“Janet is throwing me a little birthday party tonight. I want you here.”
“Ross…man…”
“I’ll text you the address. Eight o’clock. Not taking no for an answer. Besides, I spent enough birthdays without my man at my side.”
He thought about it. “Things are different. I’m different.”
“We all are,” he said softly. “Eight o’clock.”
“All right. Eight.”
Chapter 3
Layla was never one for sitting in traffic and knew that city dwellers would be packing up to head to the shores come Friday afternoon. The idea of bumper to bumper cars, noise and horn blowing put her spine in a vice grip. She decided to hit the road on Thursday at mid-day. Getting around the winding streets of lower Manhattan was half the battle. Once she hit the William Floyd Parkway toward Shirley, Long Island it got easier. She put her foot down on the gas and didn’t let up.
The two and a half-hour drive took just about two hours and before she had a chance to get tired she saw the signs for the Sag Harbor turnoff up ahead.
She pressed the button on the armrest to lower the windows and took a deep inhale of the ocean-tinged air. The scents of salt, sand and sea were carried along by the balmy breeze. Layla inhaled deeply. Her grip loosened on the steering wheel and her shoulders slowly lowered from their sentinel position near her neck. She had no idea how tightly wound her body was until she felt the embrace of the leather cushion of the seat.
Her clients were lukewarm about her departure and one woman began to whine about how Layla’s leaving was interfering with her calendar. Mona told her that her job at Jack and Jill’s would be waiting for her when she got back and not to worry about a thing. Mona had lent strong shoulder strength after the utter devastation of her engagement to Brent. Mona spent many an hour and drank countless mimosas listening to Layla pour out her heartache and fury and just as many assuring her that it was Brent who was the asshole, that it was his loss not hers and that a real man was out there waiting for her—when she was ready. She was certain she would never be ready. She couldn’t survive another hurt like that and the only way to get hurt like that is to love someone. That was something she had no more intentions of doing. She was going to build her business, travel, enjoy her friends and maybe even write a book one day about the art of healing through touch. But love…she was done.
She’d paid up her rent for three months, had her utilities and cable temporarily suspended, packed her bags and hit the road. Taking in the magnificent view and allowing the tranquility of the shore to seep into her limbs, she knew she’d made the right decision.
Her foot eased off the accelerator as she entered the town proper. The cobblestone streets were lined with bright colored canopies and shiny glass windows advertising the array of shops, restaurants, bakeries, specialty stores and art galleries. The waters along the pier were home to everything from basic fishing boats, to outboards to large yachts and party boats that lolled atop the soft waves.
The Port was beyond the center of town, across a wide swath of beach and soft rolling hills. Lincoln had built the place up from two small cabins to a dozen, complete with the kind of amenities expected at high price hotels—a bar, sit down restaurant, exercise room, a lounge and room service. And now The Port had its own masseuse.
Layla followed the winding streets out of the main part of town until the shops began to recede in her rearview mirror. The summer homes, and for some, yearlong homes, began to dot the landscape with pops of color against the sandy shores and green slopes.
Twenty minutes later she was driving onto The Port property. She pulled into an available parking space and got out. She arched her back and stretched her arms high over her head then took a look around.
Not much had changed that she could determine since the last time she’d visited. But knowing Desiree and Lincoln, Mr. & Mrs. DIY, she was sure that there were many new changes yet to be discovered.
Layla grabbed her oversized purse from the passenger seat, shut the car door and walked into the reception area.
A gorgeous young woman who looked as if she’d been carved out of polished ebony wood greeted her.
“Welcome to The Port. My name is Gina. Do you have a reservation or would you like a tour?”
“Hello, Gina. Umm, I’m actually a friend of Desi and Lincoln. I’m going to be doing massage therapy for the summer.”
Gina’s brows lifted and her lush mouth widened into a brilliant smile displaying two rows of even white teeth. “Of course. Mrs. Davenport told me to expect you. Let me tell her you’re here.” She picked up a phone on the desk, spoke briefly then glanced up at Layla. “Follow me, Ms. Brooks.”
Much of what Layla remembered since her last visit was the same. The Port was still a classy place, from the high-end furnishings to the sense of elegance, style and professionalism that seemed to ooze from the staff. She did notice some new artwork, and a humungous flat screen television that served as an entertainment medium, and also provided updates about The Port and the town of Sag Harbor that scrolled across the bottom.
Layla followed Gina down the short hallway to where she remembered Desiree’s office to be. Gina tapped lightly on the partially opened door.
“Come in,” rang out the cheery voice.
“Your friend Ms. Brooks is here.” Gina headed back to the front.
Before Layla could put one foot in front of the other the door swung fully open and Desiree burst out like sunshine after a storm.
“Layla!” Desiree swept her friend up in a tight hug then stepped back and held her at arm’s length. “How was the drive?”
“A breeze. You look fabulous. And happy.”
Desiree had opted for a short, natural spiral hairstyle and her complexion fairly glowed from the inside out.
“Thanks and I am.” She beamed, then a frown tightened her brow. She glanced around the space where Layla stood. “Where are your bags?”
“In the car.”
“Oh,” she breathed in relief, pressing her hand to her chest. “For a minute I thought you weren’t planning to stay.” She hooked her arm through Layla’s. “Let’s get your bags and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
“I’m not sure for how long, but I have enough clothes and accessories to last me a minute.”
Desiree laughed. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
They walked arm-in-arm out of the main building and across the landscaped front. Desiree had one of the staff gather Layla’s bags from her car and bring them to her room.
“I’m so glad that you decided to come,” Desiree said while she turned the key in the cottage door lock. “You’re going to love it and my guests are going to love you.” She swung the door open and they stepped inside.
As Layla expected, the space was beautiful. Pale walls and whitewashed floors gave the rooms an expansive, open
