Page 20 of The Layover

As I approached, Curtis glanced at me. “Mr. Bianchi. Good evening. I was just talking to your overseer about this old building of yours.”

The reason I knew Curtis was because he’d tried to sell us on a brand-new building, rather than using this one. While I wouldn’t say that his newest project was because we’d turned him down, but the parallels were there.

“Ms. Hammond understands the beauty in this structure in a way that’s hard for the average person to appreciate.” I didn’t know what I was walking into, but Carly’s body language made it clear she needed an ally, and I could do that.

“Not everything is like fine wine.” Curtis made a tsk sound. “The rest of the world doesn’t necessarily get better with age.” He focused on Carly.

Her entire body went rigid.

This went deeper than the building, didn’t it? It was tempting to punch the man, but I wasn’t the kind of guy who let fists fly, just because. Besides, Curtis didn’t strike me as the type of person on whom a fist to the face would have the right kind of impact.

I wouldn’t let his dig go unanswered, though. Whether it was intentionally directed at Carly or not. “Buildings and people are far too complex to be compared to something as basic as fermented wine juice. Her beauty is in a combination of internal and external construction. The way she stands up to strife. Resilience and architecture relay her true beauty far better than age.” Let him assume if I was talking about the building or Carly.

I dropped my hand and let it brush hers, giving her the hint and the option without forcing the subject. She wove her fingers through mine.

“Hmm…” Curtis’s gaze fell to our hands. “That’s certainly one opinion. Make sure you’re not missing something important in your infatuation.”

“I’m not,” I said.

“I’ll see you both around town. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Curtis turned away and walked to the main street before vanishing around the corner.

The instant he was gone, Carly muttered, “Thank you.”

The way she was almost sunken in on herself was nothing like the women I’d met. “Do you know him?”

“He’s my ex-husband.”

Oh.

8

Diego

Eloise and I came back to the kitchen, to see what kind of help Raul needed finishing dinner. He was nowhere to be found, but voices reached us from the back alley.

“Company.” Eloise grabbed my hand and tugged.

I pulled her back gently, forcing her to stay behind me as we approached. One of the voices was Raul, the other was Carly.

We stepped outside as she said, “My ex-husband.”

“You came.” Eloise broke away from me and ran up to Carly.

“Of course I did.” Carly crouched to her eye level. “I couldn’t refuse such a splendid invitation.”

The tension out here was heavy, and Raul was pale with a dark expression that looked like he’d just found out the cream he bought that was supposed to be fresh had gone rancid.

I gave him a what’s going on look.

His shrug and glance at Eloise said I’ll tell you later.

That ought to be an interesting story.

Carly stood again, and looked at me. “Good to see you again.” Her voice was tight.

“You too.” I meant it.

She held out a paper-wrapped bundle of freshly cut flowers. “I wasn’t sure what you were making, so I didn’t know what kind of wine or sweets would pair with it. I brought the centerpiece instead.”

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