HE WAS A GLUTTON FOR punishment, Bryant thought as he made his way slowly down Layla’s parents’ street. An idiot. A moron. A fool. But while he was being foolish…
It had taken the private investigator he’d hired yesterday less than three hours to find his grandparents. His grandfather was buried in The Willows Eternal Rest Cemetery less than sixty miles from where he lived, and his grandmother was in an assisted-living nursing home within five miles of where her husband was buried. Under the guise of visiting from an area church, Bryant had gone to meet Elsie Walker. Thin and withered with perfectly coifed snowy-white hair and bright pink lipstick, his grandmother wasn’t the cookie-baking type granny he’d imagined. She was erect and regal, and while age had worn down her body, it had not dimmed her mind.
She’d taken one look at him and known he wasn’t who he said he was. “You look very familiar, young man,” she said. “I feel I should know you, but don’t.”
“I have that kind of face.”
“Maybe so, but you have my daughter’s eyes. What was your name again?”
He’d told her, and after she’d extracted a promise from him that he would visit again the following week, he’d left. Elsie Walker had some pictures she’d like to show him, she’d explained. Mostly she’d talked about her husband, whom she’d loved dearly. Staying power might not have been a genetic trait passed on from either of his parents, but it was reassuring to see that his grandparents had had it. Fifty-seven years, all of them happy, she’d proudly told him. She hadn’t much to say about her daughter, and Bryant suspected that, like him, Elsie hadn’t heard from her in years.
What the hell was he doing here? Bryant wondered as he looked for a place to park on the street. The sidewalk was full and cars were lined up on either side of the road for half a block.
The truth was…he couldn’t stay away. It had been little over twenty-four hours since he’d left Layla and it had felt like twenty-three hours fifty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds too long. Could he breathe without her? Yes.
But he didn’t want to.
He had no idea where this was going or whether or not it would end in disaster. He didn’t know if he could commit to a woman long-term, because he’d never tried—he’d never met a woman who’d inspired him to attempt it.
He wasn’t altogether certain he was inspired now…but he couldn’t stay away from her.
That’s why he was here, in her town, on her street, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
Pathetic, but he didn’t care.
He slid in behind a sleek Lexus, exited the car and pocketed his keys. Shoulders hunched in his black peacoat against the cool Christmas Eve air, he followed the crowd on the sidewalk, waiting for his turn.
And there she was.
She was wrapped in a blue cloak, her blond hair covered by a hood, holding a squirming baby that was too big to be the infant Jesus, and looked largely entertained by all that was going on around him. It was the goat that held the child’s attention, Bryant realized, following the kid’s chubby pointing finger. Layla smiled and murmured something to the little boy, and as though she’d felt Bryant’s stare, she turned her head and looked directly at him.
She smiled then, a genuinely happy-to-see-him grin that made the bottoms of his feet tingle and his chest warm. Her older sister, sensing Layla’s preoccupation, followed her gaze, and the youngest one, Rita, gasped. She leaned over, and though he couldn’t hear what she said, he knew she was asking Layla what he was doing here.
Layla handed the baby off, gestured to another cloaked woman waiting in the wings, then picked through the audience and made her way to him. “Bryant,” she said wonderingly. “What are you doing here?”
Hell if he knew, Bryant thought, soaking her in. She had a freckle to the left of her nose. How had he missed that? He shrugged. “I was curious.” I wanted to see you. I couldn’t stay away.
She turned and looked at her family. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
It was, so he nodded. He shifted, suddenly nervous. “Look, I know that you’ve got your family thing tomorrow, but I was wondering if your evening would be free.”
She turned back to face him. “My evening?”
This was harder than he’d thought it would be. He’d never invited anyone to share the holiday with him before, but he wanted her there. “I thought we could have some eggnog, roast some chestnuts over an open fire.”
“At your house?”
“Yeah.” This was a mistake, Bryant thought. He shouldn’t have asked her. She would come out of pity, because she knew he was going to be alone. Dammit, why—
A slow-dawning smile slid over her lips. “I would love to.”
His world brightened. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I’ll text directions to your phone,” he said. “See you around seven then?”
“I’ll be there with bells on.”
He didn’t care what she wore, so long as she showed up.
LORD, PLEASE DON’T LET me be in an accident or get pulled over, Layla silently prayed as she made her way out to Bryant’s place. She was wearing a long coat and little else and was currently debating the wisdom of such a choice. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It had been too late to get Bryant a proper present, but with some leftover Christmas decorations, she’d turned herself into one.
