“Right.” She rolled her eyes. Marybelle was a terrible liar. “In case you didn’t notice, Brant and I aren’t exactly together anymore.”
A stern look replaced Marybelle’s wide-eyed innocence. “What does that have to do with returning casserole dishes?” She mumbled something under her breath that sounded like “Clueless young people.”
“I don’t want to see him.” She lowered her voice as customers wandered over to their side of the store.
“Just drop it off at his workplace.”
“He’s working from home these days.”
Marybelle’s eyes lit up before she checked herself. “Please, Layla?” she said. “I can’t make him come all this way.”
Resigned, she grabbed the bag and headed to the back room without another word. If Marybelle didn’t care that she didn’t want to see him, well, it spoke volumes about their friendship. Sometimes Marybelle was pushy to the point that Layla wondered if winning was more important to her than Layla’s feelings.
She set the bag on her desk and picked up her phone to search for Light the Night’s business number. Calling Brant was out of the question. She’d rather talk to his office assistant. No danger there.
While she waited for the call to connect, she looked again at the Kringle Market Crawl card in her hand. It was such a cute concept. It still boggled her mind how she ended up on it. She flipped the card over and put on her reading classes to see the fine print.
And saw the answer to her question in red at the bottom of the card.
Ofcourse.
The Kringle Market Crawl was sponsored by the Twin Cities Chamber of Commerce.
It was also sponsored by Brant Johnsson and Light the Night, LLC.
Her pulse quickened as she focused on his name. The letters grew blurry until she flipped it over to look at the other side again.
Her little square for Copper Creek Home was professionally designed like the rest. The business logo—a vector of a Victorian-style house—was prominent in the center. She ran her fingers over it as mixed emotions clouded her thoughts. The anger she’d felt after the Holly Days dinner was still there, and it surged again. His little acts of service—bringing her supply box all the way to Copper Creek, the Thanksgiving dinner, helping her decorate the inn—lifted her opinion of him. And now this advertisement. He’d obviously paid for her portion. But did Brant think good deeds cancelled his mistakes? Yes, he’d apologized once. She’d forgiven him. This last time he hadn’t a clue what he’d done, but what she’d overheard made it clear. Did the gratitude she felt for how he’d helped her business lessen the importance of her feelings? It was too much to think about now.
Someone on the other end finally answered.
“Light the Night. This is Joan.”
She didn’t give her name, only saying she had something to drop off for Brant. Joan mentioned that Brant wasn’t there, but she’d be happy to see he got it. After getting the address, Layla hung up.
Perfect. He wasn’t there.
That was exactly what she wanted to hear.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Layla pulled next to the curb in front of Brant’s house. She shut off the car and sat for a moment looking at the neighborhood before her. It was quiet since it was midweek. Tidy brick bungalows with oversized yards lined the street. In the yard next to Brant’s house, a young woman and a toddler in a hot pink snowsuit lay on their backs in the snow, making snow angels. She could hear the child’s giggles even with her windows rolled up. Layla took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutters in her stomach. He wasn’t even here and she was a nervous wreck.
Halfway up the sidewalk, Layla remembered she’d left the dishes in the car. When she grabbed them from the passenger seat and closed the car door, a woman came onto the porch, waiting for her.
“Are you Layla?” she asked.
Layla slowed her steps. “I am.”
Joan waved her in. “Come in. You called earlier, right?” She held the door open for Layla. “I’m Joan, Brant’s office assistant.”
Office assistant.
This was who Brant intended to ask to the Holly Days dinner. She tried hard not to stare as she followed Joan into the house, but she couldn’t help wonder why her? A little resentment filled her at feeling rushed too. Layla would have loved to linger and take in the details of Brant’s home.
Joan showed her into a book-lined room off the living room. She took the bag of dishes from Layla, setting them on a low file cabinet as if they were an afterthought. Her focus was all on Layla.
“Care to sit for a bit? I just brewed a fresh pot.”
