Layla laughed again. “Good luck filling in the rest of your card. Nice to see you again, Sheila.”
Poor Jo. She still waited for Layla to bring out more garland since Sheila had sidetracked her. In the back room, Layla loaded her arms with the rest of the garland packages she had on hand, the Tupperware of Marybelle’s cookies, and a fresh stack of cups. After she distributed those things, she’d make more coffee and refill the carafe of cider.
Out in the shop, the door chimes rang. Layla smiled to herself. She was riding the high of her successful business and the anticipation of a fun night out to network for more. But she wasn’t kidding herself. That wasn’t all.
What she really looked forward to was spending more time with Brant. Now that she’d decided once and for all to put the past where it belonged, her mind liked to wander. Their encounter last year had been a mistake. He’d apologized. End of story.
It wasten minutes until three. She popped into the shop again to say goodbye to Jo and give her a few last-minute instructions before Brant arrived. Jo had taken so quickly to the checkout process and other details that Layla had complete confidence in her to handle the shop for another hour until Marybelle came to lock up. Thankfully, business had slowed as the afternoon wore on.
Before she got to the bottom of the stairs, she heard Brant’s voice.
He wore a buckskin-colored coat and sunglasses. His normally windswept hair was tamed, the waves combed into behaving. His look was such a contrast against the plaid holiday ribbons and snowflakes, the flocked trees adorned with iridescent bulbs and feathered bird ornaments that she stopped to stare at him just inside the back room’s doorway. Jo looked a little flustered talking to him. Layla didn’t blame her.
“Brant, you’re early.” She walked into the shop before he caught her gawking.
He swiveled on his boot heels toward her and checked his phone. “I thought ten minutes early was considered punctual.”
“Only when you’re not keeping my employees from working.”
“Ahh.” He looked back at Jo. “Sorry. Nice to meet you.”
Layla noted the flush on Jo’s cheeks and smiled. “Let’s go over some last-minute instructions. Brant, I’ll meet you outside.”
“Can I take your bag to the truck?” he asked, pointing to her duffel.
“Yes, thank you.”
She took it from her shoulder at the same time Brant reached for the handle. Their fingers brushed. A little current of warmth sparked in her hand and traveled up her arm. Brant felt it too by the way his eyes darted to hers as soon as they touched. His one-sided smile was equal parts seductive and full of boyish charm.
Layla cleared her throat, determined not to let his every smile and lingering glance cloud her judgment before they even made it to Hendricks. Her motto for the rest of the day:Play it cool.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Beside him, Layla sat still except for her hands. She held them in her lap, picking at her nails while staring out the window. “Anxious” wasn’t a word he’d ever use to describe Layla. But something had her out of sorts.
He looked over at her. “Hungry? This place up here has the best cinnamon rolls.” He pointed through the window toward the little bakery right off the highway. He had stopped last year on his way up to the Boundary Waters for a canoe trip. Just thinking about the gooey sweetness made his mouth water. Yes, the rolls had been that memorable. He didn’t wait for an answer and instead, turned on his signal to pull into Hal’s Bakery.
She finally spoke up. “We’ll ruin our appetites.”
He shot her a skeptical look. “I have never ruined my appetite.”
“I supposed I could find a little something for my sweet tooth.”
“It shouldn’t be hard.”
Her phone beeped with an incoming message. “I’ll trust you on that. Get me something while I answer this, please. It’s my new hire.”
He pulled into a parking space and unbuckled his belt. “I’m glad you decided to find some help.”
“Me too. With Marybelle still taking it easy, I couldn’t rely only on her. This girl is a dream. Best move of the year.”
He put his hand up for a high five. “I think I put that bug in your ear, didn’t I?”
She squinted at him, smiling. “I was going to thank you before you took the credit.”
“Just didn’t want you to forget.” He winked. “Prepare yourself to taste a world-class cinnamon roll.”
Inside, he was the only one there. The woman behind the counter, wearing a cheerful gingham apron, ruddy cheeks, and a flour smear across her chin, took his order. As she handed him his bag and took his money, the door opened behind him.
