around his hips, allowing him everything, her body his, her heart the same. It terrified her, this feeling that she’d unlocked her own doors and thrown them wide for him to ransack. Yet she felt herself rising to meet him again, another climax building.
Still thrusting, Vance slid a hand between them and stroked her, playing over the sensitized knot of nerves. She gasped, and then the orgasm crashed upon her like love had—without permission. Her cry was echoed by Vance’s groan, and he shuddered in her arms, his own crisis shaking the entire bed.
In the aftermath, his arms gathered her against his chest. Layla’s heart still pumped in an unsteady rhythm, and then, oh, God, and then what she’d been dreading happened. The words whispered into the room. “I love you.”
Appalled, her mind froze. How could she have let that go? She hadn’t even felt the phrase on her tongue.
But it was out now, and there was only one thing to be done.
She’d already known it was past time for goodbye.
* * *
THE KARMA CUPCAKES truck was back in its usual spot in Layla’s duplex driveway. The familiarity should soothe her, she thought, but she’d lost all hope for serenity somewhere between Crescent Cove and home two days before. Trying to ignore a churning stomach and a throbbing head, she settled onto a stool and contemplated the bottle of champagne on the countertop beside the mixer. Lost in misery, she almost fell over when Uncle Phil suddenly pulled open the door and stepped inside. He was in his usual counterculture garb: cargo shorts, natural-fiber shirt, braided bracelets, but the expression on his face didn’t look the least laid-back.
He appeared...determined.
It wasn’t a familiar Uncle Phil state of mind.
Layla’s brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”
“Staring into space won’t get those cupcakes made, you know,” he said, gesturing at the champagne.
Alarm tickled her again. He’d never been a harsh taskmaster. As a matter of fact, he’d never been any kind of taskmaster. And managing Karma Cupcakes was her baby. His had always been a supporting role. “Uncle Phil—”
“Don’t you have an order to fulfill? I thought you planned to deliver it today.”
“I’ve been considering, uh, reneging on that,” she confessed.
His eyes narrowed. “Layla.”
He’d never scolded her, but that’s where it sounded as if he was going. “I’m sure no one’s even counting on them,” she said, her voice defensive. “When I moved out of the beach house, the note I left behind said goodbye. Vance will have understood all that it means.”
She’d written it so fast, and in the dark, she hoped he could read her handwriting. Panicking in the aftermath of those three words, she’d pretended instant sleep. Then, once Vance had dropped off, his slumber heavy, his body boneless, she’d bolted from her place next to him. For twenty minutes, she’d dashed about, packing her things, penning her brief explanation, leaping into her car for the race home.
Uncle Phil looked dubious. “You really think Vance understands?”
He hadn’t called her, had he? “Believe me, things are better this way.”
“What way is that?”
No longer able to meet his gaze, Layla let hers roam the snug interior of the truck. It snagged on the ridiculous Teddy bear Vance had given her that first day. With a silent groan, she glanced upward, her eyes settling on the statue of a seated, half-smiling Buddha in its resting place. That’s how she wanted to be, a tranquil carving of stone without wants or regrets. Without expectation or disappointment.
“Layla?”
“Craving results in suffering,” she suddenly said. “Buddha says so, right? Hurt comes if you want something too much.”
“How does that relate to you running from Crescent Cove in the dark of night?”
She frowned. “It was closer to the gray of dawn. And it relates because I departed the cove—” not run from it, she’d left that note, right? “—in order to work on my attachment issues.”
Her uncle took his own look at the figurine above then met her gaze. “I don’t think Buddha meant—”
“Look, I need to stand on my own two feet!” She did that now, rising from the stool and crossing her arms over her chest.
“Why?”
“Dad’s gone.” The words made her stomach take another unpleasant dip. “And you’ll be taking your trip soon, too. I need to learn to count on myself.”
“That doesn’t mean cutting yourself off from everyone else.”
Layla shook her head. “This time, it does.”
With a sigh, Uncle Phil leaned against the countertop. “So does this independence of yours allow you to avoid situations you don’t