Chapter 5 Layla
Layla
An organizer’s work is never done.
I’ve learned this lesson the hard way over the past few months, bearing the brunt of tasks I never wanted to do, for things I never volunteered for because everyone on the committee seems to be dropping the ball.
The ugly truth? People love to volunteer in theory. Smiling, nodding, raising hands at meetings. But when it comes time to actually do the work? Half of them vanish like smoke.
Which leaves me.
Hauling supplies. Fielding last-minute crises. Herding people who don’t want to be herded.
With a long sigh, I twist the final elastic into my braid, tugging it over my shoulder as I lean toward the mirror. My reflection stares back at me, just as weary as I feel. A baby swipe of mascara. A dab of gloss. That’s literally all I’ve got energy for.
Tomorrow the whole town will be expecting Fall Fest to look effortless, like it sprouted overnight in all its pumpkin-spice glory. They won’t see the months of scrambling, the late nights, the texts that start with so sorry to bug you But . . .
Speaking of which, my phone buzzes now, a familiar number lighting up the screen.
For a second, I debate letting it go to voicemail.
Duty wins. “Hello?”
“Layla?” There’s a pause, then a low, rough voice, all gravel and reluctance. “This is Hayes Fielder.”
Holy shit. He’s the last person I thought would actually use my number.
“Yes,” I say at long last, my voice catching to push past the disbelief. “Hi. This is Layla.”
Another pause, heavy enough I imagine him grinding his jaw. Then: “We’re stuck.”
I frown. “Stuck?”
In mud? At a stop sign? In a ditch?
“At the hotel.” His words are clipped, each one costing him his manhood to admit. “No Ubers. No taxis. No shuttle. Nothing.”
I almost laugh—except his tone makes it clear he’s in no mood. “Right. We don’t have those.”
“Yes, I’m realizing that.” A beat longer, then softer—as if it pains him to utter the words: “Benny thought maybe you could give us a lift.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Benny thought?
Of all the people in this town, my name is the one she tossed out? Not anyone at the hotel? Not Simon, the sweet kid behind the desk who bends over backward for everyone and probably would’ve chauffeured them himself with a smile?
No—me.
I’m not sure if it’s shock or nerves or the simple fact that Hayes Fielder, human brick wall, is on the other end of this call, asking for help.
My heartbeat kicks up a notch. “Yeah. Yes, I can come grab you. I’m actually next door grabbing a few things, so I can be there in two minutes.”
The silence is thick. “Thanks.”
Oh my God, this is killing him. I can hear it. Every syllable sounds like sandpaper being dragged across his tongue.
One minute later, I’m sliding back behind the wheel of Dad’s old truck, nerves creeping in at a rapid pace. I’ve never rescued an NFL player before. I’ve never had a man like him in such close proximity!
The engine roars back to life, loud enough to rattle the seat, and I wince.
As I ease the truck out of the driveway, I glance at the cab around me and groan. Every inch of space is crammed with Fall Fest overflow—boxes of napkins and mason jars, crates of string lights I never got around to unloading at the picnic area.
The passenger seat barely has a square foot of space.
This is not the impression I want to make when rescuing a professional athlete. Welcome to my circus wagon! Climb on in! If you can find room!
I shove a bundle of burlap off the seat and onto the floorboard, but it’s useless. There’s no hiding any of it—I’ll have to hop out when I arrive at the lodge and shove some of the shit into the bed of the truck.
Dammit.
Benny and Hayes stand under the hotel awning. Benny’s face lights up when she finally sees me, as if I am the most exciting development of her day. Her dad follows, broad shoulders, jaw set, expression unreadable.
I wish the truck could swallow me whole.
I manage a weak smile as Benny yanks open the passenger-side door and I shove more crap aside. “I am so sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting company so soon. There’s, uh—not much room, but we can make it work.”
Benny’s grin stretches wider. “This is awesome. Way better than an Uber.”
Hayes, however, is staring at the cluttered cab, calculating how much dignity he’s willing to lose to squeeze his giant body inside. His eyes flick to me, then to the mountain of supplies.
Then to me. My hair. The fake sunflowers spilling onto the ground.
“Fall Fest is tomorrow, and my truck has been doubling as a storage shed.”
Before I can clear more space, Benny climbs in, planting herself right on top of a box of mason jars. “Cool! I can see everything from up here!”
I shove aside a mound of extension cords, trying to carve out more inches of space. “If you, uh, angle your legs a little, we can—”
“Angle my legs,” he repeats flatly, ducking his head. He twists sideways, shoulders hitting the doorframe before he finally folds himself into the cab. “You’re hilarious.”
He scowls down at the tote bag crammed at his feet.
Heat crawls up my neck as I shift the car into drive. The engine roars like a jet taking off, shaking the mason jars beneath Benny’s bum.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s cozy.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Benny wiggles in place, her arms pinned to her sides, chin tipped up toward me, watching as I ease onto Main Street from the parking lot. “So, Layla,” she chirps, as if we’re not all practically breathing the same recycled air. “Are you married?”
