Page 5 of Layla Meets Her Match

“I just have a class meeting this afternoon with some of my students from the hybrid microeconomics course,” he says, slipping the dusty-pink ruffled backpack from off my shoulders and throwing it over one of his. “I’ll take her for a while.” If he didn’t look like he needed time with my daughter, I’d fight him on this at least a little bit, but he’s frazzled and he’s hugging Margot to him like she’s saving his sanity.

I sigh at the smitten look on Mila’s face as she watches him while power-mixing the chocolate chips into a batch of cookies—she’s staunchly against using the paddle on her mixer for that step. I slip into the seat Landon abandoned and take the next order from a regular customer who brightens when I wave him over to my register. This guy doesn’t have Lincoln Knight’s good-looks and he might be slightly balding, but his beaming face adds to the sunshine of my day.

“How’d the interview go?” Mila asks when I hop up to grab an order of cupcakes and put them in a box. Mila used to box up the orders and hand them to me, but as things have gotten busier, it’s been more efficient for her to keep baking and for me, and now Astrid, to box up orders.

I grin. “Really good. Maybe I’m projecting, but I’m pretty sure I got it.” The manager, Nicholas, was ruggedly good-looking like half the men in the city, I swear. The interview had a little bit of a flirty tone to the entire thing, which helped my cause. Margot was there with me, so we talked about her, and I made sure to slide in how I don’t date, so I wasn’t leading him on. (Listen, I’m not going that far to get this apartment.) But he seemed impressed with me and my ability to pay rent, and according to him there are two other families that live on that floor, so a baby wasn’t going to bother anyone.

“Yes!” Mila reaches for a high-five, which I give her before I close up the box.

Within half an hour, we’re caught back up and moving quickly again. It’s mid-afternoon, so the line is steady, but not as busy as the lunch hour was.

Astrid takes advantage of the slower pace. She’s in the back of the truck, boxing up orders while Mila bakes since I can keep up with everything at the register. Normally I like the break from sitting at the register, but Astrid is still getting the hang of our system, and after getting so far behind before, Mila doesn’t need the stress of that happening again.

A bearded guy in running shorts and a hoodie steps up next, eyeing the menu with a scowl.

“Are we missing your favorite sweet today?” I ask. Sometimes Mila’s customers can be picky about their favorites. Honestly, the most vehement people get about the bakery truck is that the menu isn’t always the same, so that delicious cupcake they love isn’t there every day. “If you let me know what it is, I can ask Mila to make it soon,” I offer. She loves taking requests.

He turns his attention to me, his scowl deepening. “Don’t you have anything healthy on this menu?”

I blink at him. “Um, no?” It’s a bakery truck. “We have some homemade breads …” But now that I look at him closer, the muscles defined under his fitted hoodie and in his thighs, I think “carbs” is a bad word in his world.

“How is this place so popular?” he mutters and steps out of the line, stalking away with a disappointed look at us over his shoulder.

“Ohhh-kay,” I say, biting back the urge to laugh out loud. “Did you see that?” I swivel toward Mila and Astrid. Mila’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

“That was intense,” Astrid says in a low voice.

“I don’t think it’s a secret that you sell cookies and stuff, right?” I ask, my voice shaking with the hilarity of the whole thing.

Mila just shakes her head. I take another couple orders before it slows again, with customers checking out the menu before stepping up to order what they want.

“I went on the most amazing date last night,” Astrid says. “He was so involved in everything I said.” She lifts her shoulders up and then releases them with a satisfied smile. “I think I might already be falling in love.”

Mila and I share a look. Astrid could be either one of us just a year ago. Starry-eyed and naïve. Mila still kind of is, but she found a man who lives up to all her dreams.

“Who is this dream guy?” Mila asks. Both of our protective instincts have flared, even though we’ve only known Astrid about a week.

“Kipp Avery,” Astrid says. “Oh my gosh, he’s so hot. Are all the guys in LA as hot as him?” Before either of us can answer, she points to Mila. “Your boyfriend is hot.”

“Fiancé,” Mila corrects, eyes dancing.

Astrid points to me. “That guy that shows up every day and only orders from you is hot.”

Mila laughs shortly.

My eyebrows jump. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” We have a bunch of regular customers and a decent number of good-looking guys, but I can’t think of one who would come just to see me. Have any of them been paying special attention to me lately? It’s possible. Mila’s baking has grown more and more popular the last few months, so things have been busy.

Astrid glances between me and Mila. “You know, the really tall guy with dark hair and dreamy-sweet brown eyes?” She looks over at Mila, who’s smirking into the bowl she’s stirring. “Always wearing some kind of Rays gear when he shows up. And he usually comes by pretty early, like right after we open.”

“Lincoln,” Mila says, almost laughing now.

“Lincoln?” I repeat. “He’s not coming here to see me.”

Mila snorts again. I scoff back at her.

“Mila’s food is very addicting. I know this personally,” I say defensively. “I ate four sugar cookies last night. I couldn’t help myself. I was so sick.”

Astrid shrugs, and Mila bites her lip. I scowl at them both and curse the fact that there’s only a handful of people milling around the truck, none of them ready to order yet. We need a distraction. Mila doesn’t need to fill Astrid’s head with one of her ridiculous fairy tales.

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