A hard lump formed in her throat. “Leo—”
Loud voices cut her off, coming from a group of people entering the back room through the velvet curtain. They were laughing so loud, it was impossible to ignore them. She turned her head and immediately recognized the man at the center of the pack.
Tate Dillinger. Tony award-winning dancer.
Also known as the friend who’d burned Leo in high school to get ahead.
“What are the odds, huh?” Leo said quietly.
You have no idea.
Reese’s gaze shot back to Leo’s, finding the skin around his mouth pulled taut. Needing to be his ally, her hand curled into his automatically, finding it clammier than before. She rummaged through her mind for something supportive to say, but everything sounded hypocritical. Because it was.
“Hey,” she settled on, her voice sounding strained. “You know, the best way to deal with this might be to smile at him. Take it from a girl who did cut-throat dance competitions her whole life. There’s always someone walking by who beat you last year. Or reminds you of a terrible day. Sometimes if you pretend you’ve shaken it off, your head follows.” She threaded their fingers together more securely. “Besides, if he has half a brain, he regrets losing you as a friend more than you regret your part in what happened.”
Leo considered her as she spoke. His expression was unreadable, so she definitely wasn’t expecting it when he said, “God, I’m fucking crazy about you, Reese.”
“Oh,” she whispered, semi-dizzy. Was this swooning? “I’m crazy about you right back,” she said, meaning every word. But also extremely aware that if Tate Dillinger hadn’t walked in, they would be having a much different conversation.
“Oh yeah?” Leo said.
“Yeah.”
“And I don’t care who walks in.” He ducked his head on one of those rumbling chuckles. “Doesn’t seem to matter as long as I’m sitting with you.”
He leaned in and brushed their lips together, Reese allowing hers to part so he could sample her with a slow, restrained kiss, their tongues meeting briefly, yet sparking enough electricity to power the entire city block. “You know,” she murmured, “kissing your date is probably just as effective as smiling…i-in terms of showing an old rival that you’re on to better things. Maybe you should do it again.”
“No.” Their foreheads met and rolled. “When I kiss you, there’s only you. Nothing else.”
They hummed into another light sipping of lips, Leo’s hand fisting in the front of her skirt, an arousing contrast to the restraint he was showing with his mouth.
“Ready to go?”
Thoughts scrambled, Reese could only nod.
Leo signaled for the check, grunting in offense and shaking his head when Reese offered to pay for half—causing a sheepish, inward sigh of relief. They waited while the waiter ran his credit card and brought back the receipt to be signed. Leo helped Reese out of the booth, assisting her in putting on her coat and rejoining their hands.
“Hey!” someone called. “Mean Baker!”
“Oh my God, I thought it was him,” another diner gasped. “See if he’ll take a selfie.”
“Christ,” Leo muttered, starting to pull her toward the exit. Then he stopped suddenly. “What was it you said at my place? Don’t overthink my side of every interaction. Give people a backstory and make it about them?”
The way he recalled exactly what she’d said made her forget to breathe. “Yeah,” she managed around the flutters. “Maybe they’re aspiring bakers. Or maybe they don’t like being bombarded outside of their job by TikTokers, either, and admire the way you handled it.”
“I thought it was TalkTalk.” Reese burst into laughter and his deep rumble joined hers. “All right, fine, let’s take some selfies.”
Reese tucked her clasped hands up beneath her chin, uncaring that her grin was verging on maniacal and watched Leo suffer through selfies with four different people. All while a Tony award winner watched in stony silence from a nearby booth.
On the way out of the restaurant, she leaned into Leo and kissed his cheek. “I take it back. That was way better than smiling at him.”
Chapter 15
This girl made him feel light.
Happy.
He couldn’t recall a single other time in his life that the emotion of happiness was so obvious that he could recognize it in the moment. Call it by name. But walking crosstown holding Reese’s hand, he knew. Call him crazy, but he knew she was the one. The fact that they weren’t on solid ground and didn’t have a spoken commitment made him anxious, no denying it, but if having her meant patience, he’d dig to the bottom of the barrel for it. And then he’d find another barrel and crack that one open, too. She was worth that and more.
There was no mistaking her discomfort when he brought up dancing tonight. Again. While that really confused him, he didn’t want to prod the sore spot any more. For a long time, he’d been protective of his baking. His parents never showed interest or encouraged him, so he’d built a wall around that part of his identity. If he didn’t reveal that part of himself to people, they couldn’t tell him he should be playing football or taking a job in the theater industry, like his parents.