Page 49 of The Layover

I didn’t correct her. There was no reason to stunt her creativity. As she built, I saw Diego’s influence in the uniformity of the design, and Raul’s in the pieces of flair she added to the exterior. And it was all wrapped in this adorable little package of sunshine and joy.

As we moved past noon, and toward two, Eloise announced that I would be making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch.

Good. I could do that. With a little luck, Raul hadn’t set too high a bar there. We headed into the kitchen. I grabbed the ingredients, put peanut butter on one slice of bread, jelly on another, and squished them together.

“No,” Eloise said. “Not like that. That’s not how Ariana makes it.”

It mattered? That was fine—I’d eat this one. “How does she do it?”

“Jelly first, then peanut butter on top.”

That sounded messy and grossly inefficient, but the girl needed to eat. I applied the ingredients as instructed. As I put the second piece of bread on top, Eloise said, “Not the purple jelly, the orange.”

Seriously? Fine. More leftovers for me.

I grabbed the marmalade out of the fridge. “This one?”

“Yes.”

Good. We were back in business. I made sandwich number three, in the exact order I was supposed to. As I was finishing up, my phone rang. “Do you want to go watch TV, and I’ll cut your sandwich and bring it to you?” Please don’t let that be a violation of some we only eat in the dining room rule.

“Okay.” Eloise hopped from her seat and ran into the living room.

Perfect. Because Kandace was on the phone. “Ciao,” I answered. “What has you up so early?”

“I’m still seeing that this news story of you being married to my clients is out there.” Straight to the point.

One of the things I liked about Kandace. I cut Eloise’s sandwich vertically— a straight line top to bottom. “Diego promised me he’d post the copy Lyndsay wrote him. It should’ve been up there this morning, but they’ve also been in meetings.”

Great, now I was making excuses for them. The opposite of my job.

“This has to get fixed,” Kandace said. “I know you know that, but…”

I cradled the phone between my shoulder and ear, grabbed the plate, and walked into the living room. “I’m not their babysitter.” I’d said that about dozens of clients, but I knew better. I just wished it hadn’t come to that with these two.

I set the sandwich in front of Eloise.

She screamed so loudly I nearly dropped the phone, and then she started to cry.

“Are you someone’s babysitter?” Kandace’s tone turned concerned in an instant.

“Fu—dge. I’m sorry. Please don’t cry, sweetie,” I said to Eloise. “Not you,” I said to Kandace. “What’s wrong?” Back to Eloise.

“You cut it wrong, and it’s ruined.” Eloise’s wail was earsplitting.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Lucas was a picky eater too.” Apparently Kandace was still on the line. “Never tell him I told you that.” The screaming almost drowned her out.

“Please don’t cry, Ellie. I’ll fix it, I promise.” How was I supposed to get her to stop?

“Take her into the kitchen with you,” Kandace said as if reading my thoughts. “Have her give you every single step to make the sandwich. Assume nothing. Don’t stop until she’s eating.”

Didn’t we just do that? But I’d had finicky clients before, I knew better. “Okay. But I need to call you back.”

“I’ll be here.” Kandace disconnected.

I put down the phone and scooped Eloise into my arms. Her crying stopped in a blink. I carried her into the kitchen, set her on the counter long enough to wash the tears from her cheeks and make her blow her nose, and then put her in her chair.

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