CHAPTER THIRTEEN LYLA #2
“I was thinking about making pumpkin bread with a cream cheese swirl for tomorrow,” I said. If Vance had taught me anything besides just how good sex could be, it was how to change the subject when the current topic was headed down a dangerous road. “Want to take the lead?”
Mom gave me a flat look.
“Or we could do chocolate chips instead of the cream cheese.”
“Lyla.” Mom wouldn’t drop this.
I sighed. “Yes, I like him. But he’s leaving. It’s nothing serious. And right now, I need that. He’s an escape.”
Her eyes drifted to my throat. No matter how many years passed, she’d always see those bruises, wouldn’t she?
“Chocolate chips or cream cheese?” I asked.
“Cream cheese.” She gave me a sad smile, then walked to the rack tucked in the back corner of the kitchen, trading her coat for a green apron.
I pulled dry ingredients from my shelves, setting them on the prep table, while Mom went to the walk-in, getting eggs and butter and cream. “Okay, I’m going to go check on things out there and leave you to it.”
“I’m going to invite him to family dinner at the ranch on Friday.”
“Oka—” Huh. “What?”
“Dinner at the ranch Friday. If he’s visiting, that means he’s eating out for every meal. Wouldn’t it be nice to have something homemade?”
“First, I won’t take offense to that statement, considering the majority of his meals have been here. Second, no. Just . . . no, Mom.”
“Do you think it would be weird if I went out there and invited him?”
“Beyond weird.”
“You’re probably right. I could ambush him in the hotel lobby.”
“That’s called stalking. Hard no.”
“It’s just dinner.”
“Mother,” I warned.
“Fine.” She waved it off. “I’ll butt out.”
“Thank you.”
She came closer, tucking a lock of my dark hair behind an ear. “I’m worried about you. I love you.”
Two statements that meant the same thing. “I love you too.”
“Here’s an idea.” She bopped my nose with a finger, then turned to the table. “What if we topped this pumpkin bread with some toasted sunflower seeds? Give it a little hint of salt.”
“Yum. Do I have sunflower seeds?”
“You go back to the counter. I’ll dig around the pantry.”
“Okay.” I left her to her task, knowing that her pumpkin bread creation would be a marvel.
Emily was gone when I returned to the counter, her empty mug and plate left behind, so I quickly cleared them away and wiped down the table before wandering back to Vance’s corner.
His plate was empty too.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m good.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “You and your mom look alike.”
“We are alike. She’s in the back, baking.” Now that Emily was gone, I pulled out the chair across from his and took a seat. “She taught me how to cook. Knox too.”
I had countless memories from my childhood of spending hours and hours with Mom in the kitchen. At the time, I hadn’t realized just how much I was learning from her while she’d been standing at the stove.
She’d taught me about hard work. About the pride that came with accomplishment. She’d taught me patience. Grace.
And through every meal, Mom had taught us all about love.
“Eden Coffee was my dream job come true,” I told Vance. “In a way, I think it was for Mom too.”
Vance leaned his elbows on the table, not speaking, just listening. His gray-blue eyes locked on mine.
The more time I spent around him, the more I was learning to read those striking eyes.
They unfocused whenever he was lost in memory.
They darkened each night before he fucked me to sleep.
And when he was interested in a story, soaking up every word like he was now, they had a brightness that made his irises almost iridescent.
If only we had more time together.
I’d learn every color of Vance Sutter’s eyes.
“While my dad was working on the ranch and running the family businesses, Mom managed the hotel,” I told him.
“She loves The Eloise. Not the way Eloise loves The Eloise, but Mom enjoyed working there until she retired. But I think if she could do it all over again, she’d have a restaurant.
Maybe not like Knox has with Knuckles, but something smaller. Something like this.”
“It’s good of you to let her come here.”
“It’s no hardship. Trust me. She’s an incredible cook. Better than me.”
Vance scoffed. “Doubt it.”
His reaction was so swift, so confident, that I forgot whatever I’d been about to say.
He liked my food. Why did that surprise me? He ate whatever I put on his plate. He never left so much as a crumb behind. Still, it was nice to hear.
I hadn’t realized until now how much I wanted him to like my food. To like me. They were one and the same.
The door opened, stealing Vance’s attention as he looked over my shoulder.
That freaking bell. I was starting to resent the jingle.
With a sigh, I twisted in my seat, smiling as Sandy came inside. She ran the kitchen shop down the street, a popular store with tourists and locals alike.
“Hey, Sandy,” I said, getting to my feet.
“Hi, Lyla.” She swept a lock of gray hair out of her face. “I’m freezing. Something is wrong with the furnace at the store, so I’m here for one of your magical lattes to chase away the cold.”
“A magical latte.” I laughed. “I can do that. Vanilla, like usual?”
“It’s my favorite.”
“Mom’s in the kitchen if you want to go say hi.”
“Oh, good. I haven’t seen her in weeks, so I’d love to catch up.”
“I’ll bring your coffee back in a few.”
She nodded, her gaze darting to Vance, but she didn’t introduce herself. She just wandered through the shop and ducked into the kitchen.
Vance’s chair legs scraped on the floor as he stood and grabbed his coat. “I’m going to head to my room. Take a shower.”
“Okay.” I never asked if he was coming to my house later. Granted, he came over each night, but still, I never asked. I didn’t want him to think I was clingy. I didn’t want to hear him say no.
We weren’t a couple. We didn’t make plans. We didn’t date. It was better that way, right?
I turned for the counter, about to leave, but stopped. Wait. Why couldn’t we make plans?
“Do you want to go to the ranch on Friday for dinner?” I blurted before thinking it through. It sounded so eerily like my mother’s voice that I cringed.
She’d put the idea in my head and it had just snuck out. Damn it.
“No pressure.” My face began to flame. “Mom is planning a family dinner at the ranch on Friday and mentioned it. If you’re sick of eating at restaurants every night and want something homemade . . .”
It was official. I hated the word homemade. And just like my mother, I was now insulting my own business. Nice, Lyla.
“Sorry. This is weird.” I waved it off. “Ignore me. My family is a lot, and I just wanted to offer in case—”
“Blue.”
Oh God. Here came the polite decline. And I probably wouldn’t see him tonight either.
I couldn’t meet his gaze. I didn’t want to know what color his eyes turned when they were full of pity. So I stared at the floor instead. “Yeah?”
“What time is dinner Friday?”