11
Layla
I’m staying for dinner. It’s just the two of them…and me. I’m watching Liam’s shoulder muscles contract through his thin black crewneck sweater as he pours a glass of cabernet for me, thinking about how he might just be unattached—at least to a romantic partner. I’m not sure what the situation is with Jackson. Maybe he’s staying with his uncle for a long weekend?
Jackson starts talking animatedly about his favorite cartoon, which he apparently has an entire collection of cards for.
“Layla, which character is your favorite?” Jackson asks from beside me, perched on a barstool.
I quickly reply with the first name that comes to mind, earning a quirked eyebrow and thoughtful look of approval from Liam, who is now handing me my glass of red wine.
It’s one of the three character names I know from that world. But they don’t need to know that.
Jackson nods in approval.
“Who is Liam’s favorite?” I turn to Liam with a teasing smirk on my face.
Liam names a particularly fiery, fierce character, saying it with confidence, not missing a beat. He stares me down as he lifts his own glass of wine and holds it out to me. “Cheers,” he says, fixing me with his gaze.
“Cheers,” I reply confidently.
I break my gaze away from Liam first, shifting my body back toward Jackson with a smile. “Who is your favorite, Big J?”
“Oh, there are way too many. I could name like ten that are my favorite. And the new movie is so, so cool. I’ve seen it like a hundred times. Have you seen it?”
“There’s no exaggeration there,” Liam adds with a friendly, teasing manner. I’m guessing they watch it a lot.
I observe them for a moment as they interact, discussing the movie Jackson is so fond of. I admire the close bond they clearly share. Jackson seems completely at ease with his uncle.
“Layla, I could show you my card collection if you want?” Jackson’s innocent little face looks up at me, hope gleaming in his brown eyes. I can’t possibly say no to this kid.
“I would absolutely love to see them,” I respond enthusiastically. His face lights up, and he jumps down from his stool, disappearing up the stairs in a flash. I giggle, then shift my gaze back to Liam, aware of his attention on me throughout the entire exchange.
He stands there, arms crossed, smirking.
“What?”
“How do you know about that show?”
“I don’t know. I’ve heard the name around…it’s pretty popular,” I reply honestly.
“Are you sure you’re not hiding a secret hobby? No judgements here.”
“No. I’m not. And how do you know any?”
“From hearing him talk about them constantly and also watching the movie adaptation eighty-five times.” Right. Duh.
“So…he’s around a lot?” I decide to change the subject and poke around a bit. I suddenly realize I want to know everything about his life now. If he went to college, if he ended up working in computers, if he has anybody…
“Yeah. He is.” His look turns solemn, and I can immediately tell I’ve touched on a sensitive subject. It doesn’t feel like the right moment to question further, so I switch topics.
“So, you said the other day that you were born and raised here?” I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to mention anything from our brief past, or clue him in. Maybe because I’m waiting for him to figure it out on his own. Or maybe because deep down, I’m slightly offended that he doesn’t seem to remember me at all when it took two seconds for it to come rushing back to me. Rationally, I know it was so long ago and it’s completely understandable that he wouldn’t remember some random girl who he met while she was on vacation all those years ago. It was one night that we spent together. And then he was gone forever—or so I thought.
He eyes me for a moment before answering.
“Yes. Born and raised. I only left for a few years when I went to college. Berkeley. Dropped out before senior year, though.”
“Why?”
“Here they are!” Jackson’s excited voice booms from behind me.
I turn and watch him skip back to his seat with a look of glee mixed with pride on his face. He sets his thick binder on the counter in front of us and gets to work flipping through the pages, showing me his favorites and the rare ones. The three of us talk and laugh, and I ask questions about what all the numbers mean. Jackson then gives a deep explanation that I only partially follow. Liam is too distracting.
Liam and I keep making eye contact during the presentation, so it’s hard to focus on what Jackson is saying when I’m trying to decipher what Liam’s expression means. I’ve noticed he almost always has that damn hint of a smirk on his face that makes it so hard to read what he’s actually thinking. I also kind of like it though. It’s a little bit sexy. And just a little frustrating.
I turn my attention back to Jackson before Liam catches the flush that I feel creep up into my cheeks.
Liam busies himself with finishing up the roast, which smells amazing. I suddenly realize that I haven’t eaten all day, and my loud stomach confirms it. I slow down on my glass of wine until I can get some food in my belly.
After only a few more minutes, he instructs us to make our way to the dining table, which is in a separate, open room connected to the kitchen. The large, wooden table is polished and quite stunning, already set with festive place settings. I once again wonder about the living arrangements here. The table settings don’t exactly scream bachelor, but you can’t judge a person solely based on that.
The thought hits me suddenly that maybe he can relate to me more than I realize. Perhaps, like me, he’s lost his parents as well. And that’s why he seems to have taken over their house now. The reminder of them catches me off guard and turns my mood somber. I take a seat quietly, staring at a pinecone in the decorative centerpiece. The thing about grief is that it can hit you at the most inopportune times, rearing its ugly head in an unwelcome assault on your emotions.
“Are you okay?” Liam asks, his smirk replaced with a look of concern.
“Yeah.” I plaster a smile on my face. He’s already placed the food in the center of the table, complete with serving utensils.
“Well, let’s dig in,” he says with a genuine smile that isn’t his usual playful smirk.
“Thank you for making this. And for inviting me, Big J. It looks amazing.”
“Uncle Liam is the best cook in the world,” Jackson states matter-of-factly.
“That is true, I am. I won a contest.”
“No, you didn’t.” I reply with playful disbelief.
“And how do you know I didn’t?” He looks at me with a challenge in his eyes.
“I’ve never heard of a cooking contest with the title ‘Best Cook in the World.’ Is that a new one?”
