Page 27 of Small Town Secrets

“We’ll need cinnamon and vanilla too, right?” He looked to Laila again, seeming to invite her into his interaction with Whitney.

Though Laila clamped her mouth shut and nodded, she held back from asking how he even knew what went into French toast. She usually forgot that stuff and had to look up most recipes on her phone.

Just assume from past evidence that the man likes to cook.

Ingredients gathered, she began mixing everything together, while Whitney’s cheery giggles continued through tugging Ramos between the kitchen and table, having taken on the task of placing napkins and utensils. The happy chaos lightened Laila’s mood and her heart thudded with a realization that this moment, right now, was everything she’d wanted for herself and Whitney all along.

And there’s no knowing how long it will last…

She left the bread to sizzle in a pan and watched Adrian setting down plates and glasses with Whitney, both chatting away while they worked. Such a commonplace image for most families, but one that succeeded in breaking Laila’s heart. Despite knowing otherwise, she felt like she’d failed her child.

The emotion-filled tension in her throat had her turning back to the pan. Stolen dreams aside, she’d been everything Whitney needed. That was enough. That was something to be proud of.

A fresh kettle boiled and the cooking done, Laila ferried a plate of stacked French toast to the table, the aroma of butter and cinnamon well and truly filling the air. This was what she’d built her daughter. A house full of love and safety, and moments of fun amongst her hectic schedule. Adrian was an added bonus. Not the cure to a problem that only existed if Laila gave it permission to set roots in her mind.

Still, she couldn’t help but notice contentment creeping in as they all sat around the table. This rare moment of calm in her busy life. A moment she didn’t carry all on her own because she implicitly understood Ramos would help if needed. He’d pass her the juice just out of reach or cut Whitney’s toast for her. He’d do that and so much more, just as he’d already donated his time and help because his friends needed him.

Because, despite her past experiences with Mike, the man sitting cross from her was a helper and perhaps an all-round decent person.

Once again, her throat constricted, so she turned to Whitney with a gentle smile and vowed to just enjoy the moment. “Good toast?”

Whit smiled up, teeth covered in chocolate, because, as predicted, Ramos had already helped spread and cut her toast. “Best day ever.”

Though Laila giggled, a small hitch in her voice had her gaze snapping to Ramos, his smile dropping to a twisted frown as if he’d read her heartache over her long-buried dreams.

Seeming to recover, he blinked and pointed to a photo of Whitney at six months old situated on a small bookshelf a few yards away. “Who’s that cutie?”

The photo featured her daughter cuddling a pink teddy bear, while wearing an oversized knit jumper and a mostly toothless grin. It stirred memories of another lifetime, one where Laila still clung to life’s possibilities and things seemed simpler.

Adrian narrowed his eyes at Whitney in mock skepticism. “That’s not you, is it?”

Whitney gave a big proud nod. “Yep.”

“No way.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe that baby is you. Where’s the big curly hair and where are all your teeth?”

“That is me.” Whitney pressed her fists into her hips and gave him a sarcastic glare. “I’ll prove it.”

With that, she leapt from her seat and bolted out the room.

“Guess it’s just you and me.” Laila turned from the vision of Whitney’s bouncing steps down the hall and shrugged at Adrian, catching his prolonged stare.

What went through his mind? Was this morning playing happy family too much? Was he having second thoughts?

Could she blame him?

“Laila?”

“Hmmm...” She refocused, not totally aware her mind had wandered, while playing at being oblivious to her likely obvious dip in mood.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” His pensive look deepened and her heart sank, as did her shoulders.

Here we go, we had our night together and now he’ll hit me with a sad dose of reality.

What tactic would he go with? “It’s not you, it’s me” or “I thought I could, but now I realize I can’t”?

And just as Whitney would likely re-enter the room, too...

“I know you said you’d given up, but”—he reached out and took her hand, the warm gesture sending a shock of confusion through her veins—“I was wondering if you’d like me to try to find Mike?”

---