Free Just Desserts by Jeannie Watt Page A

rebel self?
     
    Easy. Rebel Layla had gotten smacked firmly backward and now was whimpering in a corner—or rather, sitting on her sister’s purple sofa with an emerald-green afghan pulled over her ugly teacher clothes.
     
    Guess she wouldn’t be wearing those again for a while.
     
    “You’ll get another job,” Sam said as she tossed various items—a necklace, a lipstick, a small pair of needle-nose pliers—into her huge tote bag. Layla could see a Pop-Tart box poking out of the interior. “And until then you can help me. No sweat.”
     
    No sweat. Just get another job. Work at a boutique for free, since her sister could barely afford to pay herself.
     
    Layla tugged the afghan closer to her chin.
     
    “Are you sure you even want to be a teacher?” Sam asked suddenly. Layla scowled at her.
     
    “Of course I want to be a teacher. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher. Why would you ask such a question?”
     
    Sam picked up the tote bag and gave it a slight shake so that everything settled into place with a few clinks and muffled clanks. “Because you’ve never seemed very happy doing it.”
     
    “I’m happy! Or I was happy.”
     
    Sam propped a hand on her hip. “What about all those headaches and stomachaches you keep talking about?”
     
    “When you’re dealing with adolescents, headaches are a given,” Layla said primly.
     
    “Well, I don’t get them in my job, so I don’t see why you have to get them in yours.”
     
    Because I take things more seriously than you do!
     
    Sam set down the bag and came to perch on the edge of the sofa, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I don’t quite know how to say this, but…Layla, I don’t think you’ve been happy for a long time.”
     
    Layla opened her mouth to protest, to talk about professional gratification and the value of sacrifice—to defend her choices for the past decade and a half—but Sam cut her off before she got out more than a syllable.
     
    “I know what you’re going to say. I know exactly what you’re going to say. But stop. Just stop. Okay?”
     
    She seemed to be waiting for a response, so Layla nodded.
     
    “You are on the cusp of something. You got fired for a reason and now you need to explore options—”
     
    “Turn lemons into lemonade?” Layla interjected bitterly.
     
    “Lemonade?” Sam said, wrinkling her nose. “No. You have the chance to investigate other opportunities and you should damned well take it. And maybe go back and clip Melinda’s bumper while you’re at it.”
     
    “I…” Have no idea what to say. “What options?”
     
    “Haven’t you ever wanted to be something other than a teacher? An astronaut or a cowboy?” Sam held up a hand. “I was being facetious with those choices. But, really. Have you ever thought of trying something else?”
     
    “No.”
     
    “Or dating another kind of man?”
     
    “I date stable men.”
     
    “Maybe you should try to date fun men. Men who aren’t husband material, but who can give you some most excellent experiences without being The One.”
     
    “Experiences…”
     
    Sam shrugged. “Yes,” she said simply. “More numbers in your equation.” She leaned forward and grasped Layla’s wrist. “Take advantage of this. Yes, look for a job. But…don’t just jump back into your old life, because you may well be there forever. Shop. Experience.”
     
    “Eat, love, pray?”
     
    Sam nodded. “If that’s what it takes.” She glanced at the watch hanging on a chain around her neck. “I have to go if I’m going to open on time. Are you coming?”
     
    “Not today. I have a few things I should do at home.” Layla pushed the afghan aside. “But I am going to consider what you said.” Because it made sense, which kind of frightened her.
     
    “Good.” Sam hoisted the bag into her shoulder. “You don’t want to turn into Grandma Bonnie.”
     
    “Whose careful saving habits bankrolled your business. And Eric’s business and