It worried Layla that her piccolos seemed genuinely confused by the concept of playing in tune. She also doubted her trombones knew the difference between left and right, and she'd abandoned hope that her tubas would ever stop marching on cue.
These things bothered her.
But her principal saying her department wasn't a priority infuriated her.
Luckily, Chuck's had the best pie around, and nothing tempered her fury and focused her thoughts like a slice of banana cream. The corner diner was her favorite place to stop any time she needed a sugar fix. From her usual table by the window she could watch the regulars come and go, and the worn out chairs and quiet murmur of people who chatted as they drank their coffee comforted her after the stress of the day.
Layla pushed her empty plate away and opened the conductor's score for the winter musical on the table. Svenson might act like music was expendable, but she never would.
"Hey, Ms. M." One of her favorite students, who also worked as a busboy, stopped in front of her table.
All the kids called her Ms. M. because apparently Majczak was too difficult. Layla liked the nickname, even if she occasionally pretended she didn't. "Yes?"
"I was wondering if you want to buy a candy bar. You know, since you're done with all that pie."
"Are you really trying to sell me a candy bar for my own fundraiser?" She circled a tricky clarinet solo with her pencil.
Cody shrugged, gangly arms flopping like the wings of a lanky baby bird. "Well, I always see you eating chocolate. I thought you might want some more." He stared at her. "Besides, Annie said you were stressed. Don't girls eat chocolate when they're stressed?"
Layla's heart warmed at his awkward concern. She sighed and pulled a dollar from her wallet. This brought her total out of pocket chocolate expense to a hundred and one. She'd stashed the other hundred candy bars in her desk drawer to use as bribes later. "Fine. Surprise me."
As Cody vanished to procure her candy, the bell over the door jangled and a man walked into the nearly empty diner. Layla had never seen him before, and she'd seen everyone in her little town of Maybe.
Long and lean with the most delicious tousle of chestnut-colored hair, the stranger exuded a cocky confidence that dared anyone to tell him he didn't belong even though he couldn't have looked more out of place. An expensive-looking pair of sunglasses obscured his gaze under the dark slash of his brows. His black tee shirt clung to his lean torso, and a chain hung from his belt at his hip.
Oh yeah, and he wore red pants.
Not those shades of brick or wine that people sometimes try to pass off as red, either. Real red. A red that made Layla think of candy and lips and sex.
Mr. Sexy Pants turned in her direction. His mouth tilted into a frown. She could tell even with the sunglasses he was looking right at her.
Embarrassed that he'd caught her staring and even more embarrassed that she'd let him distract her, Layla concentrated on her conductor's score. She had better things to think about than red pants. Like how she was going to cope with the budget cuts Svenson had dropped on her.
The staves and notes blurred into a meaningless jumble as she tried to work. She told herself it was because the reckless amount of pie she'd just consumed had spiked her blood sugar, not because of the unsolicited diversion who'd taken a seat near the door. The way his legs stretched in a lazy line under his table tugged on her attention like a magnet. She tried to resist, but her eyes crept over to where he texted on his phone, sunglasses still on.
Seriously...red pants. She didn't think men in real life wore red pants. They looked so soft, like velvet. And they reminded her of cherries. Naughty, velvety cherries. She wanted to rub her face all over them.
But that had to be the pie talking.
Layla absently flipped a page in the score as her gaze drifted higher, over the silver-studded belt around his hips, to the I-don't-give-a-fuck way he slouched in the chair, straight up to his mouth.
Which curled in a mocking half-smile aimed right at her.
He arched an eyebrow, then removed his sunglasses, fixing her with an ice-blue stare that made her feel...caught. And she couldn't tell if that was good or bad.
His lips quirked as he purposefully slid his eyes down her neck and over the curve of her breasts. Her skin burned under his scrutiny, and she was sure her cheeks had turned as red as the pants that had gotten her into this predicament in the first place. When he finished ogling her, he smirked.
Her mouth fell open, but she clamped it shut to scowl down at her music. Okay. Being caught by him was definitely a bad thing.
"Here." Cody plopped down in the chair opposite hers and handed her a candy bar. "Hey...I, uh, broke my last reed, and I don't have any money to get more until payday. Do you have an extra one I can borrow?"
Layla forced her attention to the young man in front of her, but she could feel Mr. Sexy Pants watching her from his table, which wasn't quite far enough to allow her to ignore him. She shifted in her seat and hoped Cody didn't notice the embarrassment written on her cheeks. "What did you do with all the reeds I gave you last week?"
Cody was the only tenor sax player she had, and while he was no John Coltrane, no one could accuse him of being anything less than enthusiastic.
"I don't know..."
She sighed. "Then I don't know if I have an extra one."
"Okay, okay...I might have stepped on them just a little."
"The whole box?"
Cody nodded and picked up the salt shaker, apparently counting the holes in the top. "Yeah. The guys were over, and things got a little crazy. You know how it is. I'll pay you back. Promise."
Layla skewered him with her best "teacher stare." Although Mr. Sexy Pants had resumed his texting, she had the feeling he was listening to every word she said.
Cody cleared his throat, reminding her that she had more pressing issues, like encouraging the creative development of a young, impressionable mind. This was a kid who actually enjoyed practicing. Of course she'd give him another reed. But she had to at least try to act annoyed with him.
"Fine. I will give you one more reed." She held up a finger. "One. But you will pay me back, and you will promise to be more careful."
Cody always did pay her back, which was one reason she liked him so much. Like her new candy collection, her stash of extra reeds and strings came out of her personal budget, not the school's.
"Yeah. Thanks, Ms. M." Cody held his hand up for a high five, leaving Layla no choice but to oblige.
Annie, the diner's regular waitress, brought a pitcher of water to the man's table. His phone rang as she poured. "Hello..." His voice was low, but it held a knife point of frustration that pierced through the quiet of the diner.
Cody stood and turned to go back to the kitchen, but he froze facing the table with the man. He spun back around, grabbing the edge of her table and nearly knocking over the salt shaker.
"Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. "
"Cody--"
"Sorry...I mean, shoot." He lowered his voice. "Is that who I think it is?"
"What are you talking about?"
Cody stole a not-so-covert glance over his shoulder. "I can't believe it." He gawked at the man again. "It is him. Shit. What do I do...what do I do?"
"Cody, calm down and stop staring. Who is he, then?" Layla didn't like the way her stomach fluttered as she waited for his reply.
Cody's voice cracked through his whisper. "Are you serious? You don't know who that is? It's Derek Taylor."
The name jangled in her memory, but she couldn't think of where she knew it from. Cody stared at her, his brown eyes wide with shock. Jeez. She hoped the poor kid wasn't going to pass out. He was clutching the table so hard now, he'd bunched up the tablecloth under his fingers, dragging her plate halfway to the edge.
She patted his hand until he released his grip, then offered him her untouched glass of ice water. Layla was glad the man was too distracted with his angry conversation on the phone to pay them any attention.
"And who, exactly, is Derek Taylor?"