by Kiera Jayne
The slightest frown creased Layla's forehead.
“You could, you know. I promise.”
“Okay, well . . . thanks.” Layla indicated the open pantry. “Honey, peanut butter, jam, or Vegemite?”
Grady pulled a face. “I'll skip the Vegemite.”
Layla laughed and watched him pull out the jar of honey. She carried the pieces of toast to their plates and sat down opposite him.
“So, what's your story?” Grady asked as he spread honey onto his toast.
Layla flashed him a questioning glance. “What do you mean?”
“Well, whereabouts in Australia are you from? Where'd you grow up? Who was your first kiss? Stuff like that.”
Layla laughed. “Already asking about past boyfriends?”
“Can't blame a lad for learning about his competition,” Grady joked.
“Hah! I don't think you could call Scott Rogerson competition since I haven't seen him since year six,” Layla scoffed.
“He was your first kiss?”
“Yes. He thought my green eyes were pretty.”
“A man with taste.” Grady stroked Layla's temple, drawing her gaze to his. “They're beautiful.”
“Is that what attracted you to me?” Layla asked.
“One in a long list of reasons,” Grady said.
The corners of Layla's lips curved up slightly.
“I think the way you always blush is sexy.” Grady kissed Layla's cheek. “This mind so full of intelligence.” He kissed her forehead. Grady lifted her hands and studied the paint stains on them. “These hands create such beauty.” He kissed her knuckles.
Layla's breath shook.
Grady pulled her closer. “This mouth that can be so witty, so clever, and sometimes, can cut me to the bone.” His mouth hovered close to hers. “I think every part of you is gorgeous, gorgeous.”
Taken by his words, Layla surprised herself by kissing him this time. She wanted to kiss him forever and ever. She was falling for him and she didn't know how to stop. She broke the kiss off. She wasn't supposed to be falling in love. Not again. That wasn't her plan.
“Come on that ride with me. Out of town. We’ll bring some of your art supplies and a picnic. You can draw, we can eat, we can make out some more. What d’you think?” Grady placed a kiss underneath Layla's jaw.
“A picnic in the English countryside? How very Jane Austen,” Layla gushed.
“I don't recall there being motorbikes in Jane Austen,” Grady said as he pressed another kiss to the junction at Layla's jaw and neck. He sensed her hesitation when she didn't reply. Grady pulled back only by a millimetre. “So?”
“What about work? Won’t Myra be expecting you at the café?”
“I'm sure she'll make an exception,” Grady said. Going off her hesitant expression, Grady added, “How about we stop by the café for some supplies and I’ll double check?”
Layla sent him a tight smile. “Alright.”
Layla sat on the back of Grady's bike and nervously jiggled her leg up and down. What if Myra said no to Grady? What if she told him he had to work and that he needed to stop being so irresponsible? Was he as irresponsible as Layla thought sometimes? Did adventurous and irresponsibility fall under the same banner?
As he emerged from Myra’s Munchies with a thermos full of coffee in one hand and a bag of food in the other, Layla straightened.
“Is everything okay?”
“Sure is,” Grady replied.
“Myra's not mad or feeling put out or anything?” Layla knew she was grasping at straws.
“No.” Grady sensed Layla's anxiety. “What is it, Layla?”
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” She was trying to create a point of contention when there was none. She was trying to stack her walls back up and Grady’s feelings were going to pay the price. She knew that. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“Don't you want to do this? Don't you want to spend the day with me?”
“Sure, I do.”
Why wasn't he convinced? “Say that once more with some feeling.”
“I'm scared, Grady. This is all so fast, and I'm scared,” Layla told him.
Grady set aside their coffees and stroked her hair. “Being scared is a good thing. It's our body's way of protecting us. But you can't let it control you. Sometimes, whatever you're scared of is worth it.” He guided her gaze to his. “Do you regret what happened yesterday?”
“No. And that scares me, too,” she hissed.
Grady chuckled.
Layla pouted. “It's not funny.”
“No, it's not. It's perfect.”
He pressed a kiss to her lips and she responded despite herself. Every time the man kissed her she lost all voluntary control of her body’s responses.
“I don't think you're ready to go on a romantic picnic with me, are you?”
Layla hung her head. “I'm sorry.”
“Yeah, well . . . I suppose Myra could use me around here, after all.”
Layla looked up at Grady, at the way he avoided her gaze, at the way he drew his mouth into a tight line.
“You're angry with me.”
“Not at all,” Grady fibbed.
“Don't lie to me, Grady,” Layla growled.
“I'd better get to it.” Grady turned away from her and stalked towards the café.
“You're just going to leave me here, stranded? You're not going to drive me home?”
“It's a few blocks down. The walk won't hurt you. Besides, I wouldn't want make you any more uncomfortable than you already are.”
“You complete jerk off!” Layla shouted.
Grady spun back to her. “Do you think I didn't notice? The way you were hesitant all afternoon and all night? This morning, even? I did everything I could to put you at ease, but you acted like I was going to hurt you the moment I got a chance to!”
“No, I—!”
“Oh, don't deny it!” Grady interrupted.
