Olivia grabbed her own cutter, joining him at the table. They fell into an easy rhythm, talking and laughing as they arranged the pastry on the baking sheet. When they finished, Leo picked up the large metal pan and carried it to the convection oven. Olivia stepped ahead to pull the oven door open. He slid the pan onto the center rack, she pushed the door shut, and they exchanged a quick high five, both laughing at theperfected synchronization. She had long ago lost count of how many nights they had shared this exact ritual.
Leo leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Where is your husband?"
"James is at a business dinner," Olivia answered, keeping her eyes on the prep station as she wiped down the metal surface.
"Mm." The sound was short, deeply skeptical. He watched her for a moment. "Are you really spending your Saturday night alone in here baking?"
Olivia let out a breath. They had argued over this subject repeatedly. "Leo, the neighborhood's safe. We have cameras outside and inside, and the police station is two blocks away. Nothing is going to happen to me."
"Don't care," Leo grumbled, his jaw setting stubbornly. "I don't like it. I'm staying with you until you close up, and then I'm following you home."
Olivia planted her hands on her hips, giving him an exasperated look. "I'm pretty sure you'd be better off going on a Saturday-night date with one of the thousands of women who hit on you just for breathing."
Leo looked straight into her eyes, his expression uncompromising. "I'd rather hang out here with you and be the taste tester for whatever you're baking."
Olivia smiled despite herself, dropping her gaze to the floor. She muttered an uncomplimentary word under her breath.
Leo let out a deep laugh. He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'm calling the Italian place on the corner. The one you love."
He placed the call, ordering a large dinner for the two of them. When the person on the other end asked what theywanted, Leo rattled off Olivia's usual order without a second of hesitation, knowing her exact preferences without needing to ask.
Olivia stood near the ovens, watching him as he confirmed the delivery details. A deep sense of relief washed over her. Even though her chest ached from the dismissive phone call with James, Leo's unwavering presence made the empty bakery feel far less lonely. She was grateful to have a friend like him.
Chapter 3
Leo
Leo leaned against the stainless steel counter, holding a forkful of pesto tortellini from the takeout container. He watched Olivia move around the kitchen, her hands expertly organizing the metal prep bowls.
She was twenty-nine now, but looking at her still brought him back to the day they met. She was a sophomore in college. He remembered the exact way she looked the first time she laughed at him. He had been struck by her. It wasn't just the physical draw—though that was undeniable—but her brightness, her biting humor, and her unyielding determination. Most of all, she was fiercely unimpressed by him.
At the time, Leo carried a well-earned reputation on campus as a player. Girls threw themselves into his path, and everyone assumed he treated relationships like disposable entertainment. Olivia knew all the rumors. She refused to be just another girl chasing him. She kept him at arm’s length, laughed right through his best lines, and established an ironclad boundary.
Leo took the only spot she offered: friendship. He accepted it, hoping she would eventually see the man underneath the reputation.
He stopped hooking up with other women the week after they met. For the rest of that academic year, he wanted noone else. He never told her. He just stayed close, played the best friend, and waited.
Graduation day brought a vicious ache to his chest. He hated leaving campus, hated losing the effortless daily access to her life. Yet, he refused to let the bond sever. He drove to her apartment, brought her dinner, picked her up for movies, checked on her, and made sure he was a permanent fixture in her world.
Olivia remained blissfully unaware. She treated him as one of the most important people in her life, but firmly categorized him as platonic.
Then came the convention. The day she met James. Leo remembered the brutal sting of sitting on her couch while she excitedly recounted every detail of the ambitious intern she had fallen for at first sight. She was glowing, buzzing with happiness, unaware that every word out of her mouth was breaking his heart.
He forced himself to accept James because James made her happy. Because Leo loved her enough to stand there, smile, and pretend it didn’t destroy him to watch her choose someone else.
Three years later, Olivia married him, and Leo watched from the pews as she promised her life to another man.
And for five years, as much as it hurt to admit, James gave her the marriage Leo had always hoped she would have. He made her laugh. He built a life with her that looked solid and happy from the outside, and Leo told himself, that maybe this was enough. Maybe loving her meant being grateful that someone else had managed to give her the life he had never had the courage to ask for.
Things were different now.
James was disconnected. Leo noticed the things she tried to hide. The late nights at the bakery. The transparent excuses. The isolation she buried under mountains of flour and sugar. If James was actually around, she wouldn't be hiding in the back of the bakery on a Saturday night.
Leo forced his mind away from the image of James touching her. He swallowed his pasta and pointed his plastic fork at her. "Are you still entering the cake competition?"
Olivia looked up, wiping her hands on a towel. "Maria signed the bakery up before she even asked me," she said, picking up a piece of garlic bread. "She told me I talk about it every year, overthink every detail, and then back out."
"Maria wasn't lying," Leo pointed out.
