Page 81 of Layla

“Too close to Layla,” she agrees. “So, I decided to switch to Dee.”

“Short for Delilah,” I explain when John still looks confused.

Dee makes a face. “You maynotcall me Delilah. That was my grandmother’s name, and she was objectively awful.”

John, still looking more than a little bewildered, holds out his hand. “John Whitmore.”

She ignores his hand, leaning over the pine table instead to wrap him in a hug. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Dee also doesn’t believe in handshakes,” I explain as she releases him. “Thinks they’re too formal. Or is it too capitalistic? I can never remember.”

“Hush, you,” she says, pointing at me. “And tell me about this tour.”

“How am I supposed to hush and tell you about the tour at the same time?” She narrows her eyes at me and I realize how big I’m grinning. How happy I am, to be sitting at her table giving her a hard time. I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable.

“The tour was good,” I tell her. “Crowds just kept getting bigger.”

She grins across the table. “Of course they did. You guys totally kick ass.”

I turn to John, unable to wipe the giddy grin off my face. “In case you couldn’t guess, Dee was totally not the kind of parent to try to push me into a boring real job.”

Dee scoffs. “As if. Imagine you in an office setting.” She shudders. “That would totally break your spirit.”

“You mean I’d end up fired within a week and penniless.”

She grins. “And probably arrested, too,” she muses. John snorts, his laughter cut off by a shrill ringing from Dee’s pocket. “Damn,” she mutters, but she doesn’t sound anything but excited as she jumps up from the table. “Need to feed the chickens.”

“You have chickens now?” I ask.

She beams, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’ve always wanted chickens.” She grabs her hat up from the table, waving John back to his seat when he rises as if to help her. “Cookies are about ready to come out of the oven,” she says. “You two stay here and eat up.” She pauses behind me, leaning down to place a lingering kiss on the top of my head. “You look like you could use a solid meal or two.”

For some reason the lump is back in my throat as she skips from the kitchen. I stare down at the table, hoping John won’t notice, but he reaches for my hand. “Chickens?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice.

I shake the strange and sudden emotion away and look up at him, rolling my eyes. “Dee is a rescuer,” I tell him. “She’s not happy unless she has a whole crowd of needy creatures to take care of.”

“Does she still take in foster kids?”

I nod. “Not as many as she used to. She mostly does emergency placements now.”

The timer on the oven goes and John places a hand on my shoulder before I can stand. “I’ll get it.”

I lean back in my chair, watching as he rustles through the drawers for an oven mitt. “You need to be careful,” I tell him. “I might get spoiled.”

He snorts. “Like you aren’t spoiled already.”

“Not here,” I tell him. “I’m kind of shocked Dee hasn’t given me a list of chores yet.”

He chuckles, pulling the tray out. “I knew I liked her.”

I groan as the scent of chocolate intensifies. “Just wait until you taste those,” I tell him. “Forget like, you’ll be declaring your love before the end of the day.”

He glances up at my words, his eyes locked on mine, and I find my throat has totally gone dry. Shit. Like it hadn’t been bad enough to call him my boyfriend on the plane, now I have to go and start talking about love declarations. But from the way he’s looking at me, I’m getting the feeling that he doesn’t mind my words. In fact—

“Oh, good,” Dee says, stomping back into the kitchen in her ridiculous boots. “They’re ready. Layla, stop being so lazy and grab some plates.”

John smirks at me, the intense mood dissipating, and I jump up to grab the plates, allowing myself to pinch his ass as I pass. “That’s for the smirk,” I mutter, and he pinches me right back.

“And that’s for looking so hot in those pants,” he whispers.