by Jeannie Watt
Layla came up beside him and he gestured to the exit with his head. They both started toward the door as fast as their awkward loads would allow. If his arms were straining, hers had to be shaking. And he did not want to have to tell her that if she dropped her box and scattered the contents, they were not going to pick them up. They were getting the hell out of Dodge.
Justin had just opened the outside door when they heard a loud “Hey” from behind them.
“Just getting a few things I forgot to take home,” Layla called as she hurried through the door. “Good night!”
They should have parked closer, but Justin hadn’t wanted his license plate on camera. Right now he was almost past caring.
They actually were waddling by the time they reached the car. Justin had taken his keys out before he’d grabbed his box so he was able to pop the locks. He braced the box against the rear quarter panel and opened the back door, dumping his load and then taking Layla’s and jamming it on top.
She was practically in her seat by the time he’d opened his door. He started the car and backed away, hoping she was right about the cameras.
When he pulled out onto the street, Layla laughed. “Thank you, thank you,” she said.
“For the boxes or the adventure?”
“Both.” Her eyes were sparkling when he glanced over at her. “I’ve never, ever experienced anything like that.”
“I’m so surprised.”
Her eyes were wide when she said, “I’ll bet you’ve done stuff like this before.”
“More times than you can imagine.” Although this was probably the first time he’d risked arrest as an adult.
Layla laughed again. “I hope Melinda goes crazy trying to find this stuff.”
“Do you think she wants it that badly?”
“All the kids wanted to be in my class so they could participate.”
“Well, that’s an endorsement.”
“And in a year or two, she could have pretended she’d developed the material.” Layla smiled with an air of satisfaction. “Which is why I’m going to self-publish it. Lots of teachers sell their thematic units. Why not me?”
“Great idea.” Justin glanced in his rearview mirror, a habit from his teen days. Only tonight he probably wasn’t going to have to pull into a driveway and duck down.
“Let’s go get coffee.”
“Isn’t the adrenaline rush sufficient?” he asked drily.
“I don’t want coffee for the caffeine. I just thought perhaps a celebratory drink was in order.”
“Coffee schmoffee. Let’s go get a real drink.”
She didn’t answer immediately, and Justin suddenly recalled how they’d hooked up again after all these years. “A beer? No martinis?”
She laughed with a touch of self-consciousness. “A beer sounds good.”
He pulled into an off-the-beaten-track pub in a strip mall on Moana Street, and they settled side by side at the bar. Layla was not much of a beer drinker, and it occurred to Justin that she might not be much of a drinker at all. She’d been a teetotaler in high school when the rest of them had been getting blazed at parties.
He noticed her studying their reflection in the mirror behind the bar, and couldn’t resist putting his fingers into a V and raising rabbit ears behind her head.
She laughed and slapped at his hand, turning to him to say, “You haven’t changed much, have you?”
“No. At this very minute I’m wondering where you keep your bras and where the nearest ROTC flagpole is.”
“Definitely one of the stellar memories of my teen years.”
“No one knew it was your bra.”
“I knew.” She put a light hand on his knee, startling him. “Why were you such a jerk to me?”
“Maybe I had a crush on you and that was the only way to express it.”
“Really,” she said flatly, disbelievingly.
He shrugged. “Or maybe you were a handy target. The studious older sister.”
“A bit more believable.”
She studied him for a moment, a quizzical look on her face, and with a half smile, Justin reached out to run the tips of his fingers along the smooth skin of her jawline. She shivered and then her eyes widened slightly, as if the reaction had surprised her.
Lovely Layla. Who’d turned out to be a lot more fun than he’d ever thought possible.
Her beer was still half-full when he finished his, and she pushed it aside as he reached for his wallet. “Done?”
“Done and getting tired. Crime is exhausting.”
“Hey—you own that stuff.”
“Right.” She didn’t smile, but he could see the amusement in her eyes.
It was a quiet drive back to his condo and her car, but not an uncomfortable silence. More of a companionable one. Neither spoke as he pulled into his parking spot and then helped transfer the two boxes. When they finished, Layla smiled up at him with a serene, almost sleepy expression.
“It’s crazy. I’ve lost my job and I’m not obsessing.”
“I have that effect on women.”
She ran her palms up his arms. “I guess you do. The obsessing will come, of course.”
“In the early-morning hours, no doubt.”
“Is that when you obsess?” Layla asked facetiously, as if making a huge discovery. “That’s when I obsess!” He laughed and she added, “I’ll bet I do a lot more of that than you do.”
