Cole and Laila Are Just Friends by Bethany Turner EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Bethany Turner
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 6.7 MB
- Price: Free
Laila
“I’m pretty sure that’s the last of it!” I stepped into Cassidy’s Bar & Grill
and kicked my foot up behind me to shut the solid-oak door just as the
creaky, swinging screen door slammed closed.
Cole’s head appeared in the kitchen service window. “What do you mean
that’s the last—” His eyes flew open at the sight of me standing just inside
the door, peering at him over the mountain of precariously stacked catering
equipment in my arms. His top half disappeared for a quick second, until all
of him came barreling through the kitchen door.
“What are you doing? I
told you I’d be back to grab more.” A handful of sizable strides got him
close enough to grab the heavy stainless steel chafing dish sets from my
hands, but rather than relieve me of them, he took a step back and sighed.
“What?” I muttered with pouted lips against the slipping fuel canisters
I’d just been forced to catch.
He simultaneously groaned and laughed as he grabbed a fuel canister in
each hand, set them on the table behind him, and then came back for more.
“Oh, nothing. I just didn’t know Laila Jenga was on the activity schedule
for the evening.”
“I would have planned better,” I insisted once the remaining cateringgrade containers of oil and wicks and such—along with three or so longstem lighters I had slipped into the gaps between all the highly flammable
things—were no longer being precariously balanced by my chin. “But by
the time I realized how little was left to carry in—”
“You mean by the time good sense and a little bit of patience gave way to
some good old-fashioned Laila Olivet stubbornness . . .”
“I didn’t really have the wiggle room to stack things better.”
“Clearly.” Cole maneuvered a coffee urn out from under my arm while
balancing some serving platters with his other hand.
“Be careful with that,” I instructed as he prepared to lower the urn to the
floor, in the second before we both heard gentle clinks reverberate from
inside it.
He set the serving platters on the table and then unscrewed the vacuumsealed lid of the coffee urn and looked inside. I watched the progression of
emotions dance across his face—dismay, annoyance, frustration . . . Every
last emotion accompanied onto the dance floor by humor and, more than
anything, not even the tiniest tinge of surprise.
“Thank you for protecting the champagne glasses,” he finally said,
smiling at me as he looked up.
I waited for the follow-up, but there was none. He just kept smiling at
me.
“Oh. You’re welcome.” I placed a couple of scalloped deli crocks into his
waiting hands and then dug into the pockets of my coat, pulling out the
serving utensils I had crammed in there and setting them in the crocks. “I
thought you were going to make some crack about how if I had time to
open up the urn, take out the coffee filters you had in there— Ooh!” I
reached into the front of my dress and pulled out the package of plasticwrapped coffee filters resting at the dress’s waistband. I’d almost forgotten.
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