Page 84 of The Score We Never Settled

“Thanks,” I offer to fill in the space of needed words. “I appreciate it, Sherry.”

“Any time, wonder boy. Don’t mess this up.”

I think we already did.

22

LAYLA

“Well,have ya made up yer mind on what ya want or are ya gonna keep starin’ at her like the answers to all yer questions are gonna pop out of her brain?”

I wince because, normally, I’d get on Blake to stop being so rude to the customers but today, it’s a madhouse, and it’s not because I made fresh cinnamon crumble muffins.

“Blake Fisher, ya better watch yer mouth when yer talkin’ to ladies, now,” I hear Mrs. Norris complain. “I was just lookin’—”

“I ain’t seen no lady starin’ so hard at someone before in all my life,” Blake retorts. “Furthermore, yer holdin’ up theline.”

This isn’t good for business.

However, no one is going to drive fifteen miles out of the way to get fancy coffee and pastries because my employee is on his shit again.

Blake is always on his sassy crap. He’s gay, proud, loud, and one of the first and best employees I’ve ever had. I just wish he’d tone it down just a little.

“Layla, sweetheart?” I hear Miss Christopher ask. “What kind of raspberry desserts do you have today? I can’t seem to get my wits about me with all the delicious things you have.”

Turning from the espresso machine, I brace myself for the onslaught of questions and how this may be a trap.

Nonetheless, it’s just Blake and me in the mornings, and I can’t be slacking when we’re literally jam-packed in here.

For the first time.

“Coffee cake for one,” I profess as sweetly and cheerily as I can. “And I tried some scones this time?—”

“Honey, how in the world did you marry Briggs Kerrigan and not say nothin’ about it?”

I stare back at her excited brown eyes and wish I could take it in another context. One that didn’t involve years of keeping a secret and relishing in the fact I married the man I’ve loved almost half my life.

“I…” Words escape me. Like good ones that will prevent more from coming my way, but my brain falls flat from formulating any good ones.

“Her Uncle Benjamin, of course,” Mrs. Goodwin chimes in, sliding up right next to Miss Christopher. “He’s always had it out for that boy, and our girlfinallygot tired of it.” She smiles proudly at me. “Well done, darlin’. He’s a catch.”

What is happening right now?

“Don’t let him make you feel bad now,” Miss Christopher advises. “Your Uncle Ben was worse than he was when he married your Aunt Denise. He scared the bejesus out of her mother when she found out she was datin’ the town’s biggest playboy.”

My eyes expand into saucers. “He was what now?”

Both women chortle with each other, and I’m about to ask some pressing questions on that matter when a large arm wraps around my middle and pulls me into a hard body.

The smell of nutmeg and a warm woody scent wraps around me, and I equally tense and melt against it. Two polar opposites,but that’s like every two seconds with me when it comes to Briggs.

I love him.

I can’t stand him.

I can’t help but just want to devote all my energy and adoration to him.

Then I want to punch him in the throat.