Norton was still sawing logs on the floor when Layla took a break, gulping from the water bottle she’d brought down to the basement. She’d worked up quite a sweat and had stripped down to the thin tank top she wore under her flannel shirt. She’d slowly worked her way through her favorite covers, but there were many more and her throat would need a break long before she ran out of songs to play.
chapter 16
Josh
Josh pulled into the parking lot of Kimmy’s condo and shut off his truck. “I want to go to Miss Layla’s with you to pick up Norton,” Sasha said as he walked her in. “I missed him.”
“I know, but your mom missed you too. Norton will be waiting for you in a few days.”
He kissed her good-bye, and then Kimmy opened the door and enveloped Sasha in a tight squeeze. Josh drove home and took his overnight bag into the house and grabbed a toolbox before getting back into his truck for the short drive to Layla’s. He’d texted her before he pulled out of the parking lot of Kimmy’s condo, but she hadn’t responded. No one answered when he rang her doorbell, so he walked around to the backyard and came through the gate. She wasn’t on the deck, either, but he heard music coming from somewhere—Heart’s “Magic Man,” to be exact—so he assumed she was there.
He followed the sound to a basement window where it grew louder. He peered inside the window and what he saw surprised him. Layla wasn’t listening to music—she was the source of it. The glass muted the sound a bit, but her voice was incredible.
She was wearing faded jeans, and there was a long-sleeved shirt that looked like she’d flung it to the floor when she got too warm. All she had on above the waist now was a thin tank top. She was singing into a microphone and the cords of her neck and the muscles in her forearms flexed from the exertion of playing and singing.
He tapped on the window.
She couldn’t hear him; she didn’t see him.
It was clearly a private moment and he should have looked away, but he couldn’t.
And anyway, he didn’t want to.
Shy, quiet Layla had been replaced by a woman who looked as if she was starring in her own music video. Her expression changed with the lyrics, and it was like watching someone tell a story. Her hair clung to her damp neck. He wasn’t close enough to confirm it, but he imagined a rivulet of sweat running from her neck straight down into the front of that tank top.
It wasn’t that Layla wasn’t attractive, because she was. But it was understated, as if she wasn’t trying to draw attention to the way she looked. Her strawberry-blond hair was usually in a ponytail or tucked behind her ears. He couldn’t remember what color her eyes were, because he’d never paid that much attention, and they were often hidden behind the sunglasses she wore for morning drop-off. She wasn’t tall or short or big or small. It was almost as if she didn’t want to stand out in any way. That didn’t quite make sense to Josh, but there was something about Layla that he couldn’t get a handle on.
Maybe that’s because you don’t really know her, he told himself. He’d only seen what she’d allowed him to see, and right now he had a feeling that he was seeing more of who she really was. Right then, she looked like she was on fire, as if her joy had lit her from behind in vibrant oranges and fiery reds.
It was a long song, but he wished it were longer.
He waited until she played the final notes. The sound ceased, and he watched for a few more seconds as she inhaled deeply, her chest rising and falling. She looked spent.
He should have stood up and hurried around to the front of the house to ring the bell again. She’d probably hear it now. But a split second before he tore himself away from the window, Layla’s head whipped up toward him, and the look on her face was sheer panic.
He wished he didn’t look like such a creepy stalker. They stared at each other for what felt like hours but was, in fact, only seconds. She scooped her shirt up off the floor and pointed a finger toward the ceiling to let him know she was heading upstairs. Josh walked around to the front of the house, and the minute Layla opened the door he said, “I am so sorry. I was not trying to be creepy or spy on you or whatever. I tried knocking on the door. I knocked on the window, too, but you couldn’t hear me.”
She finished shrugging into her shirt and buttoned it quickly. “It’s not your fault. I knew you were coming. I just … I lost track of time.” She looked mortified, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. He was the one who should be mortified, and he was.
Norton registered Josh’s arrival and was about to knock him off his feet. “Come on in,” Layla said. She shut the door so the dog wouldn’t escape into the street.
He gestured toward the toolbox in his hand. “If you can open the garage door so I can get to the breaker box, I’ll look at that light. Then we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Sure,” she said.
It didn’t take him long to figure out what was wrong with the light and fix it. He turned the breaker back on, knocked on the door, and asked Layla to turn on the switch. She smiled when she saw the outdoor light glowing bright. “Thanks,” she said. “I can finally cross that off my to-do list. It’s been on there quite a while.”
“No problem.”
Layla disappeared into the kitchen and returned with Norton’s bowls, food, and leash. He reached for the leash and attached it to Norton’s collar.
“You said you didn’t sing,” he blurted. “You can clearly sing. Your voice is unbelievable.” The lame adjective didn’t do it justice, but it was all he could come up with. Later, when he replayed it in his mind, he would think of better words, like “commanding,” “mesmerizing,” “passionate.”
“I meant I only sing for myself. I don’t sing for anyone else. Not now.”
“Did you used to?”
“Yes.”
He waited patiently, not saying anything, hoping she’d elaborate. It was none of his business, but she’d piqued his curiosity in a big way. He wanted to know more about past Layla. Hell, he’d like to know more about present Layla, too.
“I used to be in a band,” she said. “We called ourselves Storm Warning.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?” As far as he knew, she just liked to play guitar. For a music teacher, that was a perfectly understandable hobby. But what he had just witnessed was a skill level way beyond a casual hobby.
“Because it was a lifetime ago.” But a lifetime where maybe she thrived, he thought.
“When?” he asked.
“The band got together in college. I was about twenty-two when we started booking paid gigs. We played for a few years.”
“Are they still around?”