Page 43 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe
Marybelle squinted at him over her glasses, but then pointed to the corner of the room.
“Layla, pull up that chair so I can get a better look at him. I need to see him square. It’s not every day I invite strange men into my bedroom.”
Layla pushed a small recliner across the room but stopped, her mouth gaping. “Marybelle!”
Brant chuckled. He liked Marybelle already.
“Oh, don’t pretend that what comes out of my mouth is such a shock. We’ve known each other long enough to get rid of pretense.” She winked at him behind Layla’s back.
Layla shot Marybelle a look then turned her focus on his bag. Brank slung his coat over the back of the chair.
“I was just getting our plates ready in the kitchen,” Layla said. “Should we take the bag in there and unload?”
Marybelle huffed. “You’re going to go in the kitchen and apologize for me, aren’t you?”
“You’re awfully mouthy for someone whose stomach is at our mercy,” Layla called over her shoulder as she left the room.
Their snipingsoundedgood-natured, but Brant wasn’t sure until he set the bag on the kitchen counter. Layla grinned broadly while shaking her head.
“The bump on the head seems to have made her saucier than ever.”
Brant unloaded the Tupperware containers onto the counter while Layla opened the cupboard. “At least it didn’t hurt her sense of humor.”
He’d brought the leftover corn and sweet potato casseroles, and the remnants of the second vegetable tray. There was also a bottle of Pinot Grigio he’d grabbed as an afterthought. Even after hosting his dinner, there was still enough food and wine to serve another party.
Layla set a third plate on the counter. “Will you eat with us?” she asked casually while arranging the vegetables on a small platter as if it didn’t matter to her either way if he stayed or left.
“I’m stuffed.”
“Is that a ‘no’ then?” She hesitated while stacking the carrots, yet still focused on the platter.
He couldn’t very well kick back in the bedroom, watching the two of them eat their Thanksgiving dinner. That was awkward. Leaving didn’t seem to be an option either. He’d come all this way.
“Would it bother you if I had a slice of that while you eat?” He nodded to the pie cooling on the stovetop.
Layla smiled. “Not at all. I can hardly wait to dig in myself.”
He took the plate from her. “You know what they say.”
“Eat dessert first because—” Her voice trailed off.
“Because life is uncertain,” he finished.
She looked up at him. With the stove light behind her, the nuances of Layla’s expression were lost in the shadows of the dim kitchen. Her eyes were twin dark pools, her lips slightly open. Life was definitely uncertain. He never would have guessed a month ago he’d be standing with Layla in a semidark kitchen on Thanksgiving Day. Or that she’d be looking at him with something besides contempt.
“I can hear you two talking about me!” Marybelle shouted.
Her voice broke the spell. Layla started a little, then a small smile appeared.
“We’d better get in there. Marybelle is no one to mess with at mealtime.”
He carried the pie and wine, following Layla down the hall again.
“That is not hard to understand.”
Marybelle leanedback against the mound of pillows behind her, frowning at her empty plate.
“That was the best dinner I’ve had in a long time,” she said, dabbing a napkin at her mouth.
