Page 39 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe
“I think so, but it’s definitely a work in progress.” He collected a bag of clips and hooked it onto his belt. He tossed the other bag to Jeff. “I still have a ways to go.”
“If she agreed to go to the dinner with you, I’d say you’re heading in the right direction.” Jeff wore a side smirk. “What did you ever do to her anyway? You never finished the story.”
“I kissed her under a mistletoe.”
Jeff straightened and looked at him with a broad grin. “Dude! What a Romeo you are.”
Brant cringed. “Not exactly.”
“Uh-oh.”
“She wasn’t expecting it. I thought she was someone else when I did it.”
Jeff gaped at him.
“The person I thought I’d kissed—Danielle, you remember her?—”
“I sure do. Dragon Lady Danielle. She wasn’t the most pleasant person to work with.” Jeff trailed Brant, holding the end of one coil while they made their way across the roof to the southwest corner of the building. “You took her to some fundraiser, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. That was a lesson learned.”
Danielle had been the contact person for TruLife Insurance, one of his smaller contracts last year. She was fun, pretty, and impressed him with her knowledge of flipping houses right off the bat. But he soon found out she was too vain for his tastes and insecure to boot.
“Anyway, Danielle caught me in a lip-lock with Layla. They’d looked so similar. Same dress, same color hair. Layla’s back was turned and, well, it went downhill from there.”
Jeff whistled. “I do not envy you, bro. Truly bad form.”
“I probably could have apologized my way out of it, but Danielle threw a fit. I bus-tossed Layla as a result, in part from the shock of it and because Danielle worked for a client at the time. Layla was humiliated and rightly so.”
“So you didn’t want to upset Danielle in case she took revenge.”
“That’s the short of it. You don’t know how many times since then I’ve wished for a do-over of that night.”
They came to the edge of the parapet they’d line with lights before they used the lift to hang lights on the lower roofline.
“So what’s the end goal? With Layla, I mean.” Jeff asked.
Brant took a handful of clips from his bag and fastened one onto the end of each light. Jeff did the same with his end of the light coil. He should have grabbed his gloves from the truck. It was much colder on the roof. Nothing blocked the wind. His fingers would be numb in no time.
“I like her. A lot. Maybe it’s the challenge of changing her mind about me or maybe it’s something more.” He took out another handful of clips. “She’s got something special about her, that’s for sure.”
“I wish you luck. Sounds like you need it,” Jeff said.
Luck, and maybe a healthy dose of thoughtfulness, might get him into Layla’s good graces again. The ice had thawed somewhat when he’d brought her lunch at the inn and the forgotten supply box to her store. Her eyes had lit up when he complimented her shop and her work. She was one of those quiet yet intense types. He was determined to get her to see him as more than a convenient ride to a networking opportunity next month though. It had been so long since he’d met someone who’d engaged him enough to be worth the chase.
Here was his chance with Layla. If the Holly Days Festival dinner wasn’t a setting ripe for the beginning of something special, it wasn’t meant to be.
Chapter Eighteen
Layla had set her alarm for eight o’clock Thanksgiving morning even though she was awake well before first light. Turkey roasting weighed heavily on her mind. It would only be her and Marybelle at dinner, but the chance of ruining a twenty-dollar hunk of meat felt like high stakes. While still wearing her pajamas, Layla sipped coffee and read the directions she found in the little plastic envelope when she unwrapped the bird.
An hour later, her phone rang as she set the lid on her roaster, the turkey now fully prepared in all its seasoned-and-stuffed glory. She felt quite proud of herself, despite being well into her thirties and never having prepped a holiday dinner by herself. Turkey roasting—check. Now onto getting the green bean-cranberry casserole ready for later.
“Hello?” She squeezed the phone between her ear and shoulder as she carried the empty platter to the sink for washing.
“Layla.”
It was Marybelle. It was only one word yet Layla knew something was wrong. Marybelle’s tone was clipped and a bit frantic.
