Page 29 of Two Weeks in Tahoe

These past few years I’ve spent most of my time focusing on trying to figure out how to raise Jackson, and I don’t really make time for myself. I made a lot of money off my software sale, plus the money that I unfortunately received after my sister and brother-in-law passed. That allowed me to take over my parents’ house so they could move into the city. They’re getting older now and can’t handle the upkeep out here. I always dreamed of staying in this area, so it was the perfect solution. Now I have a lot more time to spend with Jackson. Life has been almost perfect.

After brunch, we walk around for a bit outside, popping into several stores. Layla had two glasses of mimosas at brunch and has been giggly ever since. I’m sure she’s warmed up from her freezing cabin by now. I’ll have to add her cabin to my list of great wingmen, right below Jackson. It’s like these opportunities to spend time with her keep falling into my lap, and I’m taking them. No complaints.

Layla wants to check out the antique store nearby, so we cross the street, and I follow her inside. There’s a distinctive smell that hits my nose as soon as we enter. Not bad, just…old. Like the items have filled the air with their histories and their dust. I can’t say that I’ve ever actually been in here before, though I’ve passed it many times.

Layla looks enchanted as she strolls the aisles, perusing, stopping to look closer at things now and then. When she’s really focused, she does that nose scrunching thing from time to time

“Hey, look,” I say, motioning toward a small, gold-framed painting of a male from maybe the 1800s. History isn’t my thing, so I could be way off. “It’s Lord Davies, your boyfriend.”

She looks for a second, then turns back to me and tilts her head back in a fit of giggles. “I need it,” she says through her laughter.

I snatch it off the shelf and carry it to the register.

“Liam, I was just kidding!” she says hastily, still giggling.

“No. You do need it. And I want you to think of me every time you see this creepy old painting of a random dude and have a laugh.”

**

It's still the afternoon, so I’m trying to come up with ideas for what to do the rest of the day as we pull up to my house. Of course, I have some ideas which involve a lot less layers, but I’ll keep those to myself for now. I won’t deny that her perfectly round ass and thick thighs have been running through my mind for days now, though.

I lead her inside and she takes a seat at the kitchen island on a barstool. “Do you mind if I make a call to the owner really quick? I still haven’t heard anything.”

“Go right ahead. Coffee?” I ask, holding up two mugs.

She nods fervently. And I know just how she likes it.

I make two coffees for us while she makes a call on her phone. She sighs in frustration after what sounds like no answer, then tries one more time. No luck. She places her elbows on the counter and rests her head in her hands.

I bring the coffee over and set one in front of her, then take the seat next to her. “Thank you.” She tries to smile but looks defeated.

“No problem. And don’t stress it, okay? We can try again in a little while.”

“Okay.” She sounds unconvinced. “You know, I think maybe I’ve been to that diner before with my dad. Some of the memories from here are a little fuzzy, but I think I remember it. He used to love taking me to breakfast, just the two of us. And my mom always liked to sleep in on vacation.”

“Sounds like he had great taste, then. You were pretty close with them?” I ask gently.

“Yeah. I was an only child. I always dreamed of having a big family, but looking back now, I wouldn’t change a thing. They both, coincidentally, were only children also, so we didn’t have much other family really. No cousins or anything. Just some grandparents who popped in and out over the years. I have one grandma left who I call now and then, but she lives in Florida in an assisted living home and has dementia. So, it was usually only the three of us off on our adventures. They loved taking me places. This place was their favorite, though.” She smiles distantly.

“I’m sorry. That must have been tough.”

“It was. For a while after, I was in a really bad headspace. Quit my job, ditched the boyfriend, became a hermit. Then after a few months, I slowly started to pull myself out. I did some therapy, started seeing my friends again, got a gym membership—kept the boyfriend in the past, though. Mom never did like him.”

“I’m glad you got through the worst of it,” I say, squeezing her knee. You never really get over grief, you only learn to live with it as best you can. “And hey, at least one good thing came from all that.”

“What’s that?” she asks, her eyes alight with curiosity.

“You ditched that loser boyfriend.”

Her head falls back in a fit of giggles.

“You’re not wrong,” she says with a sly grin.

“I know,” I say confidently.

“Are you always so…cocky?” she teases.

“No. Never,” I smirk.

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