Page 1 of Labor of Love

1

LAYLA

“I’ve gone my whole life thinking I couldn’t draw, let alone paint.” Gretta squeezes my shoulder as pride fills her voice, her goat painting held out in front of her.

“I’m so proud of you.” Smiling back, my soul warms as the happy group heads out of my private paint night class. “Thanks for booking with me.”

“Layla.” Another middle-aged woman stops me as I gather my art belongings. “I need to hire you for my fiftieth birthday next month. I had the best time.”

My schedule is full—but more work, more money, which I desperately need as an eighteen-year-old wanting to live on my own.

“Give me a call this week, and I’ll see where I can fit you in.”

She thanks me, and the ladies shuffle out as quietness settles around the studio space.

My usual excuses to be out of the house are enjoying game night with the Hayes’, horseback riding with my bestie, or hosting paint nights. But my best friend, Karli, is out with her boyfriend, and I haven’t heard from her older brother since yesterday. According to social media, it’s his friend’s birthday and they’re going out.

Home is anything but quiet, and I’d rather sleep elsewhere. Hell, the couch in the town hall’s library would be void of a blaring TV or my parents fighting. Neither parent would open my door to bitch about the other after midnight. If I curled up and sank into the soft leather couch in the lobby, I’d enjoy a full night’s sleep. This place doesn’t hold unpredictability when my father is in his usual drunken rage.

No. My gut sinks. I can’t get caught sleeping here. It’s unprofessional, no matter how much I hate being at home.

The night air whooshes around me as I lock up. Turning around, the front steps lead the way as darkness is about to swallow the town. Headlights across the street capture my attention, and my lungs squeeze.

He’s here.

Stetson Hayes leans against his old Suburban, his arms crossed until the moment I notice him. His plain shirt and rodeo belt buckle never fail to send a tingle between my legs. An inevitable smile stretches across my face as he crosses the street, meeting me halfway.

“I don’t believe I’m part of guys’ night,” I say as he reaches for my art bag, slinging it effortlessly over his shoulder.

“You’re the better part of my night.”

My neck cranes, looking up at him with stars in my eyes as we head to his car.

“Guys were getting sloshed, and I’d rather hang with my girl.” He winks, opening the door for me.

My girl.

Those two simple words send heat to my face as giddiness bubbles inside me.

We’ve been nothing short of secret moments, stolen kisses, and hanging out under the radar for a couple of months. A bull-riding injury had bottomed my stomach out, but thankfully he had walked away with only a sprained wrist.

“Thanks for the ride.” It’s rare to get alone time with him, and tonight, Karli is more than occupied to wonder what I'm doing.

“Always down for an opportunity to spend with you.” He gently clasps his large hand around my thigh as he drives.

Now if only he moves it higher...

“Layla?” Stetson breaks my daydream with a subtle smirk, knowing his effect on me. “How was paint night?”

Pull yourself together, Layla.

“Seeing people’s eyes hold that spark of accomplishment by the end of the class was something special.” I smile. “I’m booked almost two months out for paint nights, and I had a few commissions come in this week.”

“With this steady traction, you’ll be renting your own place soon.” Stetson gives my thigh another squeeze, not knowing how bad nights can get at home. How much I long to have my own place for more than art. “I’m so damn proud of you.”

There’s a safe security in his compliments that warms me.

“Thanks for believing in me.”