of course, there were the nosy townspeople. Since the auction had picked up steam in the gossip mill, everyone seemed to want to talk to Layla about Jack, or speculate about if they were going to get married.
Considering they’d only had two quasi-dates, Layla wasn’t about to chime in on that one. She let them say what they wanted, but sometimes it was hard to ignore.
Other than that, it was a good week. She got a few projects off her desk, the weather was nice, she’d had a date with Jack and seen Cora, and her phone was filled with funny texts from her friends . . . and from Jack. Actually, she and Jack had started texting all day long. At first it had just been a cowboy meme she’d sent to him. Then a picture of Oscar, lying meekly next to her enormous, cranky cat Sterling and letting the feline tongue-bathe his ears. By the end of the week, it had morphed into constantly checking in with each other, flirty little pings and sharing links that were interesting, and photos. Lots of photos.
So, yeah, it was a good week.
They’d texted all night Friday night, until late. He’d asked her what she was doing, and she’d mentioned amendments for a client. He’d asked what movie she had going in the background—proof that he knew her far too well already—and then had turned on the same movie and they’d texted each other throughout.
It was fun. He made even the mundane fun.
And now it was Saturday and she couldn’t wait for their date.
Well, “couldn’t wait” was a bit of a misstatement. She was excited . . . and also downright terrified. Because this was going to be an official date. This was dinner, and wine, and a session at a nearby Sip & Paint that Layla had always wanted to try. She’d offered to organize the date when he asked her where she wanted to go, and so he was going to show up at her place at five and they’d head out.
That afternoon, Layla tried on every single piece of clothing she owned. She prided herself on being low-key and casual, but today she wanted to be fun and flirty, and she wanted Jack to find her sexy. The last few times he’d seen her, she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Tonight, she’d wear a dress and maybe some heels.
Layla loved casual wear . . . except when it came to shoes and purses. With those, the more pricey the better, and she pulled out a pair of stiletto Louboutins she’d gotten secondhand from Amy and hugged them close. God, she loved pretty shoes. They were utter crap to walk in, but they made her feel sexy. She tried on dress after dress, searching for just the right look, and eventually settled on a high-neck long-sleeve dress that she’d bought online a few years ago and had never had the chance to wear. It was fairly plain, a muted olive green that was probably all wrong for winter, but she didn’t care. She’d bought the dress because the hem was embroidered with flowers, and between each flower and the next was a filthy, delicately embroidered French cuss word. She could wear this with her black Louboutins, though, and still feel somewhat stylish and sexy. Layla pulled her hair up in a neat bun, added some dangling earrings, and worked for nearly an hour on getting decent-looking wings to her eyeliner.
When it was close to go time, she took Oscar for a quick walk in the backyard and then tucked him back inside his bed. He didn’t like to be left alone, but she’d given him calming treats and put on a ThunderShirt, which helped settle him. He’d been snuggling with Sterling lately, and she hoped that between all those things, he wouldn’t panic. Just to be on the safe side, she tucked one of her sleep shirts in the bed with him so he could have her smell.
Her phone rang. She checked the screen and inwardly winced when she saw it was Janet. Her mother really had terrible timing. Layla clicked over as she slicked on some lipstick. “Make it snappy, Mom, I have plans.”
“Hello to you, too, dear, and I know you’re lying.” Janet sounded miffed. “You never have Saturday night plans unless it’s work.”
“Well, I have a date, thank you very much.” God, how petty was she that she had to fling that into her mother’s face? Layla had told herself time and time again she had nothing to prove to Janet, and then she felt the need to point out things like that.
“Did you pay for this one, too?” Janet cooed.
Layla gritted her teeth. And that was what happened when you gave Janet information. She used it against you. “No. Jack and I are having a real date now. There’s no exchange of money, thank you.”
“Oh, a date? I’m so excited for you, honey. Make sure you have some liquid courage, Layla-belle. It’ll help you loosen up.” Her mom’s tone had changed from sniping to sweet in an instant, and Layla wasn’t sure how to handle it.