He smirks and turns his attention to the spread before us, then reaches out for my plate. “May I?”
I pass it to him.
“Any dietary restrictions or preferences?’”
“Nope. I’ll try it all. Everything looks amazing.”
He loads my plate up with a few slices of the meat, some seasoned baby potatoes, and a medley of vegetables. Then he passes it back to me and loads Jackson’s plate. I wait patiently, though the smell is tantalizing and really tempting me.
Finally, we all dig in. Jackson sits across from me and Liam is between the two of us at the head of the table. This arrangement is good because it means I can focus straight ahead on cute little Jackson’s face instead of being distracted by Liam’s sultry gaze. I don’t know if he means to look at me the way he does, or if that’s simply his natural effect on women, but it certainly does something to me. Maybe that’s just how he looks at people in general, and I’m the pathetic one who can’t even keep myself composed when my former-teenage-crush-turned-super-hot-adult glances at me for too long.
We laugh our way through dinner with Jackson leading most of the conversation. He talks more about his hobbies and what they like to do in the winter. He gives me an endless list of things to do here and then he goes into all the summer activities as well. I’m still trying to figure out what the situation is with them.
After we’ve finished, Liam clears our plates, and I offer to help. He waves me off politely. Then he brings out some amazing-looking pie and ice cream. The ice cream, he informs me, is homemade.
“You did not,” I say, looking to Liam with surprise and awe. And maybe a little bit of humor.
“Oh yeah,” he says confidently, his towering stature looming over the table as he goes to sit. “I made it myself.”
“That’s, um…wow. I’ve never met anyone who makes their own ice cream. They have so many good flavors to choose from at the store, it seems like it would be more of a hassle than it’s worth…”
He laughs while cutting into the pie. Blueberry. It also looks homemade.
“And the pie?” I question. Though I already know the answer.
“Yep. All me.”
“Hey!” Jackson pipes in from across the table.
“Sorry bud. And Jackson, of course. Couldn’t do it without his help.”
I laugh, in awe of all the effort he’s put into this entire meal. And to think, he was originally making this entire homemade feast just for Jackson and himself.
“Is there a special occasion, or do you just like to give your nephew the best treatment when he comes to stay?”
I immediately realize I’ve said the wrong thing. Jackson and Liam turn their heads to each other, share a long look, then Liam gives him a warm smile and turns his head to me.
“You know, I’ve actually just gotten really into cooking the last few years. I’ve had some extra time on my hands, and I enjoy doing it. Now, I don’t want to hear you knock my ice cream again until you’ve tried it.”
With that, he holds out a spoonful of the white ice cream out to me. “Vanilla?” I ask.
“Just try it,” he smirks.
“Fine.” I take the spoon from him and pop the whole bite in my mouth, and I’m immediately in heaven. The texture is what gets me. I’ve never had ice cream so soft and fluffy. And the flavor, which is, in fact, vanilla, is mouthwatering. I let out a soft, involuntary moan, which I may not have even realized, had Liam not lifted an eyebrow at me, thoroughly entertained.
“Okay,” I admit. “I will never question you again.”
“Thank you,” he replies, his tone smug.
It’s funny to imagine this man, who is undoubtedly over six feet tall and packed with muscle all over, slaving away in the kitchen all day in an apron baking pies, homemade ice cream, and a roast.
“I asked him to make the ice cream. It’s my favorite,” Jackson adds. “Because I was feeling sad earlier.”
“Oh. Well, what a great day,” I smile. “You found your truck, and you still got ice cream out of it.”
“Yeah, that’s true. And we’re still going ice skating tomorrow, right, Uncle Liam?”
“Not tomorrow—the day after, bud. After school.”
“Man. Well, that’s okay. I can wait.”
“I just hope I can beat you in a race this time.” Liam says.
“Probably not, Uncle Liam. I’m only getting taller and faster. You’re just getting older and slower,” Jackson says matter-of-factly.
“Wow. Okay. We’ll see. I’m not even thirty yet, dude. I haven’t even peaked yet.”
Well, that’s a scary thought. Can’t imagine how this man could peak any more than he has already.
“You’ll see, Layla. I’m really fast.” Jackson says to me.
At my pause, he continues, “You’re coming, right?”
“Oh, um…”
“You don’t have to…” Liam says in a lower tone that almost sounds like a question. Jackson hears anyway.
“No, she has to! It’s like, so fun.”
Liam looks at me, shoulders shrugged and palms up in mock defeat, as if the child has won the argument. Case closed. Does he actually want me to go?
“Okay. You know what, I have no big plans. Let’s see if I can beat Uncle Liam too.”
Jackson perks up, excitement bubbling over. “Oh, you totally can, Layla! He’s so slow!”
I sneak a glance at Liam. He’s smirking.
The pie is also mouthwatering, but I’m less shocked about it at this point. My mom and grandma would be in awe of the dessert Liam whipped up, and then they’d ask for the recipe, requiring detailed instructions. The thought makes me smile to myself as I recall that year we came here, the year we brought grandma. It was the same year I met Liam. I still remember them baking the day away, the day I left to get fresh air and stumbled into him.
We all laugh some more through dessert and make more jokes at Liam’s expense—mostly about his lack of skating skills, which I’m guessing he fakes for Jackson’s sake. But I guess I’ll find out for sure in a couple of days.
We take a long time to finish dessert, then I decide to head home before the storm gets any worse. The drive seems manageable, but Liam asks me several times if I’m okay driving back to the cabin. I assure him I’ll be fine and promise Big J that I’ll see them in two days for skating. This wasn’t what I had in mind when I decided that having a fling while I’m here might not be the worst idea. But oddly enough, I’m not all that upset about it.