Olivia laughed. "She really wasn't."
"What recipe are you submitting?"
"I don't know yet," she admitted. "The competition is months away, and applying doesn't mean I get in. They do a full background check and review the business before confirming the final contestants."
"You'll pass," Leo said.
They finished the Italian takeout, packing away the empty containers. Olivia wanted to test a batch of cookies using the new violet hybrid he brought.
Leo watched her as she gathered the ingredients. She was beautiful in a way that made his chest physically ache. Her blonde hair was twisted up, her green eyes focused on the recipe. Even hidden beneath the bakery uniform—fitted black pants, a sensible polo shirt, and that vintage, 1950s-style apron—she was dangerously tempting. He tracked the curve of her full breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her round hips and thick thighs.
He wanted her. He had always wanted her. But she was married, and he guarded the boundaries between them with everything he had.
He washed his hands and stepped up beside her. He took the measuring cups, scooping out the flour while she creamed the butter. He knew exactly how to knead the dough, shape the edges, and cut the pieces. They moved around each other with the practiced ease of two people who had shared this space countless times.
They pulled the lavender tart from earlier out of the oven, setting it on the cooling rack, and slid the tray of cookies in.
Olivia cut a small sliver of the cooled tart to taste the filling. She took a bite, closing her eyes as she analyzed the flavor profile. When she opened them, she missed a small smudge of the purple filling right at the corner of her mouth.
Leo reached out. He brushed his thumb over her skin, wiping the crumb away.
His hand didn't drop. His thumb lingered near her lower lip for a fraction of a second too long. He looked into her green eyes, and the playful ease in the room vanished, replaced by something charged and dangerous. Driven by a compulsion he couldn't stop, he stroked her cheekbone.
Olivia blinked, her breath catching. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice dropping a register. "You look... you're looking at me in a strange way."
The question struck him right in the chest. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to say it was desire. He wanted to tell her it was love, the exact same love that survived all these years of denial. He wanted to confess that the strange look on his face was just the reality of everything he swallowed down daily.
Instead, he let out a short laugh, dropping his hand and stepping back. "I was just wondering how a twenty-nine-year-old woman who cooks for a living still manages to get her food all over her face."
Olivia let out a breath, the tension breaking. She bumped her shoulder into his arm. "I've seen you make a terrible mess eating the things I bake, and I never made fun of you for it."
She studied him for another second, her expression turning serious. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Of course," Leo lied smoothly.
They went back to the cookies, but the atmosphere had shifted. Leo tried to project the same playful energy, but it took immense effort. His thoughts were too present, too focused on the things he couldn't afford to want.
When the timer went off, they cleaned the kitchen together. They washed the mixing bowls, wiped down the stainless steel, and packed the cooled desserts. As they prepared to leave, Olivia shoved four different plastic containers into his hands, insisting he take the leftovers and the new test batches. Leo smiled, accepting the food because refusing was pointless. It was part of their established routine.
He walked her out to the back parking lot. Usually, he kissed her cheek or the top of her head before she got into her car. Tonight, he kept his hands deep in his pockets. After the moment in the kitchen, he didn't trust himself with even the smallest amount of contact.
He climbed into his pickup truck and followed her taillights through the city streets, making sure she pulled into her driveway safely.
Once she was inside her house, Leo drove toward his own place. The dark roads offered too much time to think. This dynamic had gone on too long. He couldn't keep desiring her thisway. She was married. She was supposed to be happy. He had spent years letting his whole existence orbit around a woman who belonged to another man.
He needed to move on. He had to stop comparing every date to Olivia. He had to stop drifting through meaningless encounters. He needed to stop waiting for a future that was never going to arrive.
Leo parked his truck in his driveway. He turned off the engine, sitting in the dark cab. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dark. He had finally made a decision.
Chapter 4
Olivia
Olivia wiped down the stainless steel prep table and picked up her phone. She framed the camera over the blackberry and lemon tart she had just finished decorating, snapping a quick photo. Opening her message thread with Leo, she hit send and typed out a playful caption.
If you ask nicely, I might save you a slice. Please try not to beg.
Usually, his reply would arrive within minutes. He would send a dramatic threat about breaking in, or call her Lily of the Valley, or demand she put the tart in a locked safe until he got there.
