“Talk to her,” he says, stepping fully between us. He does not touch me, but his presence is solid, immovable. “Don’t look at her. Don’t say her name.”
Marissa scoffs. “Oh my God, Leo, relax. I was making conversation.”
“No, you weren’t,” he says flatly. “And you know it.”
Her smile falters. Just a crack. “You’re really going to talk to me like this? After everything?”
“Yes,” he says. “Because I already told you it was over. More than once. You don’t get to keep showing up and trying to hurt people because you don’t like that answer.”
She laughs again, but it is sharp now. Defensive. “Hurt people? I didn’t realize you were this invested.” She looks past him at me. “Guess congratulations are in order.”
Leo does not turn.
“I am invested in not letting you treat someone like that,” he says. “Especially someone who did not invite you into her space.”
Marissa’s eyes flash. “Wow. You really have changed.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I have.”
She looks at him for a long moment, jaw tight. Then she shrugs, adjusting her coat as if this has all been mildly inconvenient.
“Fine,” she says. “Enjoy your little bakery fantasy. Call me when you’re done playing house.”
She brushes past him, heels sharp against the sidewalk, and disappears down the block.
The silence she leaves behind is loud.
I am staring at the pavement, my pulse roaring in my ears.
“I didn’t need you to do that,” I say automatically. Defensive. Reflexive.
“I know,” Leo says quietly. “I wanted to.”
I look up at him then.
He looks angry. Not explosive. Controlled. Protective in a way that does not feel like ownership. Like a boundary he chose to draw.
“Whatever she told you, I’m sorry,” he adds.
I swallow. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can,” he says. “That doesn’t make it ok.”
Something in my chest loosens. Just a fraction.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “That she showed up here. I’ll make sure she doesn’t again.”
I study his face. The sincerity. The way he is not asking for credit. Not looking at me like I owe him anything for stepping in.
“Thank you,” I say finally. It costs me something to say it. It gives me something too.
He nods. “I should close the bakery,” he says, before he turns and walks away.
I watch him until he is gone.
Then I lean back against the brick wall, close my eyes, and breathe through the ache in my chest.
Marissa’s words still sting.
