Layla
. . .
My laptop is warm against my thighs, and the fan hums like it’s working overtime right along with my brain.
The timeline stretches across the screen; tiny clips stacked together like proof that the last months actually happened.
Ruby Ridge in golden light. Storefronts glowing underneath the twinkling twilight. The bar sign swinging gently in the breeze.
I scrub through footage of Reed’s bar, pausing again—because of course I do—on a shot of him behind the counter with his sleeves rolled, completely unbothered by the fact that he looks like literal sin.
“Okay, don’t panic,” I whisper to myself. “This is very professional. I am a professional.”
I immediately zoom in, clip certain scenes, and make sure the length is right.
The sunflowers come next. The footage wobbles because I’m laughing off-camera breathlessly, tugging him along. I leave the laugh in. It’s messy, real, and very me.
A creak pulls me out of my trance, and I instinctively jump at the small sound.
“I swear,” I call, way too fast, “I was just about to take a break. Like, literally right now. This exact second.”
Reed’s voice is calm and amused. “Good. I come bearing bribes.” The bed dips as he sits carefully, and something cold touches my arm.
I glance over. A berry smoothie, already sweating down the glass.
“Oh,” I say. “You’re an actual angel.”
He averts his gaze, clearing his throat. “You needed a snack,” he replies.
I snort, taking a sip as I ramble. “Okay, but this is really good. Like, unfairly good. Did you eyeball the ratios? I never get them right, and then it tastes like sadness, but this is spectacular!”
He leans in and kisses my shoulder, his mustache tickling my skin.
My brain promptly exits the building.
“For energy,” he murmurs.
“Right,” I say quickly. “Yes. Energy. Very important. I have… timelines. And feelings.”
He chuckles, and it makes my chest feel fizzy.
“Do you want company?” he asks. “Or am I distracting you?”
I nod too quickly. “No—yes—I mean, company. Definitely company. You’re not distracting. I’m just… easily distractible.”
“Noted.”
He shifts behind me, settling against the headboard, and tugs me gently so I end up between his legs.
His arm comes around my waist, loose, like he’s not trying to cage me, just… be there.
I immediately start talking again, because he is somehow the only person who can make me nervous.
Have you seen him? Six-seven of pure muscle, I literally don’t know what these Hayes men eat.
Anyways.
“Okay, so this clip is the first night. Here’s me showing off the bull and the decor, and then there’s you pretending not to notice me, rude by the way.”
“I noticed,” he says quietly, his lips brushing my temple.
I freeze. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” I laugh nervously. “Cool. Love that for me.”
His lips curve against my skin. “You get cute when you’re flustered.”
“I do not,” I protest immediately. “I get verbose. There’s a difference.”
He kisses just below my ear, and my words scatter.
“You make everything look like it matters,” he whispers.
My fingers falter on the trackpad. “It does. I… sometimes I get scared I’ll miss something. Like if I don’t capture it, it’ll disappear.”
His arm tightens slightly. “I’m not disappearing,” he murmurs.
I lean back into him without thinking as my head rests against his shoulder. “Good. Because I already put you in like… three different clips.”
“Guess I’m committed now.”
“Deeply,” I say, then add quickly, “Artistically. I mean. Unless—” I stop myself, laughing. “Wow, okay. I’m spiraling.”
“I’ve got you,” he says softly, kissing my shoulder again. “Babble all you want.”
The footage keeps rolling, sunflowers, laughter, light, but now there’s warmth at my back, and a quiet promise in his voice.
I hit play again, smiling. And for once, my nerves don’t feel like a warning.
They feel like hope.
The timeline inches forward as my fingers hover, indecisive, over the trackpad.
I nudge a clip half a second to the left.
Pause. Nudge it back. The sunflower field sways on the screen, yellow blurring into gold, and my chest tightens in that familiar way, like I’m holding something fragile and don’t want to drop it.
“I’m being annoying about this part,” I murmur, my words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I know I am. I just—if the cut is wrong, it changes the whole feeling, and I don’t want it to feel rushed, because it didn’t feel rushed when we were there. It felt—”
Reed’s lips brush my shoulder again.
My sentence dissolves.
“You’re not being annoying,” he whispers, his lips warm against my skin. “You’re careful.”
I swallow, nodding even though my eyes are glued to the screen.
His hand rests at my waist, not gripping, just there as his thumb moves in the smallest circle, slow enough that I almost miss it, except my whole body notices.
I keep editing because if I don’t, I’ll lose it.