Now she felt ridiculous.
Incidentally, she hadn’t needed directions to his place. She’d taken one look at the address—Hardscrabble Road—and instantly understood that sly little smile he’d worn when she’d told him about her land.
He was her neighbor. Or would be, very soon.
She couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t simply told her. Had their positions been reversed, she wouldn’t have been able to stand not telling him. But Bryant…
She couldn’t get a bead on Bryant. Just when she was certain she had him completely figured out, that their relationship was destined to explode like a fantastic firework and disappear just as quickly, he’d shown up at her parents’ and asked her to Christmas.
She was trying not to read too much into this—he didn’t want to be alone, he wasn’t finished with her yet, etc.—but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Something about him just clicked for her. He felt right. More importantly, she felt right when she was with him.
Anxiety tightened her belly into a miserable knot as she spied his mailbox and turned down his driveway. His house wasn’t visible from the road, but lights shone in the distance.
Her mouth formed a silent O as she found herself in the circular driveway in front of his house. It was a small cabin with a screened-in front porch. Golden light spilled from the windows and smoke curled from the chimney. All it needed was a blanket of snow to be Thomas Kinkade picturesque.
And then he was there, in the doorway, and the smile that split his face as she hurried up the walk—socks, why hadn’t she worn socks?—made her chest fill with warm fuzzy air.
“Hey, you,” he said, pulling her inside and immediately into his arms.
And this was home, she realized. It wasn’t a house or a piece of property. It was here, in his arms. Layla quaked with the realization.
“You’re cold,” he said, drawing back with concern. “Come over by the fire and let’s see if I can warm you up.”
Oh, she knew he could do that. She followed him on shaky legs, taking in a bit of his decor along the way. Wide-plank pine floors, comfortable furniture, art—no doubt his own— and high-end electronics. The kitchen and dining area were open to the living room and the ceilings soared overhead, giving the impression of additional space. She liked it, she thought. It suited him.
“Here, let me get your coat,” he offered.
She faked a shiver. “I’ll leave it on for a minute more, if you don’t mind.”
He gave her an odd look. “Sure. How was the day with your family?”
She settled onto his couch and rolled her eyes. “Hectic. Wonderful. The same as it always is.”
“That’s nice.”
“What about your day?” she asked.
His gaze warmed. “It just got better.”
So had hers. “What have you been doing?”
He pulled a small wrapped box from the coffee table and handed it to her. “Making you something.”
Touched, Layla felt her eyes widen. “Bryant, you didn’t have to do that. I didn’t expect—”
“I wanted to,” he said simply. “Open it.”
She did, carefully. A tree pendent, a bit smaller than the one he wore, was nestled in a swath of scrap fabric. She gasped and withdrew it, holding it up to the light so that she could get a better look. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Thank you.”
“I included the roots, because I knew they were important to you.”
She swallowed tightly. “I see that.”
She didn’t know when any gift had ever meant more to her. Her eyes glistened. “It’s perfect.”
He slid a finger beneath her eye, catching a tear. “You’re perfect.”
“What am I doing here, Bryant?” she asked, because she had to know. Needed to know what he was thinking. “I didn’t figure you wanted this.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t, either. But I can’t get you out of my head, Layla. And I don’t want to. I don’t know where this is going. I don’t know if I can be that guy, the one you want, but I know that I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t try.” He laced his fingers through hers and gave her hand a significant squeeze. “I just know that I’m grounded when I’m with you. Centered. Rooted. And I like that.”
It was as close to a declaration of love as she was going to get, and since she wasn’t ready to declare herself yet either, that was fine.
She nodded, in full understanding, then smiled. “Would you like to unwrap your present?” she asked.
“You brought me something?”
“It’s not new,” she said. He’d had her before, but…
“That doesn’t matter.”
She guided his hand to the belt at her waist and helped him untie the sash. The coat fell open, revealing red and green plaid Christmas bows on her breasts and a large velvet bow— complete with a silver bell—over her hoo-ha. She’d made a thong for the occasion. Being crafty had its perks.
His eyes darkened and she watched him lick his lips. “You are the best Christmas present I have ever gotten, hands down.”
Layla smiled, pulled a piece of mistletoe from her coat pocket and dangled it over his head, then bent forward and kissed him. “Unwrap me.”
* * * * *