Left Turn at Paradise

by Kristin Wallace

  Grace grinned and clapped. “Oh, that’s marvelous, but not nearly as wonderful as this.” She held up a cream-colored silk sheath that looked like something Ginger Rodgers might have worn while dancing with Fred Astaire.

  Gran ran her fingers along the fabric. “It’s beautiful. The stitching is exquisite. Someone really knew what they were doing.”

  Aunt Grace shoved the dress at Layla. “Go try it on.”

  Layla put up her hands palm first. “I can’t. I’m sweaty and filthy, and I smell like a sewer spit up all over me.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Grace said. “You look fine.”

  Layla stared at the dress, and her fascination won out over her concern about the stink emanating from her body. She took the dress and slipped behind a silk screen in the corner to change.

  “Oh sweetheart,” Gran said, when Layla emerged a few moments later. “You look beautiful.”

  “You were obviously born about seventy years too late,” Aunt Grace said.

  Layla walked to the tall, standing mirror and glanced at her reflection. The silk clung to her generous curves like a second skin. Capped sleeves framed the V-neckline, which showed off her assets to perfection, while the champagne color complemented her skin tone and golden hair.

  “Wow,” Layla said, amazed at her own transformation.

  Aunt Grace dipped into a curtsy and held out her arms. “May I have this dance?”

  Giggling, Layla stepped forward and they waltzed around the floor. Well, they tried to waltz. Dancing with a partner who was a foot shorter proved difficult.

  After a few minutes Gran cut in. “My turn.”

  They turned and swayed. Gran may have been taller, but Layla was still trying to lead and she kept messing up the steps. Then Gran spun Layla out, and she crashed into a wall. Of flesh and muscle and heat. She squeaked, stumbling back, and would have fallen if strong arms hadn’t steadied her. She looked up, right into Grayson’s smiling eyes.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze traveled down her figure and back up. His eyes darkened. “If you’d worn this dress for the tour I never would have left.”

  “I’ll remember that next time I ask you to do something,” she said.

  He glanced over her shoulder, and a grin hooked up the corner of his mouth. He reached past her and plucked a top hat from the bin, flicking it onto his head. “My dance, I believe.”

  Layla’s mind screamed danger, but her body refused to listen. She placed her hand in his, and he executed a perfect spin, bringing her up to his chest. They waltzed with effortless ease, and she didn’t stumble once.

  “You’re good at this,” she said, a hint of surprise and accusation in her voice. The laws of nature should not have gifted the man with effortless grace on top of everything else.

  “You put on enough productions with dance scenes, it makes sense to learn how to do it, too.”

  “You do it very well.”

  The devil came out to play again. “I know.”

  He spun her one more time, and she gasped as he dipped her back over his arm. He brought her up, until their foreheads nearly touched. They stared into each other’s eyes for several charged moments, and then he stepped back. He kissed the back of her hand, and then before she could say or do anything, he released her. She leaned against the shelves to keep from sliding to the floor in a boneless heap.

  While she was still trying to regain her equilibrium, he approached Gran and Aunt Grace who were sitting together on an overturned crate. Gran eyed him with the disapproval reserved for her first-year residents. Aunt Grace had her hands clasped across her bosom and wore an expression of sheer delight. Obviously, she was ready to forgive him for bowing out.

  Layla wasn’t so quick to let go of her anger. She shook off her stupor and followed after him. “Why did you come back?”

  “Would you believe I’ve been driving around trying to convince myself not to?” he asked.

  Aunt Grace beamed as she jumped up from the crate. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind?”

  “I guess I have.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Grace cried, throwing herself in Grayson’s arms.

  “But you said it was impossible,” Layla said.

  Grayson detached himself from Aunt Grace’s clutches and turned to Layla. “I’ve reconsidered.”

  “So, now we can afford to renovate?” she asked.

  “If we economize,” he said. “I’m not above calling in a few favors, either. Actually, the equipment is the least of my worries. We can fix the cosmetic things, but when it comes to the actual production, I am worried.”

