Brant almost tripped over his chair, crossing the kitchen to catch her.
“Layla, wait.”
She was already halfway to the back door of her shop, walking too fast and slipping on the slick pavement.
He hurried down steps. “Layla! I just want to talk.”
Layla whirled around.
“I think you’ve said enough.”
“What does that mean? What did I do that you won’t even tell me what’s wrong?”
Even in the cold her face flushed with anger. Her eyes flashed but they were glazed too, like she was either on the verge of tears or she’d had a rough night’s sleep. He could relate. The last few nights had been hard on him too. She stood there staring at him, a muscle in her jaw twitching.
“So you weren’t really sick.” It wasn’t an accusation. It was him stating a fact.
“Brant. It’s just… I don’t think it will work.”
“Wait—what? Everything was good. Better than good. Thatkiss.”
“Right,” she said, her eyes widening for a second, but she wouldn’t look at him.
“Are you back with him?”
“Who, Kyle?” She gave him an incredulous look. “Why doesthatmatter?”
Brant sighed and looked down the street. She didn’t owe him an answer, but she didn’t deny it either. “So whathappened? With us.” He heard the desperation in his tone, but he didn’t care. He wanted an answer.
“I made a mistake is what happened.”
“What does that mean?”
“You should know. Those were your words too.”
He searched her face for more clarity. “A mistake? I would never say that. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a while.” It sounded so cliche and he cringed, hoping she didn’t think so too. “A long while.”
She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “You know what? I’m finished. You talked your way out of the first time you insulted me and I forgave you for it. Not again.”
Layla backed toward the concrete steps leading up to her shop. The snow came down heavier, large flakes crowning the top of her head, dotting the shoulders of her red parka.
“I’m not going to just hand my heart over to you because you apologize again. I don’t trust you.”
She took the steps two at a time and flung open her back door. The slam of her shop’s door reverberated in the cold. Brant stood there, replaying her words in his mind.
I don’t trust you.
He didn’t know what he needed to apologize for this time. But it didn’t matter.
He was out of chances.
Layla had made that perfectly clear.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It had been one week since she’d seen Brant in the alley behind her shop. She kept revisiting their argument in her mind. Memories of the look on his face when she told him she was finished clouded her thoughts. She tried to link her anger to the words she overheard him say to Sean the night of the Holly Days Festival dinner, but as each day put more distance between then and the present, the emotion dulled. Those niggling thoughts woke her at all hours of the night. Did she overreact? Had she misunderstood? He’d seemed genuinely confused by her anger.
At night, in her quiet apartment with snow softly falling outside her window, there was nothing but time to dwell on this. But it was easy to push the questions from her mind during the day. Business at the shop reached a fever pitch; it was the week before Christmas. At the counter, Layla rolled a salt glaze hurricane lamp in bubble wrap then carefully placed it into a handled bag for the woman in front of her.
