Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) by Crystal Cierlak Page B

bags, receipts peaking out from behind stuffed clothing and shoe boxes.
    Whatever , I sigh, and get in behind the wheel.
    It’s nearly dark by the time I return to the Canary again and a fleet of gorgeous Abercrombie model lookalike bell hops have to carry everything I now own up to my room. I tip them all and shut the door with a sigh.
    I check my phone for the first time in hours and see a message from Nick waiting for me.
     
    Looking forward to tonight. Pick you up at 7.
     
    I glance at the time and make a dash for the shower, feeling the slightest prick of excitement as I do.

Chapter Five
     
    I’m not as impassive as I’d like to be. In fact, there’s a rogue butterfly floating around in my stomach somewhere. When Nick requested we meet tonight he was so determined, so ardent.
    ‘I’m asking you for this. Just let me see you tonight. Please, Layla.’
    I can’t help but wonder why he couldn’t just tell me what he wanted and insisted on taking me out for my birthday. Is it just to be polite? For old time’s sake?
    6:55pm reads the display on my phone. There’s a full length mirror adjacent to the bed and when I stand before it I can’t tell if it’s me in the reflection or someone else. I’m wearing expensive dark grey jeans that extend my legs for miles, and grey ankle booties tucked beneath the hems. I’ve layered a cream colored cashmere sweater over Nick’s borrowed fitted white tee, and a nude satin bra with matching panties beneath it all. My hair is sleek, straight and shiny, and my face is touched off with a coating of black mascara, a neutral cream gloss and a flush of pink on the apples of my cheeks that is completely natural.
    Maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve looked at myself in the mirror, or maybe it’s that I’ve changed without noticing. I’m 30 now. And I look it. Not in a bad way of course, but in a way that makes me feel even better about the Victoria’s Secret employee who thought I was gorgeous. To my total shock and surprise I do look hot. And somewhere inside me the more confident version of Layla has resurfaced.
    At 7:00 on the dot there is a knock on the door and the rogue butterfly flutters somewhere deep in my stomach. I ignore it, pat down my hair one last time and put my hand on the door handle.
    Why am I so nervous?
    I take a moment to compose myself and return to the comforts of impassivity, and open the door. I can barely take notice of the fitted v-neck sweater and slacks hugging his defined body; his eyes are on me. I can just faintly see tiny muscles working in his face around his eyes and mouth and I wonder what sort of thoughts he’s thinking to illicit such an involuntary reaction.
    “There you are,” he says after a long moment, his eyes taking in my face with appreciation.
    “Here I am,” I reply with a nervous chuckle. “It’s seven.”
    A brief laugh escapes his mouth and he casts his eyes downward. I’ve missed the punchline somehow, but seeing his face lit up with a smile… For a moment I’m disarmed. It’s the first time since seeing him yesterday that when I look at him I see the Nick I once loved, and not the face of the child I’ve lost.
    “I booked us a table at the restaurant upstairs. Come on.” He reaches out his hand for me, and with just an ounce of hesitation I take it, feeling the warmth of his touch.
    Booked a table is not an entirely accurate description. We pass a sign announcing the restaurant and rooftop pool are closed for a special event, and it doesn’t take long to realize what has happened. Booked a table, yes. One table on the rooftop of the Canary Hotel all to ourselves.
    “How did you manage this?” I ask, baffled. A smartly dressed host leads us to a table lit up by the hundreds of twinkling lights that canopy the rooftop. Their reflections sparkle on the surface of the pool like stars in an undulating indigo sky. Around us tall palm trees are swaying and city lights are glittering, and I can’t think