  “Why?” Layla asked.

  “How are you going to find actors?”

  Layla shared a glance with her relatives. “We hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “You should,” Grayson said. “We could make The Paradise look like the Taj Mahal, but if the show is bad, what’s the point? I assume you want the theatre to actually make money?”

  “Better than winding up in the poor house,” Gran said.

  Grace glared at her sister and then focused on Grayson again. “We’ll hold auditions, of course.”

  “Which might or might not attract good actors,” he said. “Given The Paradise’s reputation, or lack thereof, you’re less likely to find the kind of talent you need to headline a show.”

  Layla suddenly had a clue where this was headed, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. “You’ve obviously been thinking about this dilemma. Why don’t you tell us what you want?”

  “I think we should bring in a few professionals.”

  Grace frowned. “Oh, I don’t know. Word is already spreading about us reopening The Paradise. Everyone is getting excited. If we bring in a bunch of outsiders, they’ll be hurt.”

  “It won’t be a bunch,” Grayson assured her. “I’m talking a handful of people at the most. The rest can come through regular auditions, although I can almost guarantee that if we have a few ringers it will attract a better pool of talent.”

  Hometown pride demanded Layla refuse Grayson’s plan outright, but her practical nature told her he was probably right. They wanted The Paradise to be a success, not a laughingstock.

  Grace sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I am.” Grayson took her hands and gazed down at her as if she were the gold he’d found at the end of a treasure map. “Do you trust me?”

  Pink rose in her cheeks. “Yes.”

  “What about you, Dr. McCarthy?” he asked, turning to her grandmother.

  She nodded.

  Layla watched with mild trepidation as he approached her. Trepidation turned to alarm as he settled his hands on her shoulders and smoldered at her. Even knowing he was manipulating her didn’t stop chills from sweeping down her spine.

  Arrogant…

  He knew it, too.

  Really arrogant…

  “Layla?” he said.

  “Do I have a choice?” she asked.

  “You always have a choice. I’m asking you to trust me. Will you?”

  Could she? Dare she?

  “Yes.”

  His breath seemed to catch. As if he knew she trusted him with more than The Paradise. Banked fire flared in his eyes, and his hands flexed before they glided higher to cradle her neck for a moment. Then he released her like a hypnotist snapping someone out of a trance. He turned back to her aunt. As she watched him turn her elderly relatives into mush, Layla realized she might have made a colossal mistake in recruiting Grayson Kendall.

  One that could endanger her heart.

  Chapter Five

  Layla, Gran, and Aunt Grace arrived at The Paradise early the next day. The air was already muggy and sticky with heat. They’d started the morning with a trip to the hardware store in town where they’d bought enough paint and supplies to start working on the dining room walls. After the paint run, they’d stopped at the grocery sto
re to pick up water and food for the afternoon.

  Layla hopped out to unload the car, but Gran made it to the trunk first.

  Nudging her grandmother aside, Layla reached for the paint cans. “You two get the groceries,” Layla said. “I’ll handle these.”

  Gran scowled. “We’re not invalids.”

  Yeah, but Gran was eighty-three and Aunt Grace not far behind.

  “I know, but I need the exercise since Aunt Grace has been feeding me so much,” Layla said, with an exaggerated grimace. “Besides, Grayson should be here any minute, and he can help me.” She handed the cloth grocery bags to her relatives and pointed them toward the door.

  They disappeared inside, and Layla turned to get the paint. Behind her, she heard the crunch of tires on gravel that signaled the arrival of a car.

  Grayson had arrived.

  A surge of anticipation flooded through her and she spun around, only to frown when she saw the battered and rusted truck coming toward her. The driver’s door opened and a short, rotund man with a white beard stepped out. He wore an ancient pair of denim overalls, a tattered grayish-white t-shirt, and a faded blue ball cap.

  Santa in the flesh.

