Page 32 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe
She shrugged. “I figured you’d be staying around here. Maybe having dinner with Marybelle.”
Kyle put the two candles on the shelf. He broke down the cardboard box and tossed it on the slowly growing pile of flattened boxes.
“Marybelle does her own thing for Thanksgiving. The last time we celebrated the holiday together was before my folks moved away.” His forehead creased again like it did whenever he brought up his family. It surprised her that he was so attentive to his aunt with as much stress as the rest of his family apparently caused him.
“Isn’t that all the more reason you should celebrate with her?”
He turned toward her, his mouth turned down at the corners. Layla realized she’d asked the wrong question.
“Not everyone has the Americana-style Thanksgiving dinner you’re envisioning. Holidays make me a little sad, to be honest. That’s why I like to get away, do my own thing.”
“I see. I’m sorry for pressing.” She didn’t know what else to say. “I didn’t mean to…to imply you should celebrate any way other than how you feel comfortable.”
“Thank you.” He smiled, but it was more obligatory than sincere. He stood, surveying the unopened boxes. “What’s next?”
Layla looked at the pile too. “You know what? I can do this by myself later. I need to get back up front anyway and give your aunt a break.”
“Great,” he said. Layla didn’t miss how he suddenly seemed livelier. “I’ll go through the front so I can say hi before I take off.”
“You’re leaving already?” She figured he’d come to town to visit with Marybelle too.
He shrugged. “You’re working. Auntie has plans. Besides, I need to head to town, shop for my trip.”
Layla stood there as Kyle grabbed his coat, gave her another chaste kiss on the cheek this time, and strolled out of the back room to the front of the store. From her vantage point, she smiled when he gave Marybelle a one-armed hug and she squealed her delight. When Marybelle introduced her “tall, dark, and dashing nephew” to the customer she was helping, Layla turned away.
She sat in the rolling chair, replaying bits of their conversation over while listening to his voice mix with Marybelle’s for a few minutes until he left the shop. Layla nodded to herself, eyeing the shelf he’d stocked. She stood and crossed her arms. One by one, she took the candle jars he’d stacked and reorganized them into rows two candles high.
Chapter Fifteen
Layla reserved the third Wednesday of every month for taking Marybelle on an outing. Her idea of an outing usually involved a doctor’s appointment if she managed to schedule one for whatever ailment she thought she suffered from, and lunch of course. In truth, Marybelle was one of the healthiest people Layla knew. There was the occasional hangnail and a constant tickle in her throat, which weren’t on the radar of any doctor as life-threatening illnesses. So Marybelle invented maladies to get their attention, she admitted.
After dropping off Marybelle at her doctor’s office, Layla had arranged to deliver a pair of hand-carved loons to a client’s townhome. An hour later, Marybelle met her at the curb in front of the medical building wearing a frown.
When she fastened her seatbelt, Marybelle let out a loud groan.
“Leg cramps! That’s what she diagnosed. I could have said that and saved myself a copay.”
Layla exited off of Nicollet Avenue and merged onto I-35 West. “Are you sure you’re drinking enough, Marybelle? Cramps are a sign of dehydration, you know.”
“I drink plenty. You know what she told me? My varicose veins are probably acting up. ‘Wear stockings,’ she said.”
“Maybe those would help.”
Marybelle snorted. “I’ve been wearing them foryears!She even gave me a prescription for the darned things. Doctors these days.” She lifted her pants leg to show the compression stocking as proof.
She knew to let Marybelle vent after she left the doctor’s office. The outcome was never as catastrophic as Marybelle figured it might be, and the ride between there and their lunch spot was always a test of patience. Layla found herself driving ten miles over the limit to get there more quickly. At the next exit, she turned right. The Spotted Daisy Cafe was within the next block.
“Is that the pretty man I saw outside your shop the other day?”
Layla almost rear-ended a minivan when she glanced at Marybelle. “Huh?”
Marybelle leaned forward against her seatbelt, looking up toward a giant billboard on the right side of the street. By the time Layla understood what she was talking about, they’d passed it.
“He’s up on that billboard back there. Go around the block,” Marybelle instructed, pointing to the next side street.
She guessed who Marybelle might be talking about. She had yet to see one, but it didn’t surprise her that Brant would stick his face on a larger-than-life advertisement. As they circled the block in the stop-and-go lunch hour traffic, Marybelle apologized for delaying their meal. Layla made the last turn and parked next to the curb.
She shut off the engine. The Spotted Daisy Cafe sign was within sight. Walking a bit would do Marybelle good anyway. “That’s all right. We don’t have anywhere we need to be at any certain time.” That wasn’t entirely the truth. It was the lunch hour in the Twin Cities. Lines would be forming soon.
