“We miss her here, too.”
“How’s Layla holding up?” Mason asked.
“I haven’t seen her. She’s been working a lot more than usual.” It was Wednesday though, and Layla always stopped in on a Wednesday to have lunch with Brooke so he was hopeful that Layla would still drop in for her cup of coffee.
He’d managed to resist her for the five years he’d been here, but he always looked forward to seeing her. She was not only his first customer, but somewhere along the way she’d become his friend. He couldn’t deny his attraction to her. He felt it the moment he first saw her, but he never acted on it, knowing she would be put in harm’s way if his past reared its ugly head. Instead he developed a friendship that he valued, and he respected her too much to throw it away on a fantasy that could never be, so he swallowed his feelings and reminded himself that she deserved better. She deserved someone who didn’t put her in danger just from proximity.
“I thought she’d finally slow down with Brooke out of the house and Chase moving in with Bex.”
“I don’t think she knows how.”
“Someone should teach her.” Mason glanced at Declan, eyebrows raised, and Declan knew exactly what he was insinuating.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m just saying you’re single, she’s single—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Why not mingle?”
Declan shook his head. “And you said it.”
“Someone had to. You’ve been in town for what? Five years? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you date anyone.”
“There’s a reason for that.” Declan once thought he had a bright red target on his back, making him overly cautious and keeping him on his toes. The more time that passed the more he believed his past was finally behind him, but he was still afraid of what might come. A relationship was not in the cards for Declan, a fact that he had to remind himself of when the nights were lonely and his bed was cold.
“Sounds like another excuse to me.”
“Don’t you have a fiancée you can bother?”
“Yes, but I promised my grandma I’d stop by to clean out her gutters. She doesn’t want my grandfather standing on a ladder.”
Declan laughed. “Like that’ll stop him.” Harold Hayes was a true example of age being just a number. The man was older than dirt, yet he looked and acted much younger than his eighty-something years.
“Which is why I need to get there. Let me know when you tap the keg,” Mason said. “I’ll tell my customers to stop by for a pint and a burger. Especially with the Fall Festival approaching. I’m bound to be sending a lot of clientele your way.”
“I’ll be ready for them.” Declan said. The annual Fall Festival hosted by Mason’s parents drew in people from all over, looking for a chance to pick pumpkins, get lost in New Hampshire’s largest corn maze, sample the state’s best pies, and take in the foliage. From now until the first week in November, Declan could make enough profit to tide him over for the entire year, which was a godsend when the winter snows kept people indoors.
“I’ll catch you later.” Mason headed for the door. He reached for it, but someone else pulled it open from the outside. Mason pressed his hand against the door, holding it as he stepped aside.
An involuntary smile curved Declan’s mouth at the sight of Layla in her usual scrubs, her hair pulled back, showcasing her big blue eyes and lush lips.
“Thanks Mason,” she said.
“Anytime. Just getting off work?” he asked.
“Yup, pulled another double.”
“You really should slow down a bit. I know someone who can show you how.” Mason’s gaze swung to Declan, and if he were closer Declan would have decked him one. “See you later.”
Layla walked toward the bar, eyebrows knitted together. She tossed her thumb over her shoulder. “What was that about?”
“Beats the hell out of me.”
She unwrapped her scarf—the same scarf she wore the first time they met—and placed in on the bar beside her. He didn’t even ask her what she wanted. He grabbed the mug she’d returned five years ago and filled it with coffee. The engraving of her name glistened on the side, something he’d done after a year of Wednesday pick-me-ups. He slid the mug across to her, and she wrapped both hands around it, pulling it close and looking like she would hug it if she could.
She blew on the dark liquid then took a sip. Her eyes slipped shut, and she let out a sexy moan. “You make a good cup of coffee.”
“So I’ve been told.”
She smiled and took another sip moaning again and making him acutely aware of her.
“Enjoying that coffee?”
She nodded.
“Have you had anything else today other than coffee?”
“I’m sure if you cut me open, I’d bleed coffee.” She dragged her finger along the delicate porcelain skin of her arm, and he swallowed down the desire to follow the path with his own finger just to see if she was as soft as he imagined. Five years and the only time he’d touched her was when they shook hands that first night.
“How are you doing with Brooke and Chase gone?” Declan asked.
After Layla’s mom died, she took on the responsibility of both her little brother and sister. She was only twenty at the time, and she became their guardian. They had a close-knit family; she’d do anything for her siblings, and Declan respected that. With both of them currently across the pond, Declan imagined Layla was having a hard time adjusting.
“The house is just too quiet.” She ran a finger across the top of the mug. “A few years ago, I couldn’t wait for Chase and Brooke to move out, and now that they’re not here, I don’t know what I was thinking. Do you have any idea how deafening silence is?”
He nodded. He’d experienced absolute silence more times than he could count. Hiding out in a dangerous situation, keeping as quiet and still as humanly possible so not to blow his cover. Those few minutes, any noise was a heart-racing nightmare he would never wish upon anyone. He could relate, but he was sure what Layla was experiencing wasn’t nearly as bad as the silence he’d known.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said. “Give it time. It’s only been a few days.”
