Page 40 of One Whopper of a Love Story

“I’m a wee bit excited.” She held her index finger close to her thumb. “Just a little.” As I stepped onto the sidewalk, she dropped her purse and launched toward me.

Of all the things I loved about Layla, the sheer delight she exuded when I showed up ranked very near the top of the list. There was no question she loved me. We hadn’t used that word yet, either of us, but I felt that way. And her love was evident in a million little ways and in a few big ways.

I caught her, wrapping her in my arms. Her legs circled my waist, and I greeted her like I hadn’t seen her in days. Because I hadn’t.

“Five days is too long.” She rested her forehead against mine. “I missed you. Did you get everything finished at your parents’ house?”

“Missed you too.” Holding her against me, I picked up her purse and carried her to the truck. “We did. I’m not sure who had the idea to build a new deck in July, but we finished. Between that and work—”

“I know.” She kissed me before shifting to her seat. “And I’m not upset. How are your parents?”

“Everyone is good. Looking at dad, you’d never know he had a heart attack, but we didn’t let him help too much. Mom kept asking when I was going to bring you to dinner again. We’ll have to do that soon.”

“I’d love that.” She pulled me in for another quick kiss. “What are we going to do today? You’ve been quiet about the details.”

I dropped her purse near her feet, then ran around and climbed in. Seeing anticipation and delight on her face only amped my excitement. “What do you think about butterflies?”

“Love them.”

“I figured we’d start with a butterfly exhibit, have a romantic dinner, then go back to my place for dessert.”

She danced her eyebrows and reached for my hand. “Dessert, huh?”

“Yeah.” Brushing the back of her hand against my lips, I glanced across the cab. “So, how did I do? Today is the last day of the five months.”

“On a scale of one to ten, I’d give you an eleven.” She giggled. “I still can’t believe this.”

“Believe what?” I turned onto the county road, headed toward the butterfly house.

“Us. This. It’s just—” She shifted in her seat, slapping at her legs. “Pull over. Hurry.”

I yanked the wheel and skidded to a stop in the grass. “What’s wrong?”

Without answering, she launched out of the truck, kicked off her sandals, and started yanking her jeans off.

Struggling to not let her hot pink lace distract me, I ran up beside her, trying to understand why she was stripping out of her clothes on the side of the road.

A truck drove by, and I shifted my body to block the view of her. “Why are you—”

“Ants!” She swiped at her legs.

Then I noticed the ants on her legs and started brushing the tiny beasts off her thighs with one hand while holding her upright with the other.

“Did you get bit?” I picked her up and set her on the seat so that I could get the jeans off her ankles. Then I swiped more ants off her legs, trying not to notice what had been hidden under her jeans. They were pink. I’d already noticed that.

The panic in her eyes answered my question.

I reached for her purse, but it wasn’t on the floorboard. “Layla, where’s your purse?”

Her breathing was starting to change, and she grabbed my hand. “You put it by my feet.”

I knew that. The Pixie Stix on the floorboard confirmed that. I glanced at the grass. The contents of her purse were strewn on the ground beside the truck. I picked up the epinephrine injector and gave myself a pep talk. “You can do this. Don’t pass out.”

Layla gripped my shirt. “I’ll handle it. Just hold my hand and look out that way.”

I pulled out the end, then handed over the needle. “I can do that. Count out loud for me.”

With her forehead resting on my shoulder, she counted to eleven, squeezing my hand tighter than anyone would expect from someone her size. Five months of working out had made her stronger.

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