My foot slips on the clutch, the truck lurching forward before I get it steady again. “Um, no.”
“Boyfriend?” she presses.
Hayes groans beside her. “Benny.”
“What? I’m making conversation.” She beams up at me like this is perfectly normal road-trip chatter. “You’re really pretty. You should have a boyfriend.”
Heat floods my cheeks, hotter than the truck’s rattling heater. “Thank you? But no. No boyfriend.”
Benny gasps, twisting to look at her father. “Can you believe that? Dad, isn’t that shocking that she doesn’t have a boyfriend?”
He scowls. “Can you please stop interrogating people?”
She ignores him completely. “What about pets?”
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of being trapped in a truck with a running back and a nine-year-old private investigator. “No pets. I barely have time to take care of myself.”
Benny hums like she’s filing that away in a mental dossier. “Favorite food?”
“Benny.” Hayes snaps again, all warning.
“Okay, okay!” she says, though her mischievous grin makes it clear she has about ten more questions lined up. “Favorite food?”
I laugh. “Burgers? Italian food. Any pasta.”
“Agree.” The girl nods her approval. “So if you don’t have a boyfriend, what’s your type?”
I nearly miss the gearshift. “My what?”
“Your type,” she repeats patiently, like she’s explaining math homework. “You know—tall? Funny? Glasses? Muscles? What are you into?”
Heat prickles across my cheeks. “That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”
Benny shrugs, utterly unfazed. “We’re stuck in a truck together, we might as well get to know each other.”
We are most certainly not stuck in traffic. There is none. Zero traffic.
Beside her, Hayes exhales through his nose, a long-suffering “Bernadette Evelyn.”
He breaks out the full name on her, the edge in his tone enough to cause her to dip her head, admonished.
“What? It’s a normal question!” She leans closer to me, shoulder pressing against my arm, eyes sparkling as she looks up at me adoringly. “Everyone has a type—even me.”
I laugh again, relieved that the restaurant is around the next corner. “Well. Since you asked and appear extremely interested, my type would be someone reliable. Charming. A sense of humor doesn’t hurt.”
Benny narrows her eyes, gaze sliding to her dad. “Sense of humor? Ugh.” She seems disappointed that’s among my answers. “Not the most interesting answer.”
Hayes growls, low and warning. “Don’t.”
“What about a divorced guy? Would you date him?”
“Sure?”
“What about a guy with kids?”
I feel my face get hot. “Sure.”
Benny gasps like I’ve just admitted to a scandal. She twists, wide eyed, to look at her dad. “Hear that? She would!”
“Oh my God.” He groans, sinking into the worn upholstery.
She just beams at me, completely ignoring him. “What about a guy who’s mostly grumpy sometimes in public, but nice underneath?”
Hayes exhales through his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounds like a prayer for patience. The tiny cab suddenly feels even smaller.
I choke on a laugh, caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That’s oddly specific.”
The restaurant’s awning finally comes into view, saving me from any further questioning by this ambitious child, and I nearly sag in relief. “Oh look! Velvet and Vine!”
Phew.
“Thank God,” Hayes grumbles.
As I pull up to the valet, Hayes doesn’t move. He sits in his seat stoically, head tipped back against the headrest, eyes closed like he needs one deep breath before facing the world again. Or maybe just before facing his daughter at the table.
I fumble to smooth my braid over my shoulder, wishing my cheeks weren’t still hot.
“Well. We made it.” Safe and sound and no worse for wear, albeit a bit mortified.
He side-eyes me, giving a look that’s equal parts suffering and resignation. “Barely.”
A single heartbeat of silence follows before Benny blurts out, “Dad, can Layla have dinner with us? Pleaseee?”
“Benny—I’m sure Layla has other shi—stuff to do. She said she is very busy.”
Benny clasps her hands together and turns those wide pleading eyes on me. “Please, please, please, you guys? It’s just dinner. Layla saved us. She deserves a steak.”
Her lashes flutter at him.
I open my mouth to politely decline, but right on cue my stomach lets out a loud, humiliating growl that vibrates in the silence of the cab—the way it used to growl back in middle school in a silent classroom before lunch.
Hayes’s head turns slowly, his gaze narrowing on me like he can’t believe what he just heard. The betrayal.
Benny gasps, triumphant. “See! Dad, she’s starving!”
Horrified, I press a hand to my stomach, wishing I could melt into the cracked vinyl seat. “That was, uh—ignore that. Really, I should g—”
Another louder grumble interrupts me.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
Hayes groans. “Unbelievable.”
Benny practically bounces in her seat, giving her dad a shove toward the door. “That settles it. Three for dinner.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” I try again, voice thin, but Benny’s already reaching over her father’s massive frame to pop the door open.
“You’re not intruding!” She tugs at my sleeve. “You’re rescuing me from my dad’s bad mood.”
He glowers. “Bad mood?” The sigh that follows is resigned, his large hand pushing the door open farther.
“You’re coming. End of discussion,” Benny says.
And just like that, I’m being herded toward the glowing doors of Velvet and Vine, cheeks hot, stomach still growling like I haven’t eaten in days.