Layla had been deep in conversation with Chuck Hennessy, president of a regional bank, whom she’d known since moving to the Twin Cities area. They’d been talking about decorating the bank’s five branches when she felt a hand on her upper arm. Layla spun around to see who it was, and before she could register a single, coherent thought, a pair of lips met hers. Layla couldn’t find her voice; the shock stole her breath like a vacuum.
Her hand pressed against a large, muscular chest, and for one swoony moment, Layla went all lightheaded and weak-kneed and hated herself for it. Then the person pulled away and she really hated herself.
Brant Johnsson.
Egotistical, ridiculously handsome Brant Johnsson.
A curl of hair like a comma hung seductively against his forehead. His eyes widened when he looked at her, his mouth gaping open like a beached fish. If he were a cartoon character, his eyeballs would have popped from their sockets and rolled across the floor. It would have been almost comical if the whole embarrassing incident hadn’t happened right in front of Chuck.
Brant mumbled something, including a hurried “sorry,” before his girlfriend showed up. Layla burned with humiliation, while Brant made a joke about it to the woman.
She told herself if she ever came face to face with Brant again she wouldn’t be so tongue-tied. Arrogant and insensitive, he needed a telling-off like no other. But after seeing him again tonight, she’d been too shell-shocked to say anything other than the one- and two-word answers to his inane questions.
Chapter Four
His head pounded.
Brant opened his eyes. His room was still dark. What time was it anyway?
Fumbling for his phone on the nightstand, he squinted at the screen—only 7:01. He had a few more minutes before the shower called to him, so he scrunched the pillow underneath his head and closed his eyes again.
More pounding.
Funny, his headaches had never been this rhythmic before.
When it happened a third time, Brant kicked off the blanket. Someone was at his door. He gave the light-blocking shades an appreciative glance as he crossed the room. They hadn’t allowed a sliver of light into the cottage since sunrise. He made a mental note to get some for home, anything to help him sleep. Brant padded toward the door, opened it, and blinked into the early morning light outside, a painful contrast to the dark cottage.
“I’m so sorry to wake you, Brant. I feel horrible,” Darcy whispered, pulling the bottom of her parka hood tightly against her neck. “But the power is out and the backup system isn’t kicking on. Do you know anything about generators?”
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes to see Darcy more clearly. “A little bit. I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute.”
She pressed her palms together. “Thank you so much. I’ll be in the dining room area.”
Brant stood there a minute, watching her weave through a newly shoveled makeshift path from the inn to his cottage on the back lawn. It was already warming up outside, judging by the water dripping into the rain barrel next to the small porch. On the roof, the slate tiles showed in patches where snow had already melted. Thankfully the snow was the dry, powdery kind; the storm had been more bluster and wind. Give it a couple hours and he’d have no problem getting this finished in time.
He paused midstep. If the power came back. No electricity added a new wrinkle to his plans.
He found Darcy and Sean with two guests in the dining room. She apologized profusely for not having the breakfast casserole out or the coffee made, and even though the guests seemed more than understanding, Darcy couldn’t let it go.
“This exact situation is why we have a generator,” she whispered to Brant when he joined the group. “I hope it’s something simple.”
“Can you show me where it is?”
“Follow me,” said Sean.
Luckily, it was something simple. At least according to the HVAC guy Sean called after Brant told him what he thought it might be. But Mr. HVAC was heading to another job, which was about to take him out of the coverage area. He’d call Brant as soon as he was back at his shop in Two Rivers to walk him through resetting the system. That sent Darcy into a whirl. It also meant he wouldn’t be able to use his drill to put the light anchors in place. Stringing lights would have to wait.
Back in the dining room, guests scattered amongst the tables. Darcy stood near the empty buffet, twisting a curl around her fingers. In the far corner, near the French doors to the patio, Layla sat alone, sipping juice and studying her phone. A soft ray of light filtered through the windows, surrounding her in a soft, golden light. It was such an inviting scene, he found himself wandering over, hoping to clear away some of the awkwardness of their meeting last night.
“Good morning.” His tone struck the right balance, not too eager, but interested. Definitely interested.
She looked up briefly then went back to her phone. “Morning,” she said. If her voice were a food, it would be a potato latke. Flat and bland.
“Is the power going to affect your work today?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Plenty of natural light to get the job done.” After a few seconds, she looked up at him again and threw him a flat smile. “You?”
“Snow will be a problem. No electricity for the drill either.” He shrugged.
