by Kiera Jayne
“Ah,” Grady said. It still didn’t make much sense to him.
Layla raised her eyebrows at him. “Ah, what?”
“Will you try again?”
Layla frowned. “Grady, I just told you I'm afraid.”
“I get that. But you should try to conquer your fear,” Grady said.
Layla huffed and mumbled something under her breath.
Grady took his eyes off the road for a moment. “What are you afraid of?”
“I told you, heights!” Layla exclaimed.
“Why?”
Fear filled her eyes.
Grady grabbed a hold of her wrist to calm her. “Why are you afraid? What's the difference between a tree and a rock face to you?”
Layla squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.
“Tell me,” he whispered, sending skitters down her body.
“Someone close to me got hurt on some rocks like that, okay?”
Grady nodded. “That sounds legit.”
Layla glared at him. “It is. My family was spending the day in the Snowy Mountains National Park and some of the guys decided they wanted to try the rock climbing they had there. My younger brother, Sean can be as gung-ho as you and he fell 5 meters, broke his arm and ribs, had a concussion, and had to be airlifted back to Canberra Hospital. I watched it all happen like some personal horror movie and I couldn’t do anything to help him.”
“I’m sorry that happened to your brother.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Layla stared out her window and her fingers fiddled with the buttons on the side of her phone, which she held in her lap.
“Let me help you get over that.” His voice had turned husky and Layla felt her defences threatening to drop.
“No,” Layla whispered.
Her breathing became ragged as he gently grazed one finger over the palm of her hand.
“Experiment,” he insisted.
“No,” Layla repeated. She felt his fingers capture her own.
“Relax,” he said.
Layla tried to steady her breathing. Her fingers curled around his. He lifted her hand up and Layla felt his soft lips brush across her knuckles. She wondered if he could hear her pounding heart.
“How much further?” Layla whispered.
“Ten minutes,” Grady told her.
If Penrith was only fifteen minutes away from Upper Telwick, that meant this would be a quick before lunch trip. Layla wondered why she felt disappointed about that.
“You know, if you need some more art supplies, we could always stop by the art shop in Penrith, too.”
Layla slowly turned her cautiously excited face to him. “There’s an art shop?”
Grady laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
By the time she had bought her new hiking boots and some art supplies, an easy camaraderie had developed between Layla and Grady. He was even a gentleman and carried the heaviest of her bags for her.
“You know, I don’t think I could ever get sick of all the old stone buildings this country has,” Layla said. Her eyes trailed over the closely built buildings of the pedestrian-only laneway as they were making their way back to the car. The heels of her shoes click-clacked against the uneven cobblestones beneath her. Cobblestones. She adored cobblestones.
“You like them, huh? I tend to lean towards more modern builds. Clean, sharp lines, stark colours—"
“Buildings with no personality?” Layla finished for him.
“That’s a bit harsh,” Grady replied.
“But it’s true. I mean, you guys have buildings that are older than my country. Look at that pub over there.”
Grady followed her pointed finger across to the old white building they had just passed.
“When we walked past I overheard the proprietor telling some patrons that it’s been around since the late fifteenth century. My aunt’s cottage dates back to the seventeenth century. It’s personality, it’s charm, it’s . . . I mean, imagine the things these buildings have seen.”
“You’re really passionate about this.”
“Yes, I am. The UK is steeped in such rich and ancient history, and I love that about it.”
There was that defiant look of hers again. It was sexy as all hell. Grady squeezed her wrist and was pleased when she took his hand. “What else are you passionate about?”
She lifted the bag in her hand. “Art.”
He moved in closer to her. “What else?”
“Equality,” she said automatically.
“Equality?” Grady questioned.
“Yeah, I think it’s stupid that my dad can’t marry his boyfriend.” The words were out of Layla’s mouth before she could stop them and if the gobsmacked expression on Grady’s face was anything to go by, maybe she should have been more careful.
He slowed to a stop. “Sorry, did you say . . . your dad’s boyfriend?”
Layla tensed. “Yes.”
“Are you adopted?”
“No, I have a mother. She and Dad were married for thirty-two years and had us four kids together.”
Grady shook his head in confusion. Clearly, he was trying to figure this thing out, so she helped him.
“My dad’s bisexual.”
“Ah. Wow.”
“‘Ah, wow.’ Is that a good ah, wow?” Layla pulled her hand from his and planted it on her hip.
“Course it is. People can’t help who they’re attracted to. Sexuality is as much a part of someone as your fern green eyes,” he pinned her gaze with his, “or the curvature of your lips.”
Layla’s lips parted as Grady traced his fingernail over her lower one. He was so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body.
“What about you? Do you take after your mother or your father?” Grady murmured.
“I’m straight,” Layla replied.
“Okay then. Good.”
Grady slowly lowered his mouth to hers and her breathing seemed to stop altogether. Layla opened her lips to him. The feel of his tongue dipping into her mouth sent sparks through her. He was even better than what she had imagined and she wanted more. She wanted everything Grady had to offer.
But she couldn't have everything. Not with Grady. Because there was still the little matter of her husband and the fact that he had called her again.