She might be surprised. He leaned down and gave her one last kiss, their lips clinging for a brief second as he made a wish—that they could explore this unexpected physical connection between them more fully. “It was great breaking into the school with you.”
“I had a good time, too.” She pulled away and then unlocked her car door. “Maybe…” She made a face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. Maybe we can do something together again.”
“Maybe. And I can’t believe you’re saying that, either.”
She reached up and touched the side of his face lightly, then got into her car and shut the door. He knocked on the window, and she rolled it down. “Text me when you get home.”
She nodded and started the engine.
As she pulled away, Justin stood watching, hoping that she understood he was talking get together in a casual way, not a headed for a relationship way.
But this was Layla, who planned her life to the nth degree. Of course she understood that.
CHAPTER SIX
“DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING about class reunions?” Sam demanded as soon as Layla walked through the front door of Sunshine of Your Love. She was standing behind the purple checkout counter, small hippie glasses perched on her nose, a sheet of creased paper in one hand.
“I helped plan mine,” Layla said. And she’d also broken into a school. Old Layla. New Layla.
Surprisingly, she wasn’t riddled with guilt about last night’s criminal activity. If anything, she was still slightly exhilarated. For once, she’d stood up for herself, albeit in a clandestine way, and she felt vindicated. Empowered.
Moral of the story? She needed to take control of more areas of her life, instead of playing the good, rule-following girl.
Sam looked over the top of the glasses. “Then word must have spread that the Taylors are suckers for organizing public events, because I’ve just gotten an invitation to join the planning committee.” She pushed her geometrically cut red hair away from one cheek. “I believe I will decline.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Layla said. “There were several committees, so the workload was spread out.”
Sam shook the paper at her. “These guys wanted nothing to do with people like me back in high school, and now they want my help?”
“Perhaps some of them have matured past the clique days?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Carlie McCoy was in here the other day and she was pretty damned condescending.”
“Did she buy anything?”
“Loads of fancy underwear and a pair of novelty guy underwear on clearance
. The Christmas kind.”
“Rudolph?”
“The elf hat.”
Sam shoved the paper into the folder next to the register, where she kept her special order list. “I just can’t see hanging with those people.” There was the briefest of pauses and then she casually said, “Have you heard from Mom?”
“Not recently.” Their parents were currently living in Hawaii, house-sitting for a friend for several months and enjoying life in paradise. “Is everything all right?” Layla asked, suspecting from her sister’s change in demeanor that something was up.
Sam didn’t quite meet her eyes. Never a good sign. “Well, I may have let the cat out of the bag about your job, so you’ll probably be getting a call from her.”
Layla instantly felt shifty. Not for keeping her mother in the dark, but because she, queen of the overachievers, had lost her job. Walked away from her contract. And now she had to explain this to people. Was she going to tell her mother that Robert had been sleeping with someone else? No. She and her mom simply didn’t discuss things like that. Not that her mother hadn’t tried.... Layla was simply too private.
But Sam wasn’t. Their mom probably already knew.
“What did she say?” Layla asked, curious as to whether she’d be happy Layla was breaking free, and if so, why she hadn’t gotten a congratulatory call. The time difference, perhaps?
“I think she’s worried. You’re the anal, responsible child and shouldn’t be getting fired. That’s what the rest of us do. You’re the one kid Mom didn’t have to worry about.”
What? “But she always seemed so frustrated that I didn’t celebrate freedom like the rest of you.” Layla distinctly remembered her mother urging her to ease up on herself, have a little fun.
“She probably thought you were going to explode from self-imposed rules.” Sam pulled the duster out from under the counter and started attacking the jewelry display. “And now she thinks the explosion has occurred.”
“It has.”
Sam looked up, duster poised in the air. “For real?”
“It feels like it.” Layla walked over to an oak table Sam had “borrowed” from their parents’ house while they were in Hawaii. It was now covered in bustiers, bras and panties. “Or rather, it feels like I’ve suddenly realized that there’s more than one path a person can follow, and I want to explore a little before settling onto a single pathway again.”
“What exactly are you saying?” Sam asked, her eyes wide. “Could it be that you’re actually following my advice?”
“Kind of.” Layla tidied a stack of panties. “I’m going to summer school in June and maybe back to college full-time next fall.” It had taken her a couple days and one sleepless night to come to that firm decision. Educational credits had soared in price since she’d last attended school, but she had a tidy sum in Grandma Bonnie’s legacy bank account, and Layla was certain she was the only one of the four Taylor grandchildren who hadn’t spent the lot. She’d saved it for a rainy day, and the rain was now officially falling.
