Just Desserts

“I’d love to see the balloons.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Your family is nuts, Layla.”

“I know.”

“I mean that in a good way.”

“What kind of good way? What could possibly be good about shirking responsibility?”

“How is it irresponsible to run a business?”

“If you saw how Sam did it, you’d understand.” The bead business had sunk slowly but surely as her sister bought stock and put off paying for it. But Sam hadn’t had much business traffic, either. Sunshine was doing much, much better. Apparently more people wanted to invest in their love life than in jewelry making.

Layla let her head fall back against the buttery-soft leather sofa cushions, but resisted the urge to close her eyes and luxuriate for a moment. None of her furniture was this good. She’d bought cheap stuff, saving her money for more important things, like her retirement fund.

This seemed so wrong. She’d formulated a plan, made sacrifices to stick to it, and everything was supposed to turn out all right. The end. She wasn’t supposed to be demoted back to Life Skills. Or have to go work for her sister, who couldn’t afford to pay her.

Justin got up and went into the kitchen on the other side of the breakfast island and opened the fridge. “Sure you don’t want one?” he asked. Layla shook her head and he pulled out a single beer.

“Do you always drink alone?”

“I’m trying hard not to,” he pointed out.

Layla scowled at his purposeful misinterpretation. “Did your girlfriend move out?”

Justin glanced over at the box. “Very astute, Watson.”

“It was the toothbrush.” And it explained why he was drinking.

“But, no, I don’t usually drink alone and it isn’t because of Cindy.” Spoken like a man.

“Why today? Special occasion?” To Layla’s surprise, there was a fleeting touch of bitterness in his answering smile. There, then gone.

“In a manner of speaking.” He held the unopened bottle loosely, contemplating it for a moment. “An anniversary of sorts.”

“I see.” But she obviously didn’t. And she’d never known Justin to be anything close to morose. It bothered her. “What kind of anniversary?”

He shrugged, and she could see he wasn’t about to give her a straight answer. Instead, he cocked his head, and the old Justin was back. The one she knew and could deal with. “What do you think about me, Layla?”

“Can I use long words? Or shall we stick with monosyllabic?”

“Your choice.”

“I think you’ve never had boundaries. You live life in a free-form way. I don’t believe you give a hoot for consequences. And because of that, sometimes you have to drink alone.”

“You think I’m irresponsible?”

Layla sighed. “Not exactly. I’m saying that in some aspects of your life you are more haphazard than in others.”

He studied her intently for a moment before saying, “Which aspects?” For some reason he needed her to spell it out. Fine. She’d spell.

“Well, judging from what went on in high school, you tend to be mercurial in your personal relationships.” She gestured toward the box. “How many of those have you had in your life?”

“A few,” he admitted.

“But on the other hand, you’re part of a successful business.” She shifted her head on the leather sofa cushion to look at him. “So who am I to judge?” And what could you possibly care about my thoughts after all these years?

She got to her feet. It seemed like a good time to go. In fact, suddenly she felt as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Something was off here…something that didn’t feel like it used to, and it was making her patently uncomfortable. Why was Justin asking her opinion of him? And in such a deeply serious way. And why was he suddenly looking like an attractive guy instead of her archrival?

“I need to get back home,” she said lamely. “I have…stuff to do.” More lameness.

“Do you make a spreadsheet or something for that?” he asked mildly. Layla didn’t bother answering. She picked up the case and Justin walked with her to the door. When they got there, he put his hand on the knob as if he was going to open it for her, then said, “We’ve been through a lot, you and I.”

“Meaning you made my life miserable when I was a kid? Yes.”

“If you hadn’t been so easy to mess with, so…reactive…”

“Blaming the victim, Justin?” she asked softly.

“You were never a victim. You gave as good as you got.” He touched his bruised cheekbone.

Funny, but she didn’t remember it that way. Maybe she’d tried, but… “I was never in your league, Justin, so it wasn’t a fair contest.”

He frowned a little, his expression distant, as if calling up a long lost memory—something that involved her, no doubt.

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