A clip of the bar fades in; low light, wood grain, the quiet clink of glass. I let the ambient sound breathe rather than cutting it clean, and something in my chest eases as I finally let out an exhale.
“That,” I say quickly, babbling again. “That sound. It feels important. Like… like a heartbeat.”
“It is,” he murmurs.
His lips drift again, this time along the slope of my shoulder to the delicate spot where my shoulder meets my neck.
He presses slow kisses, taking his time, a groan escaping between each kiss.
My shoulders drop, tension melting out of places I didn’t realize were clenched.
I scrub forward, trimming, aligning, telling myself to focus—only for Reed to lift my hand gently from the keyboard.
He turns it palm-up, studies it for half a second, then presses a kiss to the center of my palm.
My breath hitches. “Reed,” I whisper, not a warning, just his name.
“I know,” he says softly, kissing the base of my thumb, then my knuckles, one at a time.
I laugh under my breath, a nervous little sound. “You’re distracting me.”
He smiles against my skin, feeling it as his lips brush my shoulder again, the coarse hair of his mustache tickling me once again. “You can tell me to stop.”
Clearly, I don’t.
I lean back into him, my spine fitting against his chest as it always has.
He adjusts instantly, his arm tightening just enough to hold me steady, his chin dipping toward my hair.
“I’m right here,” he murmurs near my ear. “Take your time.”
The footage returns to the sunflower field. My laugh slips through the speakers. I hesitate as my fingers hover.
“I almost cut that,” I admit quietly. “My laugh. I thought it was too much.”
His lips brush the back of my shoulder blade, barely there. “It’s perfect, I love your laugh.”
Something warm pools behind my eyes. I blink, refocusing, keeping the momentum going.
He continues kissing a soft trail along my shoulder and upper back, never lingering too long in one place.
My hands pause, and his fingers lace with mine for a moment, just enough pressure to remind me I’m not alone, before he releases me so I can keep working.
“You don’t rush beauty,” he whispers. “You let it arrive.”
A small, but reluctant smile dances across my lips before I press play.
The edit flows, Ruby Ridge glowing, the bar alive with quiet moments, sunflowers bending toward the light, and Reed stays wrapped around me, kissing my fingers when they rest, my shoulder when I sigh, and my back when I lean into him.
For the first time all day, my nerves settle, not because they’re gone but because they’re being held.
“You’re doing that thing,” he murmurs.
I glance back at him. “What thing?”
“That little smile,” he says. “The one you get when you’re happy with it but pretending you’re not.”
I laugh softly, nerves bubbling up again. “I don’t pretend.”
“You absolutely do.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling as I turn back to the screen. His lips trail gently along the curve of my neck.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers near my ear. “You know that, right?”
My chest tightens. “You don’t even know what the final cut looks like yet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says easily. “I know you.”
I lean back into him, letting myself be held for a moment longer than necessary. He presses a kiss to the top of my shoulder, then another atop my head.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he murmurs. “Don’t let the footage bully you while I’m away.”
“I make no promises,” I tease.
He chuckles, kissing my shoulder one last time, and slips into the ensuite bathroom, the door clicking softly behind him.
I exhale, reach for my smoothie, then, without really thinking, grab my phone from the nightstand.
A flurry of notifications.
My stomach dips, just a little.
The first message was from earlier. Sweet, almost normal.
Brian
Hope your trip’s going well.
Miss you.
I stare at it, my thumb hovering. My chest tightens; not with longing, but with muscle memory. I know he’s going to flip.
More messages an hour ago.
Brian
You haven’t answered.
Guess you’re busy fucking someone out there.
My throat goes dry.
Another fucking buzz.
Brian
I’ll take care of it when you’re back.
You act like anyone else would want you.
I swallow hard, the warmth Reed left behind cooling fast.
Brian
You’re nothing without me.
You never will be; all those followers are from me.
My fingers curl around my phone, knuckles whitening.
I quickly lock the screen, pressing my phone face down on the nightstand just as the bathroom door opens again.
Reed steps back in, a soft smile already there, unaware.
He crosses the room and settles behind me again, his arm sliding back around my waist like it never left.
“You win,” he murmurs, kissing my shoulder. “I was gone for two minutes, and I already missed you.”
I nod, forcing a smile, and lean back into him anyway, because his warmth still feels like safety, and right now I need that more than answers.
His lips brush my temple. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Just editing.”
He hums, satisfied, then presses a slow, sweet kiss to my shoulder again.
And I let him, holding on to the softness even as something sharp lingers just beneath it.
It’s late afternoon, and I’m fucking spiraling.