Joan opened her mouth in shock. “Why? What did you do?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Well, that wasn’t actually the truth. But nothing recently. With this new knowledge, he wasn’t looking forward to returning Layla’s box so soon.
Jeff let out a guffaw and clapped Brant on the shoulder. “Forget Joan. You’ve got arealdate, buddy.”
Joantossed her phone back in her bag. “What’s that supposed to mean, you little weasel?” she said before she went back to typing.
Brant elbowed Jeff, who was doubled over with his hands on his knees. His sense of humor could be overblown at times. “It’s not that funny.”
Slinging one arm around Brant’s neck, he patted Brant’s gut. “You’re coming with me. We’ll have a drink while we wait for food. If there was ever someone who needed one, it’s you.”
Chapter Eight
It had been six weeks since her last Marybelle-sponsored blind date. Even more frustrating than this endless parade of strangers who Marybelle dangled in front of her was Marybelle’s sneaky way of finding out where Layla and her date were going. Then she’d pay the bill up front. Layla warned her endlessly about giving her credit card information over the phone to strangers, even if it was a legitimate business. Marybelle waved her off like it was the silliest of ideas. Not that she wanted to get this ordeal—er, date—over with, but Layla wondered if their bill would be paid in full when she and Marybelle’s nephew finished eating.
Layla wound a loose strand of yarn from her sweater around her finger, waiting. The lunch crowd inside Garden Gate Tearoom filtered in slowly. It was Monday, after all. Most of the businesses in Copper Creek were closed Mondays, so traffic coming to shop in town was less than other days of the week.
Naomi Gilbert, the owner’s daughter, approached Layla and laid down silverware wrapped in a floral fabric napkin.
“Can I get you something to drink, Layla?”
“A strawberry lemonade would be perfect. Thanks.” She eyed the silverware. “Oh, and I’ll need another set.” Naomi was used to serving Layla since she came to the tearoom at least once a week. But she usually came alone.
“Sure thing,” Naomi said.
Layla leaned back against the seat, looking out the front picture window for an unfamiliar face. An unfamiliarmaleface. Marybelle assured her Kyle Brenneman was worth the trouble. “Nice-looking too, though I’m a little biased,” she told Layla with a wink. When Layla asked why it had taken so long to set her up with someone so close to home, Marybelle looked away in a rare moment of speechlessness. Apparently, Kyle was as wary of blind dates as Layla. The only difference was that Marybelle’s nephew had better luck thwarting his aunt’s matchmaking attempts.
Naomi came back with her lemonade as the door chimes jingled. Layla looked up.
If the grinning man with the chestnut brush cut, looking every bit self-conscious, was Kyle, Marybelle wasn’t kidding. Kylewasgood-looking. In a toothpaste-commercial kind of way.
When she waved him over, relief flooded his features. Layla stood as he made his way across the dining room.
“I’m thinking you must be Kyle.” She held out her hand. “Layla Dean.”
He gave her an easy grin, but the skin above his coat collar looked flushed. “It can only get less awkward from here, right?” Kyle took her hand. It was soft and large, and completely encompassed hers. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Once they sat and Naomi came back to get Kyle’s drink order, Layla cleared her throat. These Marybelle dates didn’t get any easier, even if Layla was an old pro. But looking at Kyle across the table, she’d suffered worse.
He shucked his coat while looking at her. “So, you weren’t able to escape the incessant nagging from Aunt Marybelle either?”
Layla chuckled. “You have no idea.”
He draped the coat over an empty chair, then rested his elbows on the table. “Oh, but I do. She sees single people as fair game for her matchmaking arts.”
“If she weren’t the most delightful neighbor and didn’t keep my freezer stocked with cookies, it would be a little irritating.” She sipped her lemonade, discreetly wiping away the dribble that escaped her mouth. She regretted not asking for a straw.
“So irritating.” He paused, studying her, and she felt herself blush under the scrutiny. “Yet, here we are. Maybe fate has a hand in it,” he said. Again, the Colgate smile flashed.
She sat back again as if adding extra space between them might slow her pulse from its full gallop. “Yes. What else is there to do but get to know each other?”
“Auntie says you own a shop in town?”
“Yes, Copper Creek Home. It’s part gift shop, part home furnishings. I opened the physical store last year, but design consulting makes up the bulk of my business.”
Kyle unwrapped his silverware and put the napkin on his lap. “She said you’re not from here originally. You came from…Arizona?”
She nodded. “Mesa.”
