“There is one thing I’d change,” he says.
“Oh yeah?” I reply, reaching for the mugs.
“I wouldn’t have kept anything from you.”
I turn to face him, leaning back against the worktop. “Or fake-dated me to keep your father happy?” I say lightly, the words still causing a slight sting.
His expression shifts instantly. Serious.He steps toward me, then stops himself, remembering he can’t just touch me anymore.
“It wasn’t fake,” he says quietly. “Not for me.” He drags a hand over his brow, breath hitching. “I liked you from the start. And then…” He exhales. “I fell in love,” he almost whispers, like the word scares him, but he’s done running from it. “I love you.”
My chest tightens.
“There was always something about you,” he continues. “Even when you were spilling coffee on my desk. Or wrecking my meetings with your terrible notetaking.” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “I was intrigued. Drawn in. It was never an act.”
“And Nancy?” I ask, quietly but firmly.
He nods, like he expected the question. “Nancy was… collateral. Deliberate collateral.” His jaw tightens. “My father needed her father. They decided a marriage would secure it. And I went along with it while I tried to manage everything else.” His voice drops. “I shouldn’t have.”
“I saw the engagement’s off,” I say.
“It was never really on,” he replies. He leans against the opposite counter, suddenly looking tired. “That’s how it works in my world. Relationships are transactions. Optics. Leverage.” He shakes his head. “No one marries for love anymore.”
“That’s really sad,” I murmur.
He nods. “It is. But you need to know nothing happened between me and her. When she planted that surprise kiss on me, it was revenge because I’d just told her we weren’t going to get married.”
The kettle clicks off. I pour the water, fix the coffee, and hand him one.
“I didn’t reach out,” he says after a moment, his eyes fixed on the mug, “because I didn’t want to pressure you. Or corner you.”He looks up then. “I just didn’t want you thinking I stayed away because I didn’t care.”
Something shifts in my chest. Not forgiveness. But understanding.
“I didn’t come after you,” he finishes quietly, “because loving you meant letting you breathe, letting you decide if you loved me enough not only to forgive me, but also to be in my world.”
The silence that follows is heavy, but not uncomfortable.
I take a breath. “How about we start again?” I place my cup down and hold out my hand. “Hi,” I say lightly. “I’m Leoni Dove.”
He blinks, then a slow smile spreads across his face as he sets his coffee down too and takes my hand.
“I’m Warren Baxter,” he replies. “Great to meet you.”
My eyes widen dramatically. “Wow,” I gasp. “TheWarren Baxter?”
He lets out a quiet laugh, his thumb brushing once over my knuckles. “If you’re going to mock me—”
“Oh, I am,” I interrupt. “But I think you can take it. So, I hear you’re intense. You like your steak cooked a very specific way, and you’re terrible with names.”
He winces. “That rumour’s exaggerated.”
“Is it?” I arch a brow. “Because I distinctly remember someone calling my colleague Tracey.”
“In my defence she never corrected me.” Then he groans, “Oh my God, when I think of all the times I called her that.”
I smile, really smile this time. “So, first impressions?”
He pretends to consider it. “You’re funny. Sharp. Slightly terrifying.” His gaze softens. “And nothing like I expected.”
