Sure enough, there was Brant in all his light-slinging, Gosling-grinning glory. He squatted on a roof, cotton ball clouds hanging in the sky behind him, his dark hair tossed and a shadow beard hiding his strong jaw. She almost fanned her face with the dish towel before she caught herself.
“He’s good-looking, honey.” Her mom said this with an air of wonderment, as if catching this man’s attention was a great accomplishment for her daughter.
Gerald was already engrossed in Brant’s video. “He’s giving tips in this one about attaching string lights with those clip things.” He looked up at Lita. “My light-stringing days on the roof are over, so don’t get any ideas.”
Lita tapped him playfully on the shoulder. “We could hirehim.”
“No!” Layla straightened. That came out way more forcefully than she intended. “I mean, he only does big clients,” she finished, lowering her voice. All she needed was her parents getting into the matchmaking game too. Marybelle was bad enough. It was time to shut this topic down.
“I’d better get downstairs. It’s a quarter to ten.”
Her dad tore his gaze away from his laptop and pushed aside the sheer curtain next to him. “There are five cars in front already.”
She sighed. “I’ve never wished more for Christmas to hurry up and get here.”
Her mother hadn’t taken her eyes off the screen. “We'll be down to help as soon as I get this in the oven and clean up a bit,” she said.
She left them watching Brant’s videos, their voices following her, even when she closed her apartment door and retreated down the stairwell toward her shop. It was a little annoying that her parents huddled together to watch Brant make the task of hanging Christmas lights seem like something akin to watching a world-class rock concert.
But strangely, at the same time, she liked it.
That night,Layla stood in front of her bedroom mirror. It was long past the time her parents had fallen asleep on the futon in her living room and past her own bedtime as well. But she wasn’t tired.
Part of it was the high of breaking her sales record for a single day.Obliteratedit, actually. Calling all of her local artist friends was on her agenda tomorrow, even though it was her off day. She’d beg, plead, whatever it took to get some more merchandise to stock her tables and shelves. Next year would be different. She’d be prepared.
Her apartment was quiet. The sounds of water running through the radiator and the scratching on the bathroom window from a branch of the old tamarack tree occasionally cut through the silence. On the middle of her bed, her laptop displayed the screen saver of a twinkling Christmas tree in Chicago’s Millennium Park. It reminded her ofhim.
She looked again at her reflection. The black dress she’d slipped into was a favorite one in her closet. It had a satin bodice with a straight neckline that grazed her collarbone. Wide shoulder straps crisscrossed in the back. The long skirt was a sumptuous, flowing velvet; she loved the feel of it skimming her ankles when she walked. To top off the look, a thin rhinestone belt encircled her waist. This dress was the jeans-and-sweatshirt equivalent of comfort and her kind of understated style.
The screen saver caught her attention again in the mirror’s reflection. She kicked off the strappy sandals and flopped onto the bed, moving the touchpad to pull up the home screen. After a quick search, a list of Brant’s videos appeared a few seconds later.
She clicked on the first one:Using Lights in Outdoor Rooms Throughout the Year.
A music clip from Duncan’s “Light Up the Sky” played as Brant’s logo popped up and blinked in a mix of colors until it finally faded out. Then Brant appeared.
He was a natural. His smile lit up the screen. Some people came alive in front of an audience, and Brant was one of those people. He was animated and funny.
Electric.
Layla couldn’t care less about C9 lights, four-inch spacing between strands, and bulb replacement strategies. What captivated her was his smooth, unhurried delivery as he spoke and the way his eyes sparked when he grinned. She replayed one ten-second sequence a handful of times just to see him flash that smile. He was as nimble on a ladder as a circus performer, despite his size. Everything about him captivated her. She caught herself holding her breath more than once.
His kindness toward her since she’d first seen him again at Blueberry Point Lodge warmed her even more. He’d come to her rescue in so many ways. Bringing her lunch that day without power. Helping her decorate until the electricity came back. Then bringing her forgotten supplies all the way to Copper Creek and the Thanksgiving leftovers too. He’d even charmed Marybelle, which was no small feat.
Brant knew he’d messed up the night they met. He’d told her repeatedly he wished he’d reacted differently. And she believed him. It wasn’t only lip service, his apology. He’d proved it to her many times over.
She froze the video and got off the bed.
This was crazy. What was happening here?
She looked down at herself, still wearing the dress. Then at the laptop, to Brant’s frozen, grinning image.
Layla nodded, feeling a smile slowly spread across her face.
It wasn’t exactly a lightbulb moment; it happened so gradually. Layla likened it more to the slow smolder of kindling when a little curl of smoke hinted at the inevitable spark.
But there was no denying it—something had definitely caught fire.
Chapter Twenty-One
