I do not flinch. I do not pull back.
My eyes flutter shut, and I lean in, just a fraction. A millimeter.
Permission.
He lowers his head. I tilt mine up.
I can smell him, yeast and sweat and flour, and something warm and human.
I feel his breath on my lips. Our lips are a centimeter apart. A whisper.
The world is gone. It is just this tiny, hot, flour-dusted space and this moment that feels like it could change everything or ruin everything.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The sound hits like a physical assault. The loudest, most obnoxious, most violent noise in the universe.
The main oven timer. The final bake. The hearth loaves.
We spring apart as if shot. We stare at each other, horrified, chests heaving.
My face turns a beautiful, mortified dark red. Leo looks like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.
“The bread,” I stammer. My voice is a squeak.
My boss-mask tries to snap back into place, but it sits crooked and cracked because my heart is still pounding and my mouth still tastes like his breath.
“The hearth loaves. I… I forgot. I set the timer. I have to…”
I don’t finish.
I shove past him, my shoulder colliding with his chest, and I bolt from the tiny room, sneakers squeaking on the tile.
If I stand there one second longer, I will do something reckless.
I cannot afford to be reckless.
Not here.
Not with him.
Not with the ovens screaming and the world outside waiting to turn anything we do into a hashtag. Waiting to make fun of me. I wonder why someone like Leo would even want to be with someone like me.
The timer keeps beeping as I race to the kitchen to silence it, and my skin still tingles where his fingers brushed my cheek.
I hate how much I want to go back.
Chapter 13
Leo
I lean my forehead against the cool, dented metal of my locker.
My heart is a trapped bird, slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape through bone. I can still feel her, the brush of her skin under my fingertips, the scent of cardamom and yeast, the impossible, agonizing proximity.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The oven timer is still screaming, a shrill, mocking soundtrack to my humiliation.
