LAYLA
“You want a drink or anything?” I ask, kicking off my heels and heading for the kitchenette. “Water? Wine?”
Josh shuts the door behind him and bends to unlace his shoes. His phone beeps in his pocket, and he hooks it out, checking the screen. “Hang on a sec,” he murmurs, typing back a quick message. I pour us both some water.
When I turn back around, he’s migrated to the couch and is frowning at his phone like he wants to throw it out of the window.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“My brother,” he says shortly. “He wants my help organising the guest seating for the wedding.”
“It’s just in a few weeks, right?”
“Hm.” His phone bleeps again, and he sighs. “And that was Luke.” He starts tapping at the screen. “He wants to know if you’re doing okay.”
Irritation flashes through me, but I bite
