Page 38 of Falling for the Guy Next Door

“You’re right, Ronnie. Always the voice of reason. Forget I asked. It’s no biggie, just looking for a way to make a big pile of cash … fast.”

“Does this have to do with your mom? You mentioned a specialist the other day. How’s she doing? Medical bills piling up?”

“Yeah, but what else is new? There’s a specialist who says he can help her. Now all we’ve got to do is find a way to pay for it.”

“Sorry to hear that, Nash. You know I could lend you fifteen grand … with interest. You know me—always a businesswoman. Would that help at all?”

“That’s cool of you to offer, Ronnie, and I’m going to give it some thought.” Rocky was staring at the cupboard where I kept his food. “I’ve got to go. Rocky wants dinner.”

“Well, think about the loan. I could have my financial guy draw something up between us.”

“Thanks, Ronnie, I will.” I hung up, and the first thought that went through my head wasnever borrow money from a friend. Bosco and I had broken that promise a few years back when he fell behind on his rent. I lent him the money and then mostly forgot about it until I really needed it back. He didn’t have it, and we’d stopped talking to each other for a while. He was embarrassed, and I was mad I’d broken that golden rule in the first place. I would never get into such a big loan debt with Ronnie because it would mean another payment, and with no more shows, I was going to be short each month as it was.

I crossed the room, and Rocky began his dinner dance—a series of spins while his tail did its helicopter blade impersonation. I filled the bowl and headed back to the couch to finish the song. Before I sat, I stopped and stared out at the cove. The sun was setting in a dusky orange sky, and a group of snow-white gulls sat on the sand, preening themselves. Even though everything felt unsteady and depressing at the moment, I’d had one huge bright spot in my day. Layla and I were going to attempt to take our relationship further than just friendly neighbors.

It might end up being a big, bad mistake. Or, just maybe, it would be the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

ChapterTwenty-Three

Layla

Isla had a few updates on wedding plans, so we all agreed to meet over at Aria’s for snacks, wine and sister time. I, for one, was thrilled that I was going to have my sisters all to myself for the evening. Of course, the timing could have been better. Now that Nash and I had decided to step out of the friendship borders and dive a little deeper into a relationship, I wouldn’t have minded hanging out with him this evening. But then, taking it slow was probably the better option. It gave me time to absorb the idea and come up with a strategic plan to not entirely alienate my best friend. Since the relationship was still in such an early (very early as in not really started) stage, I knew it was best not to mention it at all to Emily. If things progressed, and something inside me seriously hoped they would, then I’d break it to her gently. I just wasn’t sure how to manage that yet, but I’d worry about that problem when I slammed right up against it.

Ava and I reached the house at the same time. We hugged and headed inside. Isla was setting out chips and guacamole. The blender buzzed with margaritas as Aria dipped glass rims in salt. There was a platter of tamales and tacos in the middle of Aria’s table.

Ella was slicing lime wedges and placing them on the salted glasses.

Ava picked up a chip and dipped it in a bowl of salsa. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting this kind of spread. Aria said snacks, so I was prepared for pretzels and wine.”

Isla handed me the first margarita. “It’s a theme I’m experimenting with for the wedding reception. I was thinking of a whole buffet of Mexican food. Everyone loves tacos and chips. People could build their own tostadas, and we could serve several variations of margaritas.”

I sipped the drink. “Hmm, I say we take a vote, and mine is yes. Love the idea. People always serve all that stuffy food at receptions—tiny roasted pigeons sitting next to three braised carrots.”

Isla laughed. “I believe they call them squabs because they’re still babies and yes, you’re right. I’ve gone to a lot of weddings where the food wasn’t the least bit enticing. I haven’t discussed this new idea with Luke, but he’s always game to try anything.”

Aria smiled as she handed her a margarita. “You mean anything that will set his snooty mom’s hair on fire? Something tells me she’s more the baby pigeon type.”

Isla raised a brow at her.

“What? We might as well call ‘em what they are instead of sugarcoating it with a weird name likesquab,” Aria said. “But back to the main point—what about the infamous Mrs. Greyson?” We started filling our plates. “What did Luke think of the Whisper Cove idea?”

“He loved it. The infamous Mrs. Greyson has not been consulted about it yet,” Isla said. “It’s almost a waste of time to even consider the cove because she’s never going to approve.”

“That’s her problem,” Ava said.

“Yes, but having her at the wedding with a terrible, grouchy, disapproving look on her face is going to ruin the whole day. And trust me, Margaret Greyson’s presence is not one you can easily ignore. She’s like this big, obtrusive—” Isla paused to find the right word.

“Thorn?” Ella offered.

“Yes, that’s it. She’s like this big, obtrusive thorn that will stand there in the center of everyone making faces at everything and letting people know, in no uncertain terms, that she doesn’t approve of any of it, bride included,” she added with a waver in her voice that caught all of our attention immediately.

As if choreographed, we all set our plates and drinks down and surrounded her for a group hug, something we’d gotten down to an art over the years. We gently circled her and each other with our arms and let Isla have a few moments to sniffle it out.

“I’m fine,” she said after a deep breath. We all lowered our arms but still surrounded her. “I’m just tired. Business has been crazy, and I’m still looking for a baker to help out, but there aren’t many applicants, and the ones I’ve spoken to on the phone have been lacking in—well, everything.”

“You’re too much of a perfectionist,” Ella said. “Hire someone and then you can shape them into the baker you were hoping for.”

“But there’s more to this than not finding an assistant,” Aria said with a serious brow. We always counted on her to play the role of parent in these situations, and she wasn’t wasting time stepping into those shoes.

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