Falling for You

Layla comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, a frown tugging at her pretty lips. “My aunt texted. I need to get back to Orlando.”

“Well, that sucks.” A frown of my own tugs at my lips, but I hold it back. “Can I take you back to Kelly’s house to get your car?”

Layla nods and I slide my newly empty food basket towards Cooper, who shoots me a sideways glance. The trashcan is less than two feet to my right, but he isn’t doing anything right now, and I like giving him a hard time.

I meet Layla at the checkout counter and drop a five dollar bill in the tip jar. “Later, Cooper.”

Layla waves goodbye and we walk to my truck in silence. Judging by the worry wrinkles taking up residence between her brows, something is weighing heavily on her mind.

“Everything okay?” I ask, opening the passenger door for her.

She looks up at me briefly, smiles, and nods. I don’t push the subject. Women are like vaults and won’t tell you what’s wrong until they’re ready.

Luke Combs’ latest album fills the silence on the ride to Kelly’s house. Layla stares out the window, twisting her phone between her fingers until we pull into Kelly’s neighborhood. I put the truck in park in the driveway while Layla leans forward and turns down the radio. “Thank you for today, Josh. I had a great time.”

I smile, feeling oddly happy at the sound of my name rolling off those lips. “Think we can do it again next weekend?”

“I… um.” Layla looks down at her hand as she squeezes her phone again until the whites of her knuckles show. “I’m going back to Peach Tree on Monday. Tomorrow is my last day in Florida and there’s this fundraiser I’ve got to help with, so…”

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me. I was hoping for a few weeks to give Layla reason to talk to me after she leaves, and maybe even come back again. Now, I’ve only got minutes. “Can I call you sometime?”

Layla nods and I hand my phone over to her. She types in her number then presses a quick kiss on my cheek. “Bye, Josh.”

5 Months Later

“Layla?” someone asks from behind me.

My name doesn’t immediately register, because everyone I’ve worked with this summer calls me Miss Price. I keep working, making sure each item on the checklist on my clipboard is completed, like I have for every fundraiser since returning to Orlando in May.

My parents weren’t happy when I broke off my arranged engagement with Ashley, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t commit myself to a life of fake smiles, Prozac, and a loveless relationship. I’m nineteen. I want to be at college, breaking out of my shell, and learning to live on my own.

Our compromise was that I would spend the summer working for my aunt and, if I can make it without asking for help, Dad will pay for me to go to college. Financially, I’ve been cut off, with the exception of having a safe place to live, forced to survive on the nine-dollars and fifty-cent an hour wage I’m paid bi-weekly until classes start next week. Then, I get a monthly allowance of five-hundred dollars.

It sucks, but struggling to make it on my own this summer is better than settling for a life half-lived.

Today’s event room is large, chosen to seat the two-hundred guests that have paid a pretty penny for an adequate dinner. After dinner is the silent auction. The socialites my aunt has rounded up will bid on various donated packages, committing themselves to pay a minimum of double the face-value.

Why?

So they can feel good about themselves. Money, while a necessary evil in life, corrupts the soul. The people who have it complain about a six-dollar latte, but then spend three-hundred dollars on a pair of shoes. All the while the common working class scrapes to get by.

And then you have Aunt Tricia, who refuses to spend an unnecessary penny, choosing to exist like she’s struggling when her friends aren’t around, but throws money around like it’s confetti once she has an audience.

“Layla!” the female voice calls again. I draw my brows together and look over my shoulder. I scan the room, quickly finding an excited girl with long blue dreads setting a box of what I’m assuming are the hors d’oeuvres we ordered on one of the buffet tables.

“Hattie?” I ask, completely dumbfounded. Of all the people to run into, I never expected to see anyone from Sebastian. “What are you doing here?”

Hattie finishes setting her boxes on the table and strides across the room to me. She holds her arms out, pulling me into a tight hug before asking, “I’m delivering food for my dad’s catering company. What are you doing here? I thought you were in Georgia.”

“I was. I came back a few months ago, after graduation.” I hug the clipboard to my chest, nervous flutters turning into anxious needles. My shift is officially over in thirty minutes. For now, though, I’m still on the clock and Aunt Tricia hates fraternizing on company time. “I live here now and work for my aunt’s crowdsourcing company.”

“Shut up! Your aunt is Tricia Collins?” Hattie facepalms her forehead and looks around, as if seeing the room for the first time. “How did I not know that?

“Why would you? I didn’t tell anybody who she was when I was here for Spring Break.”

“True, but I’ve pretty much cyber stalked you on Instagram since you left.” She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and shows me my Instagram feed.

I click the home button and find her profile. It’s filled with pictures of her and Landon, mostly at parties. I hand her phone back quickly. I don’t want her to figure out that I was looking for a picture of Josh. “You’re 888bigbootyqueen?”