Layla broke the kiss off and asked, “When does the metre run out?”
“Not sure,” Grady replied.
“Oh,” she muttered.
Grady flashed the Grady Smirk and made a move for Layla's lips again.
Layla stepped away from him and quickly continued down the footpath. “We should probably get going so you don't cop a fine.”
Grady gritted his teeth and trailed after her.
“Here we are!” Rosie announced when she and Layla reached the very top of the biggest hill that overlooked Upper Telwick.
“Look at that view!” Layla gushed as her green eyes scanned the small village below.
It was such a picturesque place, as close to perfect as Layla could imagine with its rolling green hills, ancient buildings and ruins, and a couple of lakes dotted here and there.
“You truly have the most beautiful country, Rosie,” Layla quietly gushed.
“I'm glad you think so. I hope you're finding what you need by being here,” Rosie said as she sat down on a rock and pulled a thermos from her backpack. “Minestrone soup?”
“That sounds great.”
Rosie took a mug out of her backpack and poured some of the soup into it before passing it to Layla.
Lalya shook her head and gazed over the valley again. “I'm honestly not sure what I need at the moment, Rosie. My emotions are all over the place, my judgement is shit.”
“What made you come here in the first place?”
Layla took a moment to respond. “It all just got to be too much at home. Shit hit the fan in a big way and I ran—as fast and as far away as I could.” Layla blinked back some tears. “Now I have unfinished business back there, and then here, I've got . . .”
&nbs
p; “Grady?” Rosie guessed.
Layla snapped her head around to Rosie and she felt her cheeks growing warm. As soon as she heard his name, she could feel how his lips had felt on hers.
“You like him, don't you?” Rosie smiled softly “I can tell.”
Layla hugged her hands around the warm cup. “How?”
“You could've asked me or Myra to take you into Penrith. But no, you went straight to Grady and asked him. You risked him taking you all that way on his motorbike.”
“But he didn't. We borrowed Myra's car.”
Rosie nodded. “He did that for you.”
“You don't know that.”
“Yes, I do. That man is infatuated with you.” Rosie studied her. “Is the feeling mutual?”
Layla sighed and fiddled with the ring on her left middle finger. “It shouldn't be,” she answered quietly, almost to herself.
“Why not?” Rosie asked.
Layla lifted her cup and changed the subject. “Nice soup.”
Grady wasn't sure why he had decided his jog had to take him past Layla's place. It was like he was asking for trouble, but for some reason, no matter how many mood swings she had towards him, Grady couldn't stay away. As he approached her cottage, he saw her kneeling beside a pot. The woman could even make a tatty, old, grey jumper look sexy.
Grady slowed his pace as Layla pushed a flower bulb into the potting mix and he wondered what she was planting.
Jeez, suddenly he had an interest in gardening? Grady shook his head at himself.
“Hey, gorgeous. How'd those boots work out?” Grady called out.
Layla glanced over her shoulder at him. Thankfully, she smiled at him instead of the scowl that often accompanied their meetings. “Hi, Grady. They were good. Thanks for taking me to get them.”
“You already thanked me, Layla,” Grady said.
She shrugged. “Well, I'm a grateful person.”
He jerked his chin towards her project. “What are you planting?”
Layla replied, holding up the packet. “Tulips.”
“You love flowers, don't you?”
Layla cocked an eyebrow at him. “How do you figure?”
“Your drawing of the foxglove, the way you always sit here in the garden, the flower wallpaper on your phone . . .” Grady explained.
Layla's mouth dropped open.
“I noticed yesterday in the car. You were sitting right next to me, it was easy to see your phone screen.”
“That's true,” Layla admitted. She got to her feet. Dusting her hands off, she took a tentative step towards the gate where Grady stood. “I guess it just surprises me that you would take notice of mundane stuff like that.”
“Not notice that you're a total girl?”
Layla laughed.
“You're not cross, then?”
“About what?” Layla asked.
Grady leaned his hands on the gate. “About what happened between us.”
“Oh, you mean . . .” Layla tapped her lips.
“That's exactly what I meant,” Grady replied huskily.
His body hummed as she came over and leaned against the stone wall, close to him. He wasn't sure if she was aware of how close she was to him, but right now, the gate was the only physical obstacle separating them. Unfortunately, there were a heck of a lot of emotional obstacles, as well.
Layla chewed the inside of her lower lip. Her cheeks had turned the same soft pink as the roses at the far end of the yard. “I'm not cross.” She lowered her gaze.
“Good,” Grady muttered.
“But I can't kiss you again.”
Grady's heart sank.
“My life is messy, Grady, and I don't want to drag you into it.”
So, she wasn't rejecting him for him, exactly. Grady could see that sadness in her eyes again and it was mixed with fear.
“Drag me into what?”
Layla sealed her lips shut.
“Can't we just hang out and not worry about all of that stuff, have a good time?” Grady asked.
“‘A good time?’ ‘A good time’ is what led me here in the first place. Only, it wasn't my good time,” she mumbled under her breath.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I'm not that kind of woman, Grady. When I get involved with someone, I tumble. I wish I didn’t; I wish I could keep things casual and fun, but I can't. I-I'm not built that way.”
