Page 14 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe
Layla laughed. “A sommelier.”
“Yes, that.” Marybelle rolled her eyes. “I scolded him when he mentioned your ‘poor’ choice.” She hooked her fingers in the air.
“Right. Who knew an eight-dollar glass of wine instead of a fifteen-dollar glass was enough to judge the merits of a person’s character.”
Marybelle pursed her lips. “Horrible man. And I thought he was so gentlemanly and pleasant at first.”
Layla shrugged.
“Anyway, I know this one a little better. He’s my nephew.”
Wonderful.
“I’m not sure dating one of your family members is a good idea, Marybelle.”
“Why on earth not?” She set the spatula down and looked at Layla, her generous mouth forming a pout. Marybelle had a wonderfully expressive face. She wore her heart not on her sleeve, but in every smile, frown, and arc of her graying brows.
So far she’d avoided hurting Marybelle’s feelings after finding fault with the six or so other men Marybelle found that were “perfect” for Layla these last few years. For some reason, Marybelle wanted to see her with someone special, a “steady one,” she called these imaginary, too-good-to-be true men. Layla had asked her once why she insisted Layla might be happier paired than single.You’ve been put here to care for people, she’d told Layla. It was a curious thing to say, and it got Layla thinking. Of course she cared for people. Her job centered around it. She liked making people happy. And bringing beauty to her clients’ lives, whether it be with a vase of lemon-colored lilies or one of Tom’s carved trees. But it was a little annoying that Marybelle felt Layla lacked the tools to find someone special. Simply put, Layla was happy single. No one had come along yet to entice her to think otherwise.
Layla framed her words carefully. “I’m a little picky if you haven’t figured that out yet.” Layla laughed, trying to keep it light, but Marybelle’s brows shot up even higher. “Anyway, I’d be afraid of causing hard feelings if, you know, it didn’t work out.”
Marybelle flipped her hand dismissively. “When have I ever given you reason to worry about that?”
“Never.”
The older woman nodded decisively. “Nothing would ever jeopardize our friendship. Besides, you’ve been too good to me. Where else can a seventy-five-year old woman find a job with flexible hours and free decorating advice?”
Layla chuckled again.
Setting another cookie in front of her with a wink, Marybelle gave her a saccharine smile. “So, can I tell Kyle to give you a call?”
She looked at the ceiling, shaking her head. “If I say ‘yes,’ can he be the last one for a while? I’ll have zero time for fun these next few months.”
“But what if you hit it off? I bet you’ll find some ‘fun’ time in your schedule then.”
Marybelle clamped her lips together when Layla gave her an exasperated look.
Once again, Marybelle wore her down with charm and a few warm cookies.
Chapter Seven
While Brant slowly backed the truck into his building, Jeff stood inside, directing him. The perimeter of the door left barely any room for mistakes. One small brush against either side and the whole building might come down on top of them. Brant knew they were on borrowed time with occupying the space. The warehouse was positively crumbling around them. Once a place where pipe organs were made, it stood three stories tall and was made of solid red brick. Correction,oncesolid. His scaffolding and bucket truck fit inside, and other supplies that he kept in rolling bins. The building had a door that locked, and it was within biking distance of his house when the weather was nice. He never met potential clients here. It was too much of an eyesore, especially for a company as successful as his. But he was a cheapskate in some respects. This place fit his needs at the moment. He wasn’t looking to win any beautification awards for Light the Night, LLC, that was for sure. It was just a physical address to keep his equipment stored.
Brant turned off the engine and reached over the seat to grab his coat. His gaze fell on the plastic tub filled with leftover greenery, a tub belonging to Layla Dean, charter member of the Brant the Jerk support group. He groaned. Darcy found it in the side entrance after Layla had left, forgotten in her hurry to leave.No worries, he told Darcy. Copper Creek wasn’t far at all from St. Paul. He had a small window in a few days; it would take him an hour and a half tops to head down there and get back in time for dinner with a potential client. Layla would be so glad to see him and full of thanks for bringing the box all the way to Copper Creek. That was what he hoped for at least.
He hopped out of the cab. Stacks of lights on three pallets for his next few jobs had already been delivered—great. He and Jeff would unload them after lunch. Inside the office, his office assistant, Joan, tapped away on her keyboard.
“A few messages for you,” she said, pointing to the yellow sticky notes at the top of the desk. “I needed to reschedule the Belmont for next week. They have a water main break near the intersection.”
Brant winced. “Not good. So you were able to reshuffle the schedule?”
“You bet. Same time frame, different client.”
“How did you find a spot to fit in the Belmont?”
She looked at him over the tops of her glasses. “No worries, boss.”
He gave her apologetic smile. “Not giving you a hard time. I’m amazed you did it on such short notice.”