“Okay, fine! I just told you I'm scared, didn't I? You tell me to ignore my fear, but I can't, Grady! I can't. Because the last time I did . . .”
“What? Tell me!”
Layla shook her head. “No.”
“You know what your problem is, Layla? It isn't just that you're scared. It's that you run from your problems.”
Alarm bells went off in her head. Had he somehow found out about her life back in Canberra? “What do you know about my problems?”
“Nothing. But I'm not stupid. I can tell that you not only have them, but you don't want to face them. Why else would you be hiding in this place?”
Layla bit her lip as she fought to hold back tears. She slid off the motorcycle and stalked away from him.
“You see? Running away again?”
The taunt cut her to the bone. She spun around, but kept walking backwards as she shouted, “Shut up, Grady! Just shut up!” Then she turned away once again and broke into a run. Away from him and back to her problems.
Grady shook his head as he watched Layla hightail it up the footpath, then turned on his heel and stalked back into the café.
“Did you forget something?” Myra asked.
“Yeah,” Grady scoffed, “my fucking brains, obviously.”
“Oi, watch your language!” Myra snapped as she pointed to Edwin, who was sitting at his usual table and playing on his tablet.
“Sorry. I'm sorry.” Grady tossed the bag of biscuits onto the bench and poured the coffee he'd made for the picnic down the sink.
Myra folded her arms. “What's gotten into you? Pouring good coffee down the drain like that and all.”
“It's bloody Layla,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “It's one step forward and three steps back with her, I swear.”
“What's happened?”
Grady hesitated.
“Where were you all night?” Myra asked.
Grady sent her a dead serious look. “Where do you think?”
Myra folded her arms. “Okay. And?”
“And it was fu— flipping amazing. She was . . .” Grady played back the night in his mind’s eye. “But my god, she's frustrating, Myra. She was so into it. Hesitant at some points, but for the most part, she was fine. We got it done more than once in different ways.”
“Ah, okay, I don't need a visual,” Myra held up her hand to stop him.
“She keeps saying she's afraid of me. But I don't know what I've done to make her that way.”
“Are you kidding me? Look at you, Grady. You're hot stuff.”
Grady pulled a face of disgust at his sister.
“Not to me, obviously. Don't be gross.” Myra smacked his arm.
“You don't be gross!” Grady retorted.
“You're a fit, active, adventurous guy who goes at things like a bull at a gate. What woman, in her right mind, wouldn't be afraid of you?” Myra huffed.
“There's something she's not telling me, Myra.” Grady narrowed his eyes. “I'm sure it's the reason she's so hot and cold.”
“Well, whatever it is, she'll tell you in her own time. You can't force her to talk. Just be there for her, be patient. I know that's quite difficult for you, but at least try.”
Grady elbowed her playfully.
Myra tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Tell you what. What if I invited her to dinner?”
“What? No!” Grady exclaimed.
“Why not? I'd be helping you two out.” Myra's smile was reminiscent of the high school Myra. Little Miss Matchmaker Myra. Grady had always found that part of her annoying.
But the truth was, he would love nothing more than to have Layla at home— however temporary it was.
Grady had to wonder . . . was that the state of their relationship, too? Could he even call what they had a relationship?
“I tried inviting her to dinner. She said no,” Grady informed Myra, regret evident in his voice.
“That's because you asked, dummy. She might say yes if I invite her. Along with someone else she may be comfortable with. Any ideas?”
The mischief in his sister's eyes made Grady laugh. Okay, so maybe, in this moment, he didn't hate Little Miss Matchmaker Myra so much. He turned and leaned back against the serving bench. “She's gotten quite close to Rosie, actually. They went hiking together.”
“Perfect! I'll give her and Hector a call.” Myra lifted her shoulders in a haughty shrug.
“You sure those two can let the B&B out of their sights for a night?” He was sure those two had never taken a break from that place in the however many years they’d owned it.
“I'll make them.”
Grady laughed again as Myra went into the small storage area. His hand shook with excitement as he went to work.
In an attempt to get her mind off everything, Layla decided to take her easel and paints outside to her favourite spot in the garden. She had pulled the half-finished landscape back out of the storage room—the same one Grady had liked so much.
The fact wasn't lost on her. It seemed his opinion meant more to her than she cared to admit. Well, she could admit it to herself in quiet, at least.
She had made a mess of things again. Freaking out in the way she had was truly unbecoming of Layla, yet somehow, she was beginning to make a habit of this. When had she become so neurotic? She was jumpy and mistrusting. Layla did not like this new version of herself one little bit.
Her phone began to trill. She knew who it would be before she even glanced down at the screen. Layla pursed her lips as she stared down at Rick’s name. It was about time she ditched this phone for a new one—new number and everything. That would certainly solve one problem.
Just as Layla focused on her painting again, she heard some rocks tumble down from the ridge that ran perpendicular to the cottage. She frowned as she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze travelled to the copse of trees that ran along the ridge line. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Layla turned away again, though she couldn't shake that old feeling—the one she'd had back in Canberra when people were watching her. People who shouldn't have been. Who had no right to.
“Layla?”
Layla jumped a mile. Her jar of water nearly went tumbling over, but she rescued it in time.