He was glad to hear that. Grady wanted her to tumble because he was already tumbling for her. He wished he knew what was holding her back. He wished Layla would open up to him.
“I should let you get back to your run. These tulips won't plant themselves,” Layla said.
Grady tried not to let the disappointment show on his face as the two of them took a step back from each other.
“Get those endorphins pumping,” Layla ordered.
Grady chuckled at her as she mimed running.
“Pu-Puppies w-were ev-ery-where,” Edwin stammered as he attempted to read a book along with Layla.
She smiled at him when he glanced at her for approval and not for the first time that day, she noticed the way Edwin was wearing his father’s medal with pride. Myra had secretly informed her that it was a replica her husband had made for his son, who wanted to be just like his dad. Edwin had no idea about this, though—he thought it was the genuine article, which was all that mattered.
Winston had tried to take it, but Edwin had stood up for himself and told the bully that only heroes got to wear medals. Edwin had won lots of fans for the day.
“That's good, Edwin. Keep going,” Layla encouraged.
“They were in the . . . gar . . . garrrr . . . garden, in the den and even the . . . Layla, I don't know that word.”
“Sound it out,” Layla said.
Edwin tried, but in vain. “I can't get it.”
“Sure, you can. I'll help you. Say it after me.”
Together, the two of them sounded out ‘kitchen.’
“See? You'll get there if you work hard.”
“If you work hard, you get things,” Edwin said.
“You do? Like what?” Layla asked.
“Like money, and medals—"
Layla spotted Grady at the door of the classroom. “Affection.”
Grady spotted her and the way he looked at her made her feel warm inside.
“What does that mean?” Edwin said.
Layla turned back to the boy. “It's something people who like you give to you. If you work on being kind to people, they will show you affection.”
“I like being kind.”
“I know, you're a lovely boy,” Layla told him.
The bell to signal the end of the day began to ring and the kids all dashed for their bags.
“Steady on, children!” the teacher called.
Layla got to her feet. She smiled at Grady as she placed the book back on the shelf, and he winked at her. She spent altogether too long straightening up the books in an attempt to hide her reaction to him.
“Come on, Ed. Get your bag,” Grady instructed.
“What's for tea?” Edwin asked.
“Beef stew. It's been in the pot all day.”
“Does it have carrots in it?” Edwin sounded disgusted.
“It does. And lots of other great stuff.”
Layla finally found her courage and went over to them. “Carrots are good, Edwin, especially in a stew. I'll bet your mum put all sorts of goodness into it.”
“I made it, actually,” Grady said.
Layla waved her hand at him. “Or your uncle.”
“Why don't you come for tea?” Edwin asked Layla.
“Oh. No, no . . .”
“That's a good idea, Ed.” Grady regarded her. “You should come.”
“Ahh, no, I-I already have some dinner waiting for me at home.” She noticed the way Grady's face fell. Layla wanted to say yes. “Maybe another time.”
“Right.” Grady's polite smile didn't reach his rich brown eyes. “Come on, Ed
.”
“Bye, Layla.”
Layla waved again as the village’s two most handsome boys walked out of the building.
It wasn't long before she arrived home to a dinner of tomatoes on toast and another unwanted phone call from Rick. With a roll of her eyes, Layla declined the call and settled back to watch an episode of some brainless British football soap.
When Layla arrived at art class that Sunday, Rosie greeted her with a hug.
“Are you ready to continue painting our model?” Rosie asked as she set out her brushes.
“As I'll ever be.”
The sexual tension between her and Grady had been simmering away every time they crossed paths and after their kiss in Penrith it was at boiling point. Now Layla had to sit there and paint him and pretend she wasn’t attracted to him. She wasn’t looking forward to this at all.
“I’m not very good at it, though,” she admitted.
Rosie shrugged. “That's why we’re here to learn, isn't it?”
“Agreed,” Layla said.
“Hello, everybody!” Sue said as she stood at the front of the room. “Welcome back. How was your week?”
“My little Keisha caught a summer flu and spent most of the week at home,” Taleesha moaned. “It cut into all of my salon time. I've got so much catching up to do.”
“I'm sorry to hear that,” Sue said.
“My granddaughter had a baby boy, so I'm a great-grandmother, now.” Mrs. Pearce beamed with pride.
Gentle coos made their way through the group.
“I love babies. What did they name him?” Layla asked.
“Braxton Rupert. Such a modern name, I'm not sure why they couldn't have put Rupert first.” Mrs. Pearce’s befuddled expression made a few people laugh.
“Hi there, everyone.”
Layla tensed at the familiar voice. Her heart pounded in her chest at the sight of him. She felt a strong urge to race over and throw herself into his arms. She had actually missed him. When Grady took the time to locate her, she felt like she was the most special person in the village and she felt herself smile at him. When he smiled back, she felt almost giddy—a feeling she hadn't felt for a long time.
Grady took his clothing off and Layla quickly glanced away. She couldn't let the whole class know about her feelings for him. Being at the centre of gossip was a frightening prospect for her, given what had happened the last time around.
