hair and classic features like an ice sculpture of a royal princess. Layla turned back to Vance and he was wearing that nonexpression expression again.
She sent me a Dear John letter a month after I’d returned to Afghanistan.
And here “she” clearly was, with the brother she’d taken up with next. That had to hurt. And if Layla wasn’t mistaken, Vance would stab himself with a fork before he’d want anyone to know that it did.
Reaching across the table for his fingers, she turned in her seat to catch the eye of the blonde’s escort. “Fitz!” she said, pasting on her sunniest smile. “Fancy meeting you here. Can you join us?”
Without giving him time to reply—or anyone time to object—she patted the banquette seat beside her. “And, Blythe—you are Blythe, correct? You’ve got to sit right next to me so the two of us can get acquainted.”
The other couple seemed so astonished by the invitation that they dutifully followed her directions. Vance had a tight grip on her left hand, but that didn’t stop her from extending her right to the elegant woman now seated beside her. “I’m Layla Parker,” she said. “Vance’s girlfriend.”
“Oh,” the other woman murmured, with a quick blink followed up by a brief, polite clasp of fingers. “I’m happy to meet you.”
Then she flicked a glance across the table. “Hello, Vance,” she murmured, her voice even fainter.
Vance didn’t twitch a muscle. “Blythe.” Whatever his feelings, they’d gone deep undercover.
The two brothers sat side by side, both wooden-faced. A swell of panic curdled the cola and guacamole in Layla’s belly, but she managed to calm herself as the waitress paused to take the newcomers’ orders. She’d told Vance earlier that he was her hero and it was true. He’d tried to save her father at great personal risk and she was determined to pay him back for that as best she could. Helping him hide his broken heart seemed a good place to begin.
When the requested drinks were placed on the table, she tacked on another sunny smile, supremely aware that Vance and Fitz were each pretending the other wasn’t sitting an elbow away. “Blythe, I bake cupcakes for a living, if you can believe that. How about you? What’s your line of work?”
Blythe was an interior designer, Layla learned. The other woman answered readily enough, even though she kept sneaking glances across the table, whether at Fitz or Vance, it was impossible to tell. Upon closer inspection, Blythe was also not any less attractive than Layla had originally thought. She wore her straight hair in a ballerina bun at the back of her head and was dressed in a tailored khaki skirt and white silk shirt that would be appropriate in an executive suite—or for decorating one.
By comparison, in her shorts and T, Layla felt like a camp counselor after a sweaty day of weaving lanyards and making name tags from popsicle sticks and macaroni letters. Still, she didn’t let her lack of self-confidence show on her face. Instead, she shared stories about starting up Karma Cupcakes, their current flavor offerings and that she’d be bringing the food truck to the upcoming Picnic Day at the Smith family ranch.
Fitz, who’d been silent up to now, slid a look at his brother. “Picnic Day?”
“Yeah,” Vance said. “Mom came by the beach house. We ended up driving her home.”
“I’m glad she had a chance to see you,” his brother said stiffly.
Vance shrugged. “She got to meet Layla.” He idly played with her hand now, his lean fingers sliding up and down against the sensitive inner skin of hers.
Layla flushed again, she couldn’t help it, and when she shifted her legs restlessly, Vance caught them between his. Her head jerked up to find his gaze on her face. It felt like a caress.
Before the warmth of it had died, a stranger came up to the table. “Vance!” he cried in happy greeting and then immediately launched into some remember-when conversation that made clear they were long acquaintances. The other man brought Fitz into the discussion, as well, and soon it turned into something about baseball that—to Layla—was indecipherable. While the brothers each spoke to the newcomer, it was obvious they weren’t speaking to each other.
The sensation of being watched tagged her consciousness and she turned her head to see that Blythe was staring at her. Layla saw her swallow. “He’s a really good man,” the other woman said, under the cover of the men’s talk.