“Master’s degree in education?” Sam asked drily.
So much for being unpredictable. Layla picked up a pale pink bustier from a display table and held it against her. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Sam settled the hand with the duster on her cocked hip, an expression of patent disbelief on her face. “And by the way, that color suits you.”
Layla dropped the bustier back onto the table. “All right,” she said irritably. “Yes, I’m thinking of a master’s in ed. If I can get into grad school.” Which shouldn’t be a problem, since she’d graduated university cum laude. “I sent my application in this morning.”
“This is not a different path,” Sam pointed out.
“I like kids. I think I should stay in teaching.” If she hadn’t screwed up her career too much by getting herself fired. She picked up the sliver of satin that matched the bustier and dangled it from one finger, trying to figure out what went where. A thong? Maybe. Not much to it.
“Just remember there are other careers than the one you chose when you were five—even if you do like kids.” Sam dabbed the duster at the branches of a brass tree that held crystal bracelets. “After all, I like flowers, but that doesn’t mean I should spend my life arranging them.”
“I will try to keep an open mind.”
No. She would keep an open mind. But she also needed to make a living eventually, and continuing in education was her best bet. Perhaps she’d be adventurous in other areas of her life. Like, say, the man area? In the form of one Justin Tremont?
As crazy as it was, Layla was beginning to think Justin was the best thing that had happened to her in a while. Because of his help retrieving what was rightfully hers, aka breaking into the school and taking her lessons, she felt a sense of power she hadn’t experienced in, well, forever.
“Could you give me a hand while we debate about your future?” Sam asked, putting the duster away. She was still struggling to get back on her feet after the bead shop debacle, and couldn’t afford to hire help, so Layla did what she could, as did her brothers. Sam had borrowed money from them to get this new shop started, and was bound and determined not to screw up again.
“I can give you a few hours, and we don’t need to discuss my future. I’m going to summer school unless the perfect job appears, which, given the current economic climate, is highly unlikely.”
“I agree,” Sam said.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I have some dresses in the back that need steaming and a couple boxes of lingerie to put on hangers.”
Layla set her purse behind the counter and headed to the back room to turn on the steamer.
“I wonder if Derek or Eric got a reunion planning invite?” Sam said musingly, unfolding the letter once again. Since she’d been born a mere ten months after the twins, they were all in the same graduation class. Sam and the boys were practically triplets. Layla had always been the odd child out. By age. By temperament.
Nothing she could change about the age, but the temperament…yes, she’d be doing some work in that area.
“I can ask Justin if he got one next time I see him.” He’d graduated the same year as Sam—one year after Layla—and he and Sam had run with the same rowdy crowd.
“Why on earth would you be seeing Justin?” Sam called from the other room.
“We went out a couple nights ago.”
“Like on a date?”
Layla was not telling Sam about the school. She wasn’t going to tell anyone she’d done something of questionable legality. “I stopped by his place to tell him I’d gotten fired, and he took me out for a beer.”
“Justin,” Sam said, as Layla came out from behind the beaded curtains. “Tremont. The guy you wanted to fire from a cannon when we were younger?”
Layla felt unexpectedly self-conscious. “That’s the one.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“May I point out that you’re the person responsible for us getting together again after all these years?”
“That was because of an emergency.” Sam pushed her hair away from her cheek with a distracted gesture.
“Regardless of why, somehow…well…things have changed.”
“How?” Sam demanded.
She wasn’t ready to share all the details. Not just yet. “Maybe we’re just looking at each other differently.”
“Like…differently differently?” her sister asked with a significant lift of her eyebrows.
“In a way.”
But instead of laughing, as Sam always did when confronted with an unexpected twist in life, she went quiet. So quiet that Layla said, “What?”
She gave a quick shake of her head. “Nothing. Just, well, you know that Justin is never serious about anything.”
Layla simply stared at her sister for a moment. Sam was trying to keep her from being hurt. As if Justin could possibly hurt her.
She gave a soft snort. “Trust me, S
am. I’m not looking for anything serious. I’ve done serious for way too long. It sucks.”
All she wanted to do was to shake off her tight-assed tendencies, and Justin seemed like the man to help her.
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU lately?” Eden asked, coming into the pastry room, where Justin was arranging the dowels he’d be using to support the layers of a three-tier cake he’d be delivering the next day.
