Leif
I promised myself I wouldn’t call Layla until I could prove to her that I would ke ep my word, but as
the days drag on, it becomes harder and harder to ke ep my distance.
After yet another round of meetings with architects and town planners and real estate agents, I start to
wonder if I can actually pull this off.
Maybe I lied to her, after all. I won’t be able to fix any of it. I went too far with the initial project, and
now I can’t back out. I really am the piece of shit developer who makes elderly couples homeless. I’m
irredeemable.
Shaking my head to clear those thoughts, I stare at the updated architects’ plans in front of me.
Without the footprint where the Reynolds’ house sits, we can’t dig the right foundations for the tower of
condos. We’re limited to either a smaller building, townhouses, or single-family dwellings.
None of which will come close to breaking even financially.
But if I have to take a loss on this project, isn’t that worth it? It means I get to see Layla smile, get to
prove to her that I’m not the evil developer she thought I was. I’m not the kind of man who bullies elderly
couples into selling their home—and I never will be again.
That’s worth a couple million dollars’ loss on a single project, isn’t it?
Sighing, I roll up the plans and push them aside. It still doesn’t feel right. Putting up a small apartment
building would be the most lucrative option, but it would crowd the Reynolds’ house and reduce the
amount of natural light they have. Their house would feel hemmed in. I can’t be the man who bullied
them into selling their house, only to drop it and proceed to make their home unpleasant to live in. Putting
up townhouses would be fine, but I just...
I can’t put my finger on why it all feels so wrong. Grabbing my wallet and phone, I call out a goodbye
to my assistant Regina and head home. Elton is waiting for me outside, and instead of asking him to take
me to the townhouse, I decide on a whim to head to the Midtown penthouse.
My heart hammers as I ride the elevator up, remembering that first night Layla and I spent here
together, after the jazz bar. I felt so frantic, so out of control, on edge. It’s like my body knew what my
brain couldn’t process—that having her here, in my space, would change everything.
I could have driven her home that night and that would have been the end. She might have worked
with my mother, but I would have forced myself to ke ep my distance. All my boxes would have stayed
nice and s eparate—family, women, work.
Now, though... The elevator opens and I cross the gleaming marble floors to the apartment door.
Unlocking it and st epping inside feels like entering a time capsule. Wisps of Layla’s scent wrap around
me, ghosts of her presence. My st eps echo in the space, and it all feels so... cold. Empty. Sterile.
I don’t have that reckless laugh of hers or get to see the light shining in her eyes. As I walk to the
refrigerator and
open it up to see a Tupperware of old, stale brownies Emma must have made, my chest squeezes.
It’s been two weeks since that mediation meeting—and all that happened after. Two endless weeks
without Layla to come home to, when all that’s k ept me together is the sheer determination to make things
right.
And I will. Once I figure out how. I walk through the space, noting the mussed sheets in Emma’s
room—then start at the realization that I called it Emma’s room. It’s not the spare room anymore. It’s
Layla’s sister’s space.
No one has been in here since the night of my parents’ anniversary party. I tore through the apartment
in a panic, cupping in my two hands the realization that I loved Layla without knowing what to do with it.
Now I know. I’ll use my love for Layla to become a better man. I’ll take the love I have for her and
Isla and let it imbibe every aspect of my life—from family to business to relationships. I’m a good father
because I’m firm, fair, and I love my daughter unconditionally. Why can’t I be a good businessman as
well? Why do I have to leave my heart at the door every time I enter the office?
My feet pause at the threshold to Layla’s room. Our room. I grip the doorjamb, memories of our
month together stacking on top of each other.
When this is over, I won’t let her sle ep here while I stay at the townhouse. She’ll be woven into every
aspect of my life. I want her to braid Isla’s hair in the morning and go to her ballet performances with me.
She’ll eat with us, laugh with us. She and Emma will be part of my family.
St epping into the room, I cross to the bed and bring Layla’s pillow to my face. I inhale the scent of
her, closing my eyes to gulp it down in long, trembling breaths.
Yes, I’ll do anything for her. I’ll figure out what to do with the property next to the Reynolds’ place,
and I’ll prove
to Layla that I’m worthy of her.
The light in the ensuite is on, so I tear myself away from the bed and cross the space to turn it off.
Then I immediately flick it back on. There’s something in the trash can. Frowning, I cross the space
and peer inside at the cardboard box, the blue cylindrical wrapper... and the pregnancy test hidden
underneath.
Layla isn’t at her grandparents’ house. Her sister stands in the doorway, staring at me suspiciously,
and I know I haven’t done enough to win her family over. They probably see the construction site next
door, listen to the sounds of demolition all day long, and wonder if I’m going to ke ep my promise.
I will. Now, more than ever, I will. “You can’t tell me where she is?” I know I sound frantic, but I
can’t help it. My heart has been thumping violently for over an hour.
“I’ll tell her you stopped by,” Emma responds. “This is important. I need to talk to her.” “And you
can. When she calls you. After I’ve told her you stopped by.”
I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Emma.”
“Leif.” Huffing, I shake my head. “I can tell you two are related. Stubborn as mules.”
“I’ll let her know you think so.” Holding up my palms, I know I’m not going to win this argument. I
glance at my phone for the millionth time, but she hasn’t answered my texts or calls. I call out to Emma
right before she closes the door, throat suddenly tight. “Layla hasn’t mentioned anything...”
Emma arches a brow. “Anything...?” “Anything big?” Emma blinks. “Look, Leif, I have to go study.
Can you just ask what you want to ask? I’ll relay it to Layla.”
“You were a lot more helpful the last time I was trying to find her.”
“Last time you hadn’t threatened to make my grandparents homeless.”
I flinch. “Point taken.” The door closes, and my heart rises all the way up to my throat. I walk down
the pathway but instead of getting in the back of my car, I wave Elton off and walk along the temporary
fencing encircling my newly acquired property. I hook my fingers into the fence, staring at the rubble, the
piles of steel and concrete and soil. Among the debris, the excavator looks almost sle epy sitting in the
middle of the site, motionless.
It means nothing. The development, the plans, the money I could have made here—it means
absolutely nothing to me.
I whirl around and head to the car. When Elton turns down a familiar street, I glance out the window,
then grip the back of the seat in front of me. “Stop,” I command.
Elton pulls the vehicle into an available space and I scramble out to stare at the crooked, worn
building where Layla used to live.
And it comes to me. I laugh, my breath puffing in the night air, feeling a new lightness steal over me
as my idea solidifies like a ship appearing over misty waters.
I know what I’m going to do, and I won’t let architects or city councilors or town planners change my
mind.
I’m going to prove to Layla—once and for all—that she can trust me. That I’m worthy of her.
And worthy of our child.