Page 111 of Layla

I freeze. “What?”

He shrugs before pulling off his t-shirt. “When I asked her, she made me promise that you would call once you had the ring.”

I can’t seem to wrap my mind around what he’s saying. “You asked her?”

He looks at me like I’m dense. “For her blessing. Yes. She helped me pick out the ring, actually.”

I open and close my mouth a few times. “When did you do that?”

“A couple weeks ago. You were in the studio all day. I flew to Detroit, took her out to lunch, and flew back.” He shrugs again, like all of this is no big deal. Like it’s not the sweetest damn thing anyone has ever done for me. “You didn’t even know I was gone.”

Just like that, I’m back in his arms. I pretty much threw myself at him, and of course he caught me. John always catches me. “Thank you for doing that,” I tell him. I want to explain what that means to me, that he showed my adopted mother so much respect. That he made her a part of this, the first person who ever loved me. That he would go to so much trouble just for me. That he’d been thinking about it and planning it for weeks. That helovesme, with all of my flaws and rough edges.

But there’s a lump in my throat, making it hard to say much at all. Instead I hold him closer. “Thank you.”

“Oh, Layla,” he murmurs. “Don’t you know, babe? I would do just about anything for you. Flying a couple thousand miles is nothing.”

After that, I have to get in the shower with him—it would be impossible not to, seeing as how I can’t seem to let him go. My hair hasn’t had a chance to set yet, so the water totally messes up my dye job, but John assures me it still looks good in all its rainbow-hued glory as he helps me comb it out after our shower.

“After all,” he tells me, sliding the comb through the wet, multi-colored strands, “You’re Layla Perry. Total rock chick. Loud hair suits you.”

“Yousuit me,” I tell him. “And you’d suit me even more if you’d let me dyeyourhair.”

He looks at me, an eyebrow raised. “What color?”

I do my best to keep my mouth from gaping. I can’t believe he’s even considering it. “I think I have some blue.” I cross my fingers behind my back. “I could just do the tips? Or a couple strands?”

He watches me for a long moment before yanking on the towel I had wrapped around my body and placing it on his bare shoulders. “Okay, woman. Do your worst.” He grabs my wrist when I move to grab another towel to cover up. “But only if you do it in your birthday suit.”

I grin at him in the mirror. “That can totally be arranged.” I move around the bathroom, gathering up the supplies. “I can’t believe you’re going to let me do this.”

He shrugs, his face as happy as I’ve ever seen it. “What can I say? You make it fun to let go every once in a while.”

“Well it’s a good thing you’re stuck with me,” I tell him.

Somehow his smile grows even larger before he responds. “For the rest of my life.”

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