All Layla Foster wants is to launch her own branch off of her parent's fitness company. But how is she supposed to focus on making her one shot a success when her client's brother makes her feel things she swore off a long time ago?
* * * * *
Layla...
They both stared at her blankly, heads tilting forward in unison, a gesture that was cute enough to almost break through her layers of bad-mood. She'd been planning to tell them—figuring she may as well, since word was already out—but just didn't know when or how. She hated to bring down their post-workout high, but this was the opening she'd been searching for.
"Colin called yesterday. Boot camp is officially a no-go. Everyone decided it just wasn't in the company's best interest."
Kenzie's mouth fell open, brows furrowing. She looked as offended as Layla felt. "That's—How can they do that? I thought this was the test run—we haven't even finished yet!"
"I know." Layla shrugged, a hopeless gesture. "But that's just business, I guess."
"I'm sorry, Layla," she said, voice solemn. Layla had a feeling that for her sake, Kenzie was forcing herself from exploding on a rant about the unfairness of it all. It warmed Layla, made her smile just a little easier to fake this time. "I know how much you wanted something of your own."
"Maybe I'll get it someday. Just not now, not with this. But who knows, I could knock it out of the park with an idea next year. Or maybe I'll get guts someday and open up a gym of my own." If she really believed the last one was possible, she'd already be doing it. But how could she step back from everything she'd spent her whole life working for, especially when the results could be disastrous?
Kenzie gestured with her hand like the solution was right there. "There you go! You should, Layla, you really should. I know you could do it—you've got the whole Type-A thing about you. You could totally run your own show."
Layla laughed, shaking her head. "It's a dream, but... I dunno."
"Completely un-selfish suggestion, here," Marshall interjected with a sheepish laugh, "but if you like it in Red View enough... I could get you a real nice building for cheap."
Kenzie looked up at him with wide eyes. "And you know contractors!" Her gaze returned to Layla, exuberant. "And decorators! And Jack's got connections too, you know? Good PR—you could get an ad on the local TV stations."
"As if she'd need it. A new place pops up in Red View, it's not like it's easy to miss. Most people would pass by it every day."
"And we haven't had a gym around here in so long. Everyone would love it, Layla."
She held up her hands, but found herself grinning from the optimism that was now lighting up the room. "I get it, I get it. Actually, Dawson told me about the old gym. I'd be lying if I said I haven't been thinking about it."
Kenzie's eyebrows raised. "He did?"
Layla felt herself flush, shrinking slightly under the gaze that had turned from excited to inquisitive. It seemed to ask, when did the two of you start getting along?
"In one of our few cordial conversations."
"If you want a tour of the place, you just let me know," Marshall said, indifferent to the unspoken conversation happening between the women. "I can get you in any time you want. And probably a meeting with the owners five minutes later."
She smiled at the offer—to her surprise, it was another genuine one. "Thanks, Marshall. I'll think about it."
Probably more than she should. Between that idea and the kiss, she wouldn't have time to think about anything else.
As the couple left—throwing encouraging comments over their shoulders on the way out—she wondered if she really could do it. Then, realized that the more important question was already answered: she wanted to.
Every time she went into Red View, it felt like she was aging backwards. It wasn't just a town, it was a community. It was the type of place that maybe, for once in her life, she could belong.
What would my parents think? Stupid question—they'd think she was insane. But, she realized with the hint of a smile, they'd forgive her for it. Maybe not right away, but someday. It wasn't as if they were heartless—they just tended to place their hearts in their business more than anywhere else.
Her eyes fell shut as she pictured it for a moment, let the whispering leaves outside lull her into a daydream of a life where she didn't play the part she was given. Without anyone else's rules, or the burden that came with being a Foster. No more Colin, no more dreaded wedding. Just her and the freedom of her own choices.
She wasn't trying to think of the next image, but it came anyway: coming home to the orchard, to Dawson, after a day of work in town. Him by the door with those warm eyes and a smile just for her. She'd hurry up the porch steps to those rough hands and their gentle touch, breathing in the scent of apple blossoms and baked goods—the scent of him.
Her eyes snapped open, cheeks warm. What am I thinking?
The answer was obvious, and painful: she was thinking of home.
She squared her shoulders, ignoring the tears that wanted to come. Home was just a fantasy, a product sold on TV. That was the truth, wasn't it? Her whole life, she'd told herself that a life of quiet happiness was a lie. No one could really be that fulfilled, that tranquil.
When she'd gotten to the orchard, she'd believed that wholeheartedly. Now, she wasn't sure she believed it at all.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
