Page 30 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe
He shrugged. “I’d really like to know what it was. You know, so I don’t do it again. To anyone.”
A small smile curved her lips until she looked down at her feet.
“You made me feel small in front of your girlfriend and the person I was with. Insignificant. As if kissing me was not only a mistake, but beneath you. You made it personal,” she said, her voice hushed. “It wasn’t that big of a deal until you opened your mouth.”
After all this time the memory still brought her pain. He knew that by the way her forehead creased as she spoke.
“She wasn’t my girlfriend.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He looked down the street. “You’re right. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
She pressed her lips together. “I’ve put it behind me.”
“But you still don’t trust me.”
She smiled again and lifted a shoulder. That would be a yes.
They stood there looking at each other. He wanted to say the magic words to build that trust again. But he had no idea what to do aside from giving her endless apologies. Maybe it didn’t matter much, regaining her trust. It wasn’t like they ran in the same circles. It was a lesson in perspective though. Empathy too. At the time, he didn’t see his reaction as problematic. To her, it had been everything.
But if somehow he could change the way she felt about him, the dinner at Blueberry Point Lodge might be something to look forward to. As it appeared, he was only to be tolerated. She’d just as soon spend the evening with a goat than him.
“I’ll offer again: If you want to take the Holly Days dinner off the table, I’ll understand.” The invitation was certainly a mistake, but he’d never tell her that.
She looked at him coolly. “That’s all right. It might be a good networking event like you said. I have to find someone to cover an hour or two for me that day if I go. I’ll let you know.”
He squeezed the door handle on his truck when she spoke up.
“Thanks for the apology,” she said. “It means a lot.”
Layla left him at the truck. He watched her go until she walked back into her shop and shut the door, the heart-shaped holly wreath swinging in place.
A little while later,Layla was dusting the shelves with all the candles. It never ceased to amaze her how her little closed-up shop, in the dead of winter, accumulated so much dust. Maybe it was the old plaster walls or the exposed brick wall shedding their surfaces, particle by particle. Either way, she’d wipe off a shelf and the next day she could write her name on it. Business had picked up these last few days, so she wanted to keep the place spotless.
She set the last few candles back in place when her phone dinged inside the pocket of her cardigan.
Thanks for showing me the space on such short notice. Nice to see you again.
Layla stared at Brant’s message and smiled to herself.
She needed to answer him soon about the Holly Days dinner invite. She’d put it off too long already.
Maybe tomorrow.
Chapter Fourteen
Layla opened the stockroom’s outside door as the delivery truck driver navigated the short gravel drive in the alley, its backup alarm beeping. Merchandise deliveries made the day feel like Christmas morning. Opening the boxes to see what she’d ordered filled her with joy. She couldn’t wait to see if her customers loved the merchandise she’d handpicked as much as she did, especially now that Christmas was six weeks away. Some of the art pieces, cards, and specialty food items would be gifts for loved ones, she knew. In a way, a little piece of Copper Creek Home would meld with so many other homes. She loved spreading her passion for design that way.
Snow flurries pricked her skin as she squinted against the wind. She zipped her parka as Rick, the driver, hopped down from the cab of this truck. At the front of the store, Marybelle tended to customers while Layla helped unload.
“How are you doing today, Miss Layla?”
Rick had been the substitute driver until the other driver retired last spring. Now that he’d taken over the route permanently, Layla saw him at least once a week. She liked Rick. He was definitely more talkative than the previous driver, and they’d become fast friends.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Layla, notMissLayla?”
There was a twinkle in his eye. He could be the prototype for Santa Claus with his froth of prematurely whitened hair and perpetually red nose. “I know. I’m teasing.” He lifted the latch on the door and pushed it up on its track. “You’re getting busier, I guess. Half my truck is filled with your orders.”