  “You the one who put up the flyer in the hardware store?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Layla said, offering up a silent prayer he wasn’t here looking for a job.

  “Name’s Chester,” he said. “I’m a carpenter.”

  Oh no. Layla swallowed, trying not to let her dismay show. Chester had to be older than her grandmother. She shuddered as visions of falls and breaking hips flashed through her mind.

  “What kind of experience do you have?” she asked, hoping to stall for time.

  “What kinda experience ya’ got runnin a dinner theatre?”

  He had her there. “Not much.”

  Chester let out a grumble. “I got hammers older ‘n you, girl.”

  “No doubt. Your shirt, too.” She winked at him to soften her words.

  He grinned, showing off a perfect row of dentures. “I like you, girl.”

  Despite the crazy situation, Layla couldn’t help smiling at him. “You seem nice yourself, Chester, but I have to be honest. The job requires a lot of hard, physical labor. We’re doing renovations and repairs.”

  “I can help,” a baritone voice said from behind her.

  She spun around to find a tall, lanky man in his early thirties dressed in a navy-blue t-shirt and worn jeans. A lock of dark-blond hair brushed his forehead, framing hazel eyes.

  “Where’d you come from?” Layla asked.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He smiled and pointed to his truck, which was parked around the side of the building. Layla hadn’t even noticed it. “I’m Noah Johnson. I saw the help wanted notice, too,” he said. “I got here a few minutes ago and went over to look at the workshop. I hope you don’t mind. Looks like you have a nice setup there.”

  “Thanks. You’re licensed?” she asked, wondering if the man upstairs had conjured up a young, able-bodied carpenter out of thin air.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, with a slight drawl that advertised a Southern upbringing. He handed her a large, yellow envelope. “My résumé.”

  She pulled out a sheet of paper, and sure enough, there was a license and a long list of jobs. There was a curious break in his work habits, and he’d moved around a lot over the last couple years. He hadn’t stayed in any one place very long. In fact, his job history in Shellwater Key had begun about seven months ago.

  She did the math and realized those seven months were the longest he’d spent anywhere. “You’re not going to take off on me, are you?”

  A startled expression chased across his face. “I’m sorry?”

  “This résumé reads like a travel itinerary,” she said. “I don’t want to hire you, only to come in to work one day and discover you’ve followed your wanderlust somewhere else.”

  Noah shook his head and chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Layla asked.

  “I was all set to leave town when I saw the help wanted sign,” he said, with a slight shrug. “I’ve been doing odd construction jobs since I moved here, but nothing that really pulled at me, begging me to stay.”

  “Really?” She stared at him in bemused fascination. “My notice for a carpenter-slash-set-designer-slash-handyman pulled at you?”

  “Believe it or not… yes,” he said, admitted with a rather sheepish grin.

  “So, this is fate or maybe the hand of someone more powerful?”

  His expression suddenly grew serious. “I’m not sure yet, but something told me I needed to stay.”

  An odd chill swept down her spine. “Well, who am I to say no to fate? Can you start today? We’re about to begin painting the dining room.”

  “Sure,” Noah said.

  “Um… hello?”

  Layla yelped and spun around to see Chester glaring at her. She’d completely forgotten the old man was behind her. Now, she schooled her features into an expression of regret. “I’m sorry. We can’t afford two people.”

  Chester grumbled again. “Wasn’t lookin’ to get paid. Just needed something to do. I’ve gotten mighty lonely since my wife passed on.”

  Great. Now she was crushing the dreams of old men. Her heart twisted in sympathy. Poor old guy. What was she supposed to do? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he helped out with some of the easier things. She looked at Noah, silently pleading with him.

  Noah took the hint. “There’s no reason why we can’t work together, Chester. If there’s anything you can’t handle I’ll pick up the slack. How does that sound?”

  Chester’s brows came together in a fierce glare. “Who says I need you to pick up my slack, boy?”

  Noah held up two hands in surrender. “No one,” he said, visibly holding back a grin. “I bet together we can get The Paradise running in no time.”

