Page 113 of Mixed Signals
She bites at her bottom lip. My hope deflates like a sad little balloon.
“Oh, ah.” I glance over my shoulder. Maybe I’ll wander back through the trees and keep going. Past my Jeep and into the fields. Let Mother Nature do as she will. “I’ll just—”
“No. Caleb. Wait a second.” I watch as Layla fusses with the strings of her apron in the propped open doorway. “Stay right there. I have something for you.”
She disappears before I can say anything else. The door swings shut behind her, the bells above the door a muted sound through the thick glass. I stand there and try not to stare at the place she was, but my eyes drift through the windows without my consent. I watch her slip behind the counter and search behind the register. She lifts up a coffee pot and peers beneath it. Rearranges the oversized mason jars by the display case until her face lights up with a grin.
“Here we go.” She appears again in a flurry, skipping down the steps to land with a light jump in the gravel of the walkway. She strides over to me and hands me a folded-up piece of thick, white paper. Her hand trembles as she waits.
I stare at it. “What is this?”
She thrusts it forward. “Open it.”
“What is it?”
She snatches her hand back. “You have no imagination. I’ll read it to you.” Her eyes blink up to mine before they dart away and focus back on the paper. “It’s a grading sheet,” she mumbles.
“For what?”
A blush warms her cheeks. “For our experiment.”
“Oh.” That is not what I was expecting. “For me?”
She nods and brings her thumb to her mouth, biting down on the edge of it. It is somehow enticingly sexy and adorably endearing in the exact same breath. “This might have been a terrible idea,” she says, so low I have to strain to hear her.
“No, no.” I try to stand a little straighter. Muster all of the courage I possess. I did want her to tell me how to be better at dating. That’s how all of this began. Might as well finish it out. “I want to hear.”
“Okay, well.” She glances at the paper again, her blush burning darker. I watch with interest as it spreads to the top of her collarbones. “It’s sort of stupid, but—”
“Layla. It’s not stupid. Tell me.”
“I broke it into categories,” she confesses in a rush. “Your final grade. Enthusiasm. Originality. Kindness. And a—a random bonus category.” Her hands fumble with the edge of the paper.
I cock my head to the side. “Are those the Miss America categories?”
“No.” She rubs her palm against her forehead. “Maybe. I don’t know. Just—go with it, for a minute? I’m trying—I’m trying to do something. I’m trying to apologize.”
I frown at that. “I already told you. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I know. You also said what happens next is up to me.” Her nerves ease and her smile comes easier. When she flicks her eyes up to me again, she’s able to hold my gaze for a little longer. Gemstone green, clear and sure. “Alright. Here we go. In the enthusiasm category, you get a 10 out of 10. Exceeds expectations. The comments say—well, the comments say that you always displayed an enjoyment and enthusiasm to be present. That you seemed genuinely interested in every aspect of the dating process.”
That’s good news. But the way she said it—comments say—she’s removing herself from the equation. I take a half-step forward. “And what about you, Layla? What do you say?”
“I say—” She blows out a slow breath, her eyes still on the paper. She crumples the edge and then tries to fold it straight. “I say that I’ve never felt so special to anyone in my entire life,” she whispers. “I say that the way you smiled in the front seat of your car that very first night made me think I could love you, just a little bit.”
All the air eases out of my lungs in a slow, choppy breath. “Just a little bit, huh?”
“Hawaiian shirt notwithstanding.”
“Of course.”
A smile kicks at the corner of her mouth. She keeps looking at the card stock in her hands. “Okay. Originality. Another 10 out of 10. The comments say dates never felt orchestrated or overly planned. Dates' interests were thoroughly considered and applied.”
“And you?”
“And me.” Layla’s eyes finally flick up and hold mine. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much. I thought maybe I could love you some more, with frozen corn over your eye.”
My heart pounds out a staccato in my chest, quick and thundering. “What’s next?”
