Page 41 of Falling for the Guy Next Door

“I can’t imagine growing up with that kind of parent,” Layla said. “Nonna could be strict, stuck in her old country ways, but she knew how to keep control without being harsh.”

“My mom was great, but she didn’t have control over me. I look back on those times now and wish I’d been a better son.”

Layla put her hand on mine. “But you’re making up for it now.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Layla glanced over at Rocky. He’d started up his usual chorus of snores. “Have you always had a dog?”

“Off and on. After my dad left, I was pretty out of control. One day, my mom came home with this big dog, a collie mix. Angus was from a rescue, and frankly, he still holds the ‘Coolest Dog in the World’ title.”

Layla looked quickly over at Rocky.

“It’s all right. He’s asleep. Angus went everywhere with me. Not to school, of course, but boy, I would have loved that. I probably would have behaved better just so I wouldn’t disappoint Angus. He was so smart. I was sure he could understand everything I told him. When he was thirteen, we had to put him down because of cancer. It took me a long time to recover. Nothing felt right or the same after he was gone. My mom told me I missed that dog far more than I’d ever missed my dad, and she was right. Angus had been a far better friend and protector than him.”

Layla was turned slightly toward me. She rested her head against the couch and gazed at me in a way that made me want to pull her right into my arms. “Even though it must have been devastating to lose him, I’m glad you had Angus,” she said softly.

“Me, too. What about you? What should I know about you other than you have four sisters, you grew up in Whisper Cove, you adore my dog and you often have the faintest aroma around you—sugar and vanilla—I think.”

“Ugh, that’s from working in the bakery.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“I guess it’s better than smelling like garlic or fish. I went to school with a girl whose dad owned a fish and chips kiosk down by the beach. I swear the neighborhood cats used to follow her to school.”

I laughed. “Yeah, that might be bad. So, what should I know about you?”

“Gosh, let me think. I’m kind of a dull bird, really.”

“Not true at all.”

“Well, if you grew up with Isla, a master baker whose personal beauty outshines even her gorgeous baked creations; Aria, a master businesswoman and all-around expert advice-giver; Ava, who has seen most of the world and can name any plant or animal by its Latin name and who also is so gorgeous—I’ve seen drivers stop in the middle of the road to look at her. Seriously. Not kidding. There’s smart Ella who writes and knows facts and vocabulary that would put the toughest SAT test to shame, and then there’s me, Layla. I will be the first to admit I was babied and coddled and adored by my four older sisters, and I’ll be the first to admit that I lapped it up like a hungry kitten at a bowl of milk. By the way, milk is bad for cats. Just adding that in case you decide to get a cat.” She lifted her head, and her brown eyes rounded. “Do you think you might get a cat?”

“Not in my near future and if I did, I’d have to get full approval from you-know-who.” I nodded toward the sleeping dog.

“That’s right. I did see Rocky grow still as a statue when he saw a cat out on the road. I expected him to bark and pull ahead like he did with the squirrel, but it was a much more dignified response.”

“That’s because he’s scared to death of cats. At least that’s my theory. I got him from a rescue when he was two, and they mentioned something about him not working out in a household that had three cats, so I think there’s some heavy history there.”

“Oh, poor baby, maybe he could see a therapist. So, what else about me? I’m not a master baker, but I’m pretty skilled at eating cookies and cupcakes. My advice is often best taken with the proverbial grain of salt. I haven’t been farther than two hundred miles in either direction from Whisper Cove, and my SAT scores were nothing to brag about. Hmm, I don’t like olives. Seriously do not like them. Nonna would always put them out in a bowl at Christmas, and Ella would stick them on each finger and then eat one at a time right in front of me. It was traumatizing, really.”

“Remind me not to take you to an Italian restaurant or a deli, for that matter.”

“Well, I do love pasta, as long as there are no olives in the sauce. I used to be a pretty decent baton twirler, but I’ve since retired from the sport because I look ridiculous in the colorfully sequined little dresses that went with baton twirling.”

“I bet you’d still look hot in sequins.”

“Maybe I should have left that life detail in the old memory box. Here’s something interesting—I once found a diamond ring down on the cove. Turned out to be fake but my ten-year-old self was sure I’d found some lost pirate treasure.”

“Don’t know if they were plundering fake diamond rings.”

Layla laughed and then covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. “Excuse me. Guess the workday and those margaritas are getting to me.”

I sat up. “You’re right. I forgot you worked all day, and you start early. I suppose tomorrow will be a busy day at the bakery, being the weekend.”

She groaned. “Yes, the weekenders will pile into the shop for their treats. I told Isla to start baking less delicious stuff, but she wasn’t buying my suggestion. Again, my advice is not usually stellar.” Layla yawned again.

“C’mon sleepyhead, I’ll walk you home.” I stood up and offered her my hand. She dropped her small hand in mine, and I closed my fingers around it and helped her to her feet.

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