“Oh, I'm so sorry, love. I didn't mean to startle you!” Rosie exclaimed as she dashed into the yard.
“Oh, that's okay,” Layla responded with a smile. “I was off with the fairies.” She took in Rosie's pretty green blouse and the rest of her fancy attire. “Look at you, Rosie! Have you got a hot date?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Hector and I are off to a dinner party, is all.”
Rosie indicated the stout man sitting in the Land Rover by the curb. When he smiled and waved at Layla, she returned the sentiment.
“I hope you both have fun. It's about time someone pampered you for once.” Layla winked at her friend.
“Yes, well, that certainly doesn't happen often,” Rosie said with a chuckle. “The thing is, though . . . you've been invited as well.”
“I have?” Layla pulled a face. Who would be inviting her to dinner? She barely knew anyone here. “Whose place are you going to?”
“Myra's,” Rosie said.
Layla hunched up her shoulders. “Oh.”
“She would've phoned you, but . . . well, none of us know your number. She'd love it if you would come along.”
Layla set her brush down and averted her gaze. “I'm not sure if that's such a good idea.”
“Why not?” Rosie asked.
“Because Grady lives there,” Layla whispered. Her chest ached at the mere mention of his name.
“Isn't that a good thing?” Rosie frowned in confusion. “I thought things were going great between you two? The way he took off after you when you left the art class yesterday . . .”
Layla sighed. “We slept together, Rosie.”
Rosie gasped. “How was it?”
A smile crept onto Layla's lips and she did her best to hide it. “It was incredible. He is . . . ohh, he's wonderful, Rosie.”
“Sounds good to me,” Rosie said.
The confusion returned all too quickly. “But I screwed it up. I let my fear get the better of me. I let it ruin our plans. I humiliated myself and him.”
“Then this might the best way to make it up to him,” Rosie suggested.
“You're probably right. God, I'm so scared, Rosie.”
The two women giggled. Rosie took one of Layla's hands between her own and rubbed it gently, comfortingly.
“It's the best kind of scared, though. Isn't it? It's that shiver you feel when you hear him say your name, and the silly grin you get when you talk to your friends about him—"
Layla's grin was big and embarrassed.
Rosie laughed again. “Just like that!”
“It's how he riles me up and then can calm me down with just a few words, or how he goes out of his way to bring me a mocha and then he's all funny about it when I point it out.”
The two of them laughed again.
“But there are things he doesn't know about me. Things he should know.” Layla scrunched up her mouth.
“That will come in time. Just focus on him for now.”
Layla thought this over.
Rosie ducked her head in an attempt to recapture her young friend’s pretty green eyes. “So? Will you come?”
“Will you give me some time to pretty myself up a bit?” Layla asked. She didn't want to turn up in her ratty old jumper if she was going to try to impress Mr. Bradbury.
“Of course I will. Let me help you clear up your things, too.” Rosie turned to the easel and paused. “Oh, my word!”
“What?” Layla asked as she packed her brushes and paints away.
“Layla. This painting is incredibly beautiful!”
“Oh, I don't know about that.”
“I do! This could be in a gallery. Sweetheart, you have such talent,” Rosie gushed.
“Thank you, Rosie.”
The two of them carted the things into the cottage. Then Layla went to her
room to find something suitable to wear—something understated that wouldn't be conspicuous, but sexy enough to catch Grady's attention. Finding a long, grey top that hung loosely over her body, Layla paired the item with a peach coloured cardigan, some charcoal black tights, and a gold charm necklace. She painted her face with a modest amount of makeup.
Staring at her reflection, Layla fought to bring her nerves under control. Was going to Grady’s home and forcing herself into his personal space the right thing to do? She was sure Rosie and Myra meant well, but they weren’t privy to everything that had occurred between herself and her handsome admirer. This dinner was probably going to be a disaster.
She’d done enough chickening out lately, and this time, Layla wanted to show Grady that she wasn’t always like this. She wanted him to see the strong woman she had once been. Layla took a deep breath and headed back downstairs.
“Let's go before I chicken out,” Layla said as she picked up her bag and pulled the front door open.
After saying her initial hello to Hector, Layla spent the rest of the drive out to Myra’s, barely paying attention to the conversation. She was so nervous, she could barely sit still. She couldn't stop fidgeting, whether it was with the hem of her top, her bag or trying in vain to chip off the paint that was stuck to her fingers.
“Don't look so worried.”
Rosie's words finally cut through Layla's panicky fog and she lifted her gaze to the older woman. She managed a smile. Layla dropped the hem of her shirt from her fingers and clamped her hands together on her lap.
“I'll be okay,” Layla said.
“Here we are,” Hector announced as they turned down a small laneway.
Layla peered out the front windscreen at the old, white farmhouse with the slate tile roof and crooked chimney. It was charming and exactly the way she'd pictured England before coming here.
Hector pulled up, and as the three of them piled out of the vehicle, Layla's attention was drawn towards Grady and Edwin, who were kicking a soccer ball around the garden. She said a quick hello to Myra before she said, “I'll be in soon.”
Myra flitted her gaze towards her brother and nodded once. “Take your time.”