“I guess you’re right. It’s weird is all.”
“It’s a big adjustment for you.”
“Who would have thought I’d miss yelling at Brooke to give Chase his phone back?”
Declan’s eyebrow cocked. “You do realize they’re both in their mid-twenties, right?”
“Oh trust me, I know. But those two fight just like they did when they were twelve and fourteen.”
Brooke was feisty, and Declan could see her purposely causing problems, but Chase was a respected fireman in the community. To imagine him fighting with his sister was comical.
“Chase will be back next week, won’t he?” Declan asked.
Layla nodded as she took a sip of her coffee. “Yup, but when Bex is done shooting her new film, they’ll move into their new place.”
Somehow Chase had managed to snag Bex Shepard, Hollywood’s It Girl, and she was having a house built in town, complete with a wrought iron fence to keep the paparazzi out.
“You should be proud.” Declan grabbed a pint glass and rested it under the tap of the Five Leaf brewery award winning maple bacon stout. He pulled the tap handle, filled the glass halfway then took a sip. “Chase and Brooke turned out all right.” She’d always worried about them finding their place in the world, but Layla did right by them. So many people would have run from the responsibility of raising two kids even if it was their siblings, but not Layla. She stayed and fought to keep their family together. Chase and Brooke were where they were in life because of Layla and everything she sacrificed for them. He hoped they knew that.
“They did turn out all right, didn’t they?” A proud glint shone in her eyes as she took another sip of coffee.
Declan thought about what Mason had said. After everything Layla had done, th
e hours she put in at work, she deserved to slow down.
He might not be the one to show her, but he could suggest it. There was no harm in that. But what did women do to slow down? He would go home and go straight to his garage to tinker with his motorcycle. He doubted that would work for Layla. “You should… go home and take a bubble bath.”
Now all he could think about was Layla naked, covered in bubbles. Out of all the things he could’ve suggested.
Her eyes dropped. Was that a blush creeping up her cheeks? If things were different…
But they weren’t. All he had was a false sense of security. Deep down he knew there was no end to his past until he was carried away in a body bag.
Her eyes met his, and he was locked into her gaze. He could see a future in the blue depths if he’d just open himself up to the possibilities; late night bubble baths together and endless conversation that filled the silence they both contended with.
It would never be a possibility, only a fantasy.
He needed to redraw the line and make it deeper, darker, stronger.
He rubbed at his face, his fingers bumping over his scar, reminding him of the dangerous life he was hiding from. He would never subject Layla to his past. After the life she lived, she deserved someone who could provide her not only love but security—two things he would never be able to give her.
It didn’t matter how much he wanted to take things to the next level, he simply couldn’t. Their easy banter was crossing the lines into flirting and as much as it pained him, he needed to put a stop to it.
He tugged at his beard, and with every ounce of strength he had, he stepped back, putting more than just the bar between them. “I can’t do this,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
He moved away, watching the confused knit of her eyebrows and the questions in her eyes. Before he could change his mind, he looked away and walked to the other side of the bar without as much as a glance back.
Chapter 3
The next morning while Layla was getting ready for work, she tried to forget the way Declan all but blew her off. He’d always been secretive and mysterious, barely giving her a glimpse into who he was, but the way he’d acted last night, that was strange even for Declan.
What the heck did he mean he couldn’t? He couldn’t what? And why did he apologize? She’d waited for him to come back and explain, but he sequestered himself at the other end of the bar like she was surrounded by an electric fence.
Once she’d finished her coffee, she tossed cash on the bar and left. Normally he would tell her the coffee was on the house, offer her a sexy smirk, and nod her off, but he didn’t say a word. Didn’t as much lift his head in her direction.
It was as if he’d written her off. She’d been written off before when her father left when she was a teenager. Then she was relieved, not having to worry about his abusive ways anymore, but this was different. Declan was nothing like her father. He was good and kind, everything she’d want in a man if she ever decided to date.
With the responsibility of two teenagers who’d lost not one but both of their parents, she had no time to think about herself, much less a relationship with someone. With Brooke and Chase grown and living their lives, Layla had time to focus on her own, and last night something shifted, confirming what she’d always known. She liked the mysterious biker who always had a smile for her and something nice to say.
Was it possible he noticed her attraction? Was the idea of them being more than friends that bothersome? She hadn’t expected apathy from him. Then again, for someone she called a friend, she barely knew him.
Every conversation had revolved around her and her own problems. He would talk in a way that made her believe he understood her, but he never revealed too much. It was as if his words were calculated, saying just enough to satisfy but never enough to hint at the man beneath the dark eyes and beard.
She had a feeling there was so much more to him hiding behind his bad boy persona, and in the five years she’d known him, she’d only cracked the surface.
She wanted to know more—where he grew up because he was definitely not from Red Maple Falls. She doubted he was even from the east coast. Did he have any siblings, and how did he get the deep jagged scar that started at his cheek and disappeared beneath the thick patch of hair on his face?
