So not going to happen. I mean, no grocery delivery, no Starbucks, no Nordstrom, for God’s sake.
Mr. Gunderson offers the proposal back to me. “I’m sorry, Laiyla. I have no doubt you can find funding elsewhere, but I hope you take some time to consider what your grandfather would have wanted.”
I thank him for his time and exit the bank into sunshine so bright, I go blind until my eyes adjust. I’m reeling from the rejection, not just of the money, but of the idea. And of how he saw my idea of helping the community as actually hurting it.
It stings. Bad. And it’s frustrating as hell to have an acquaintance of my grandfather’s deign to know more than I do.
Did I seriously just think the word deign?
Fucking Levi.
I take a deep breath, shake it off, and cross the street toward my car. My mind is darting from the lake to my job to my parents, from my visions for the property to KT and Chloe.
“Hey, Ladybug.”
I look up and stop in the middle of the empty street. Levi is leaning against a battered old truck, arms and ankles crossed. He’s wearing worn jeans that hug muscular thighs and hang low on his waist, a T-shirt that clings to his wide chest and falls loose over a tight abdomen, same construction logo emblazoned across the front that I saw yesterday, and his arms are corded with muscle.
He’s the last person I want to see right now. Just another reminder of my failures.
7
Levi
Laiyla continues toward her car, which is parked in line with my truck. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you really are following me.”
god too, though I try not to think about what I can’t have.
I put the last curl into my hair and call it good, then join the girls on the dock, and we walk to my car for a birthday dinner in town. I’m feeling tired—from no sleep the night before, the stress over the loan, kissing Levi, and floating in inner tubes in the sun. First World problems, I know.
It’s a short drive to town, and KT and Chloe are reminiscing about Niue, but I’m only half listening.
“Happy birthday, Ladybug.”
Levi’s words replay over and over in my head. I’m still floored he remembers my birthday. My parents don’t even remember.
He has no reason to be sweet to me. In fact, he has every right to hate me. But even as I think it, I bat the idea away. I don’t believe he has the capacity to hate.
I returned to the boat earlier today with birthday donuts for KT and Chloe, a cover for a complex morning I wasn’t ready to talk about, and changed back into lake clothes in my car before I went back into the houseboat. Then we floated on the river in lazy perfection, margaritas in our hands. The sun felt as healing as the friendship of these women.
It really has been a better birthday than I could have ever hoped for. I mean, it would already have been better than every birthday over the last ten years if it stopped with Levi’s kiss. Everything else is icing.
I park at the curb in front of Aiden’s Pub, ready for a drink. Or five. This place has been here as long as I can remember. It’s owned by a friend of my grandfather’s, Craig O’Malley. The pub is named after his oldest son, Aiden, who was killed in a tragic car accident long before I ever came to town. But it explained Mr. O’Malley’s gruff nature.
I refocus, taking in the surroundings I missed while thinking about Levi. The shopping strip in town has been updated with nice shops and restaurants. City hall stands at the end of the row, a grand historical building, complete with a breathtaking dome of stained glass and a bell tower. The inside has marble floors and several levels. It used to hold city offices and was a big draw for local weddings. But the earthquake, some eight years ago, damaged it so severely, the city couldn’t afford the renovation costs, and it stood empty for many years. So I’m surprised and pleased to see the familiar lights glowing through the stained-glass windows in the huge dome again.
Man, that brings back memories. So many warm, sweet, fun memories.
“You’re awfully quiet,” KT says to me, searching my face as if that will help her read my mind.
“I think the sun wore me out.” I point toward city hall. “That building was all but destroyed in a quake that went through here. It stood abandoned by the city for years. Thought it would be condemned, but someone did a really nice job restoring it.”
She doesn’t accept my avoidance, but she doesn’t call me on it either.
“It’s beautiful,” Chloe says.
Inside the pub, it’s not exactly rowdy, but busy and lively. I glance around for familiar faces and find a few, but I have a hard time placing them. We wait at the hostess stand, and I scan the bar.
Mr. O’Malley comes out from the back room and stocks a cooler with bottles. A young hostess, probably barely sixteen, returns from seating another customer and smiles at us. “Three?”