  “You got that right,” Chester said, without letting up on the glare one bit. “We’ll just see if you can keep up.”

  With that, Chester reached into Layla’s trunk and plucked out four cans of paint. Then he marched into The Paradise, his back straight and head held high.

  She glanced at Noah, with chagrin. “I hope you don’t mind working with him.”

  Noah finally let loose with a big grin. “Oh, Chester’s all right. Reminds me of my granddaddy. I’m sure we’ll get along fine. I hope I can keep up. It would be humiliating if I got left in the old man’s dust.”

  Layla laughed and held out her hand. “I’m glad my help wanted sign called to you, Noah Johnson. I think you might be a true answer to our prayers.”

  His eyes sparked with a mixture of humor and gentleness. A genuine kindness the likes of which Layla rarely encountered. “Maybe we’ve answered each other’s prayers.”

  As they shook hands, Layla had the sudden notion she’d just met a friend. And since true friends were in very short supply in her life these days, she’d take all she could get.

  “Let’s bring the rest of this paint inside, and I can introduce you to my grandmother and great-aunt,” Layla said, gesturing toward the trunk. “They’re the real reason we’re all here.”

  Together, they gathered the rest of the cans and carried them into the dining room.

  Chester had already made himself useful by spreading out tarps to protect the floor.

  “I see you’ve met one of our new handymen,” Layla said, as she set down the paint cans.

  “Met?” Aunt Grace said. “Why, we’ve known Chester all our lives. I can’t believe we didn’t think to call him right away. He’s the best carpenter in the entire county,” she said, with a little trill.

  To Layla’s surprise, the cantankerous old man actually blushed. Then he cleared his throat and grumbled. “You’ll need ladders, too. Probably some in the back.”

  Chester disappeared behind the stage, and Layla turned back to Noah who was still standing with the paint cans near the dining room entry.

  “Oh, Noah,
sorry. You can put those down over here.” She gestured for him to come closer. “Gran, Aunt Grace… this is Noah Johnson. Our other carpenter-slash-handyman. Noah, meet the owners of The Paradise. My grandmother, Dr. Barbara McCarthy and my great-aunt, Grace-Anne Carter.”

  Aunt Grace looked him over. “I’ve seen you before at church.”

  Gran was nodding. “That’s right. Aren’t you friends with our new pastor?”

  “I am,” Noah said, with a smile.

  “Well, that’s all the references I need,” Aunt Grace said, beaming at him. “Pastor Montgomery wouldn’t be friends, with a hustler.”

  “Not that we know of,” Gran muttered.

  Aunt Grace ignored the aside. “And just look at his muscles,” she said, squeezing Noah’s bicep.

  “What do muscles have to do with a man’s character?” Gran said, with an incredulous glare.

  “Be nice,” Aunt Grace said, wagging her finger. She turned back to Noah. “Ignore my sister. Her coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.”

  Noah let out a sputtering laugh that he quickly turned into a cough.

  “You can ignore them both,” Layla said, wryness dripping off every word. “They’re impossible.”

  “You have a great family,” Noah said.

  “Sometimes I wonder…” Layla said, with a shake of her head as the sisters continued to bicker back and forth.

  “Don’t ever wonder about that,” he said as his smile slipped. “Just know how lucky you are and thank God for every moment you have with them.”

  Something in his gaze gave her pause. “I do.”

  “Good,” he said, with a nod.

  “Did you forget to treasure someone?” she asked.

  He started. “Me?”

  “I just wondered. Your résumé is a little thin in places, and the last two years you’ve been moving around constantly. Sounds like someone who’s on the run from something.”

  “I’m not a criminal,” he said.

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” Layla said, though perhaps it should have. There was just something so trustworthy about Noah Johnson.

  “You’re right. I have been wandering the last few years. Not sure you’d call it running from something, though. I like to think I’m running toward something. I just don’t know what it is yet.”