It was a wonder she had feelings for him at all. How could she when she still couldn’t answer the most basic questions about him? Yet she did know some things about him.
She knew he liked his beer the darker the better. She knew he ran a tight ship at Calhoun’s and expected the best of his employees. She knew he ran a hand over his beard when he didn’t know how to respond to a question and tugged at the ends when he was uncomfortable, which was rare but happened on occasion. He always poured himself a quarter of a pint of beer when enjoying a conversation. Not too much to really be considered drinking on the job but just enough to enjoy himself.
After putting on deodorant and slipping into her sneakers, she went to grab her scarf and head out the door, but her scarf wasn’t on the hook. She must’ve left it at Calhoun’s.
She had plenty of other scarves, and pretty soon she’d be wearing her big heavy coat, but the scarf was more than just a means to keep her warm. The scarf had been her mother’s. Any other scarf she would have left there and let Declan do whatever with it, but this scarf was special.
She had no desire to see Declan again, not after the way he acted last night, but she needed her scarf back. She checked her watch, a disappointing pit forming in her stomach. She wouldn’t have time to stop on her way to work; she was already running late. She’d have to stop by after her shift.
Hopefully the scarf would still be there and Declan wouldn’t be.
Layla drove down Main Street, wishing she had time to stop in Sweet Dreams Bakery for a cupcake or the Happy Apple for one of Terry’s awesome dishes fresh from the kitchen. She never had time for things like that. Other than having dinner with Brooke at Calhoun’s once a week or making it to a trivia night at Five Leaf Brewery, taking time to do something for herself was a foreign concept.
And even those things she’d done for Brooke. She couldn’t remember the last time she did something because she wanted to. Maybe now was her time to finally put herself before everyone else.
She glanced back at Sweet Dreams Bakery. One of Shay’s cupcakes sounded really good. Maybe on her next day off, she’d stop in.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot at work, parked in the nearest spot, and headed in. She waved to Maxine who was just ending her double. Her red hair was pulled back in a bun and even after working all night she still had a smile on her face.
“Have a good day,” Layla said as they passed each other. Their schedules had always been opposite, passing as one was getting ready to start their shift and the other was ending theirs.
“You too.” Maxine adjusted her bag on her shoulder after retrieving her car keys. “And good luck. Freida is in rare form today.”
“When is she not in rare form?”
Maxine laughed. “Good point.”
Layla waved to Troy at the front desk as she passed. “Morning, Layla,” he called after her.
“Morning.”
She continued on, greeting people as she went. She loved her job and the people, and she never minded picking up as many shifts as she could. The pay was important, but more than that she enjoyed the work.
She put her bag down and started her rounds, making her first stop at Freida and Ethel’s room. While she didn’t like to pick favorites amongst the residents, if she had to, those two would take the cake.
“Good morning,” she said, walking into the room, though Layla doubted anyone could hear her. The television volume was turned up to three hundred, and the farther she moved into the room the more it felt like her ear drums might bleed. She went right to the television and lowered the volume. “That’s better.”
She turned just as Frieda’s hands came flying
out from beneath her pillow. Layla narrowed her eyes on the eighty-seven-year-old woman who had more tattoos than Kat Von D. Her tattoos covered both arms, chest and right up her neck in shades of green, yellow, purple, black and red.
The tattoos stopped at her chin and gave way to classic makeup. If she wore a turtle neck, she’d look like a typical grandma who spoiled her grandkids rotten, except for the large gages in her ears and the diamond stud above her lip.
“Frieda, if I find any candy bars under your pillow, I’m going to be very disappointed in you.”
“Then you shouldn’t look,” Frieda said, and Layla let out a sigh as she reached under the pillow and her fingers hit something. She wrapped her hand around the object and pulled it out.
She held up the half-eaten chocolate bar and shook her head. “Are you ever going to learn?”
Freida was a type two diabetic who survived on insulin, but heaven forbid anyone told her that. It would go in one ear and right out the other.
“I have lived eighty-seven years eating whatever I want, and I’m going to do that until the day the Lord calls me home.” Layla knew it was a wasted breath, but she held out hope that one day Freida would understand how dangerous a little sugar could be. At the same time, how could Layla argue with her reasoning? She made a good point.
“Well the Lord will be calling you much sooner if you don’t knock this off.”
Freida shrugged. “I’m ready whenever He is. I’ve been dying for twenty years now, but every morning I still wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. At least if I died, I wouldn’t have you stealing the only thing that makes me happy.”
“You have plenty of things that make you happy,” Layla said.
“Like what?”
“Me, for instance.”
Freida scoffed, and Layla tossed the candy bar into the trash. “Hey! You owe me two dollars.”
“How are you even getting them?” Layla asked. Everyone knew Freida wasn’t allowed to have candy of any sort, yet somehow, she managed to have a bar or two stashed somewhere on her person.
Freida crossed her inked-up arms over her chest. Her lips parted, and Layla knew she was about to say something witty, but Ethel, Frieda’s partner in crime, rolled into the room.
Lusting After Layla Page 2