She was nervous, though. Her skin tingled with anxiety and she wanted nothing more than to grab her crochet stuff and hook a few rows just to get some of the nerves out. “Are you telling me to get drunk?”
“I absolutely am. I love you, Layla-belle, but you know how you get.”
Her stomach churned. When Layla got nervous, she got loud, and a bit obnoxious, and chatty. The more she tried to stop, the worse it got, too. “It’s fine, Mom.”
“All I’m saying is that you don’t want to act like a virgin around a man like that or you’ll definitely lose him.” She tittered. “I might have to show up just to scoop him up if you do.”
Okay, she was definitely going to have a drink or three the moment they got to the restaurant. The words “act like a virgin” made her feel like an utter loser, just as they were intended. “Did you need something, Mom? I’m about to head out the door.”
“I just wanted to see if you were interested in having lunch this week. Or maybe this weekend? I can tell you all about my investments and you can tell me what you think!” Her mother’s tone took on a chirpy note, as if she were doing Layla a favor.
“Oh gosh, I’m real busy, Mom. Let me take a look at my schedule and get back to you—”
“You know I have a buyer for my land?”
“The floodplain?”
“It’s not a floodplain. The paperwork was wrong.” Janet huffed. “We’re disputing it right now, no thanks to you. It’ll sell and then I can go yachting in Mykonos with Adrian.”
Yachting? Mykonos? Adrian? She knew her mom was dropping tidbits because she wanted to steer the conversation, but Layla didn’t have time. “Maybe next weekend?”
“Let me know. Love you, Layla-belle. Remember, liquid courage!”
Oh, like she was going to forget now?
The doorbell rang, five minutes early, and Layla’s heart leapt in her throat.
“Coming,” she croaked, and winced at how unnatural that sounded. She tottered toward the door in her shoes—okay, they were a bit higher, heel-wise, than she’d anticipated, but she’d get used to them—and opened the door.
Jack stood on her porch with a single flower and a grin, and he took her breath away.
This was quite possibly the first time she’d seen him without his cowboy hat on. She k
new from his sideburns and beard scruff that he was dark-haired, but she had no idea that his hair was so damn thick and had just a hint of curl to it, making it wave roguishly over his brow. He wore dark jeans and a big silver belt buckle, and cowboy boots, and his shirt was a somber button-up in deep gray that fit him far better than any shirt had a right to. She was willing to bet the man didn’t have an ounce of fat, and the thought was both thrilling and a little alarming, because Layla loved a damn doughnut, and her pudgy stomach showed it.
He held the flower out to her, a single red rose. “Cliché, I know, but sometimes a good cliché is worth it.” His gaze roamed over her, and the look in his eyes was appreciative as he noted her dress and bare legs. “You look stunning.”
A million pithy, sarcastic jokes sprang to mind and then quickly died. “Thanks,” she croaked, and hated that she sounded like a dying frog every time she opened her mouth. “Do you . . . want to come in?”
“Is Oscar going to want to chaperone if I do?”
“Good point.” She grabbed her jacket and purse and glanced into the living room. Already, Sterling was crawling into the dog bed next to Oscar, licking the sleepy dachshund’s head. “I think we’re good.” She stepped outside and gave Jack a bright smile. “Who’s driving?”
“I’m happy to drive if you’ll tell me where we’re going.” He gave her an easy grin. “Or is it top secret?”
“Not a secret. Dinner and then we’re heading over to the Sip & Paint.”
“The what?”
“It’s a place where you drink wine and paint a picture. I got the idea after you mentioned Bob Ross the other day, and it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while. Is . . . that okay?”
He shrugged. “I’m game as long as I’m with you.”
Layla beamed at him with relief. “Awesome, shall we get going?”
He tilted his head at her, and he looked so boyish that her heart stopped. “We forgetting something?”
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