“That’s too bad.”
She didn’t sound too broken up about it, but then why would she? He was quickly running out of talking points.
“I have a cordless drill with me. You can use it if you want,” Layla offered while she concentrated on her phone. Little beeps and blips told him she was playing a game.
“Not enough power. But thanks.”
She nodded, still not looking at him. “Okay.”
He glanced at the empty seat beside her, thought about asking if he could join her, then thought better of it. Brushing a 110-volt circuit would be less painful than trying to milk this conversation anymore. He was about to grab what he could from the breakfast buffet when she cleared her throat and set her phone down.
“I heard you recommended me.”
“Excuse me?” The words caught in his throat for a second.
“Darcy said you recommended me for the job.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and inadvertently looked across the room at Darcy. She’d left her spot near the buffet and settled at one of the tables with a guest.
“You do good work. I don’t know too many designers who do Christmas as well as you do.”
Layla blinked. Her forehead furrowed slightly. Then it was like a cosmic eraser brushed her face and the cool nonchalance was back. She tossed her hair over one shoulder.
“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
Maybe he was getting somewhere, though their last meeting hung like wet laundry between them. He could see it in her eyes as she studied him like a lab specimen ready for dissection. The irritation was still there, but the thin, grim line of her mouth had softened. Layla was all business.
“No problem.”
She stared at him for a moment longer before she scooped her belongings into the bag as if she couldn’t bear another second in his presence.
“I need to get to work,” she said.
He took a step closer. It’d be nice to clear the air. “Listen, I need to—”
Layla froze, staring down at her bag.
“Maybe we could start over.” He held his breath.
She looked up at him with the same indifference. Then her gaze traveled downward, from his face to the laces on his boots, and slowly reversed course. Her unhurried scrutiny was unsettling. But if he felt she was even mildly attracted to him, the look would have scorched him.
“There was never a beginning, so no worries.”
Layla dragged her bag from the table, hitching it over her shoulder as she walked toward the stairs.
Yee-owtch.
Brant rubbed the back of his neck, watching her go. He smiled, despite the verbal zinger. So Layla Dean wasn’t the forgiving sort. Not that he expected to make amends. But still.
As he tried to find the silver lining in their exchange, Brant poured himself a coffee from the little brew pot Darcy had plugged in to a battery pack and went in search of Jeff. The guy worked hard, but Brant lost count of the times he’d had to wake Jeff from a solid sleep midmorning.
They worked through the rest of the morning, laying light strands at ground level around the inn’s perimeter. It grew warmer by the hour until patches of green grass poked through the snow on the lawn. The sun beat down while he and Jeff draped shrubs nearest the house in white lights then moved to the arborvitae hedges in the west garden after brushing snow from everything. Solid colors for those—greens, reds, and purples—and a short hedge of boxwoods done in white. They also started hanging small, solar-powered wreaths from the main-level windows, and secured the weather-resistant red swags underneath the stone window aprons. Brant knew the final vision of Blueberry Point Lodge decked in all its holiday finery would be nothing short of majestic. That was why some of his clients paid him to come hundreds of miles.
He and Jeff strategized about what the afternoon would look like. They’d finish what they could without power, and hopefully it would be restored by tomorrow. The forecast looked clear and twenty degrees warmer. With luck, the rest of the snow would be gone before the sun went down and they could get the lights on the dormers, rooflines, and chimneys.
Now there was nothing else to do but wait.
Fixingdinner without power was a sublime affair. Brant helped Sean fire up the grill that had been stowed away in the carriage house for the winter. “But it’s always ready for times like these,” Sean told him, looking more than pleased to be wheeling it out into the open again. Brant hauled wood to one of the fire pits near the cottages and made a fire. The group dined on pork chops and campfire potatoes wrapped in foil. For dessert, Darcy threw together cherry cobbler in a Dutch oven. They brought out wool blankets and lawn chairs and sat around the fire eating from paper bowls.
