A Whole Lot of Love. Justine Davis

cares how it happens? Just enjoy.

      Stephanie’s words echoed in her mind. True, Stephanie didn’t truly understand the problem, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t good advice, too.

      And for once, she was going to take it.

      “I have a friend whose family has a sailboat,” she said. “I’ve sailed with them enough times that I think they’d trust me with it.”

      “It’s a date,” Ethan said, still grinning. “When?”

      “Your choice. A weekend day would be best, I presume?”

      She couldn’t believe she was going ahead with it. But now that she’d said it, now that she’d committed to it out loud, she felt an odd, unfamiliar sense of excitement and anticipation.

      They agreed on next Sunday, and once it was done, Layla found herself mentally calculating how much time she had to drive herself crazy over the idea. She wouldn’t back out, not now that she’d agreed to it, but she knew there would be times over the next few days when she would wish she could.

      “Layla?”

      She looked up toward her doorway, where the young college student who helped around the office stood, clutching a manila envelope to her chest. Ethan stood, so smoothly and naturally that Layla knew it was automatic, and the girl’s eyes widened. Her gaze flicked from him to Layla.

      “Yes, Missy?” Layla asked, smiling; the girl was very shy, so she was always careful to be welcoming and encouraging. The girl smiled back, taking the encouragement and stepping into the office.

      “I—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Mr. Chandler wanted to know if you could take this with you. It’s the memo on the funding for adult day-care at The Oaks.”

      “Of course.” She took the envelope the girl held out. “Thank you.”

      The girl nodded and scuttled out of the room. Ethan watched her go curiously. “Is she always that nervous, or was it me?”

      Layla gave him points for noticing—and for good manners—even as she warned herself to remember this man’s perceptiveness. “She’s just very shy. Especially around men.”

      “Oh.” He turned back to her. “You have an appointment?”

      “Of sorts. At The Oaks, the Alzheimer’s board-and-care home. I go a couple of times a week.” She added the folder to the small stack of papers she had ready to go. And then, impulsively, she asked, “Would you like to go? See where a lot of the money you earned for us goes?”

      “No.”

      It was short, almost rudely sharp, and she looked up at him in surprise. He seemed to realize what he’d sounded like, because when he spoke again, his voice was more normal.

      “Sorry.”

      But his jaw was still clenched, his lips tight. There had been a time when she would have assumed his reaction was to her temerity in even asking him, but she’d grown up since then. Besides, he didn’t seem to be the type; he would hardly have forced the issue of their auction date and then take offense at this.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked.

      “Nothing.” It was sharp again, and she heard him take a deep breath before he went on. “I just don’t go to that place.”

      His vehemence startled her. She’d run into it before, she even understood it, but she hadn’t expected it here. In most cases, she knew it was a natural dislike of facing the reality of Alzheimer’s. But she had been at this long enough to sense that this was different. She recognized the feeling, the attitude, the anger, the guilt.

      This was personal.

      She wondered who was at The Oaks that Ethan Winslow didn’t want to see.

      Four

      Ethan had given up trying to figure out all the reasons why he had made that bid. He supposed it was all tangled up with his feelings about being up on that stage himself, and how alone it had felt, an empathy drilled into him by his two sisters—both of whom had fought their own battles with weight over the years—and the vision of the lively, amusing woman he’d come to know over the phone placed in a humiliating position.