Damaged, The Romance of Nick and Layla (Part 4) Read Free Page A

drinking and then orders a bottle of it, along with a spinach artichoke dip and a California veggie pizza.
    Eric Jacobson, I learn, is a new media producer with his own firm based in Santa Barbara, an avid swimmer and something of an artist in his spare time. He smiles almost as often as he breathes and his light, humorous self-deprecation is both modest and charming.
    After two glasses of wine I’m feeling more relaxed and open, and he’s making it easy to laugh and enjoy myself.
    “So really, how is it such a beautiful woman is dining by herself? And so close to her birthday, no less?”
    I smile into a sip from the third glass of wine and only take a little of the drink. “Just circumstance, I guess. A lot of my friends live in the Los Angeles area and my folks who live here have been out of town so,” I trail off. My hand switches from the stem of my wine glass to the nearly untouched glass of iced water and I take a large sip, knowing that more wine would make it difficult to drive home safely.
    “But to be fair,” I start again with water glass in hand, “you’re alone, too.”
    “Ah, yes. Usually I prefer to stay at home and cook but I didn’t leave work until late this evening. So here I am.”
    “A man who likes to cook! How novel.”
    “We’re not as rare a breed as you might think, Miss Garrett.”
    “Layla. Please call me Layla.”
    “Layla,” he affirms, a small smile upon his mouth.
    When the waitress appears again with two bills he passes her a credit card and insists she bill them as one.
    “You really don’t have to do that,” I offer, reaching for my purse.
    “Please,” he stops me with a hand gently in the air. “I insist. You made my night much less lonely.”
    The waitress raises her eyebrows and winks at me as she walks away with his card and I can’t help but feel a bit flushed.
    “Thank you, Eric. That’s very generous of you for this impromptu blind date.”
    He smiles appreciatively at me and takes the last sip of wine from his glass. He looks as if he’s considering something and then places the glass deliberately on the table again.
    “At the risk of being too forward-” he reaches into his inner coat pocket and produces his phone and what appears to be a business card. “Admittedly I’m not very modern or knowledgeable about such protocols, but if it’s okay with you Layla, I’d like to see you again. I don’t know if I give you my number or you give me yours, so,” he looks down at the phone and card in his hand and smiles sheepishly. His face flushes slightly and he almost looks genuinely embarrassed. “You pick.”
    “Me?” I ask, and I can’t help feeling flattered by his shyness.
    “Yes, you. Take the card which, by the way, has my cell number on it, or maybe you’ll give me your number?”
    I eye him for a moment and decide he is both earnest and somewhat adorable in his request. And definitely nervous. A bit of skin crinkles just outside his eyes as he waits patiently for me to answer and I can’t help but smile. Finally, with my right hand I reach over the table to his and pick up both items from his grasp. With my finger grasping the card beneath the phone, I wake the device up with my thumb - an adorable brown Australian Shepherd with mismatched green eyes smiles up at me from the home screen - and enter my number into his contacts. When I look back up at him his mouth is curved into a satisfied smile and he’s eyeing me with appreciation. I hand the phone back to him and slip his card into my purse.
    “I think that’s modern enough,” I reply finally before taking another generous sip of water.
    When the waitress returns with his card he tips very generously and walks me to my car at the top level of the parking garage. When we reach it he holds out his hand and smiles generously at me, ever the gentleman.
    “Thank you for dinner, Layla Garrett.”
    “Thank you , Eric Jacobson not Clapton.”
    By the time I make it home I realize how late