Page 51 of What Hurts Us

Layla’s breathing had steadied again like she had fallen back asleep in my arms. Instead of turning left into the guest room, I turned right. My bed was nicer. Bigger. At least that’s the bullshit I told myself when I laid her in it and started unlacing her boots.

I hoped she was wearing something under the Nomex suit. Another part of me, a darker part that I didn’t like to acknowledge, hoped she was completely naked under the blue fabric. She was a fucking stunner. Sexy as hell thighs, tits like a dream, and an ass that I wanted to squeeze.And that was just my observation when she was clothed.My curiosity was satisfied when I peeled the flight suit away and found her in a cotton long-sleeved shirt and a pair of leggings.

“Cal,” she listlessly argued. “You don’t have to…” she drifted off again. Layla probably hadn’t even needed to pop melatonin to fall asleep today.

I pulled the thick comforter around her and added a quilt for good measure. She was long gone into a sleep-filled abyss. I gathered her boots and flight suit and carried them over to her room. After fishing her phone out of her suit and carrying it back to where she was, I plugged it in, set it on the bedside table, closed the door behind me, and went to work.

* * *

“Gran?”I called out as I rapped my knuckles on the side door of my grandmother’s butter-yellow cottage. The exterior paint choice was fitting, given her uncanny resemblance to Paula Deen.

Layla was going out to dinner with her friend, Beth, so I made an overdue stop on my way home from work to see Gran.

“Back here!” Gran hollered from one of her flower beds. I followed the sound of her voice and found her kneeling on a piece of foam, stabbing at the dirt with a trowel.

“Gran,” I said with a laugh. “What are you doing?”

She propped dirt-caked hands on her hips. The Tarheels sweatshirt she was in was filthy. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m putting in bulbs for the spring. These tulips aren’t gonna plant themselves.”

I knelt beside her and took the trowel, digging out a path of dirt while she dropped tulip bulbs in a neat row. “You should've called me. I would have come over yesterday and gotten them in for you.”

Gran snorted. “And take you away from yourfiancéthe day after you proposed? I think not, Callum Anthony Fletcher. You have better things to be doing than treating me like a helpless old lady who can’t plant her own fucking garden.”

I loved Gran for a myriad of reasons—one being her love of a well-placed F-bomb.

“We both had to work yesterday,” I said. “And you know damn well I’ll drop anything to come help you out.”

She patted my arm with a weathered hand. “I know, dear.” She dropped a few more bulbs in before adding, “But it’s not like I was sweating out here all day. I’ve been on the phone with Sepideh for most of the day, planning your engagement party.”

I choked on my tongue. “Engagement party?” That was not part of the plan. Theplanwas to fake propose to Layla, live together until her apartment was renovated, then break it off after the date auction. That would've given me an entire year to come up with a more permanent solution to avoid Brandie Jean. Parties and socialization were not in my plan.

“Don’t act like a Neanderthal. I raised you better than that,” she sniffed as she wiped her hands on her jeans. “Of course there will be an engagement party. How else will the town celebrate? Sepideh said the bed and breakfast is open tomorrow night. You and Layla don’t have to do a thing. Just show up and act surprised.”

“Gran,” I said with a sigh. She meant well—she really did. But I was not the partying type.

“Don’tGranme,” she huffed. “I love you. The whole fucking town loves you. Layla loves you, and you love her. Accept it.”

I didn’t doubt the first two, but a little bit of guilt bubbled up when she mentioned Layla.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Gran mused. “The perfect match for you. Every good man needs a woman who’s way out of his league. And I mean way,wayout.”

“And that’s what you were for Grandad?” I mused. “Way,wayout of his league?”

“You bet your damn britches I was!” she said with a laugh that turned to a cough. “And he knew it until his dying day.”

My grandad passed away when I was in high school. It wasn’t long after the funeral that I had been sent to live with Gran. She was a grieving widow, and I was an angry, punk-ass kid. The two of us made quite a pair.

“And you two will give me some beautiful grandbabies to spoil the shit out of.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to swear in front of kids, Gran,” I said with a chuckle.

“I swore in front of you, and look how you turned out!”

“Exactly.” I wiped my brow, smearing my skin with a swipe of soil. “I don’t know about having kids, Gran. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“And why not?” she said with a whirl of her head.

“Well, for one, we both work a lot.”And we’re not actually getting married.But I didn’t say that last part out loud.

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