If discomfort was a visual, it would be Jase Gizmodo in the here and now. Lips pulled tight, eyes averting, and hands crumpling up all the wrappers and putting them into the bag.

Anything to avoid me asking why he just said what he said. It was way easier than dealing with life at home.

“Your parents divorced or together?” I ask, taking a shot in the dark.

“Divorced. Dad not around. Just like you. Sucks but . . . my mom and me, we did our best.”

“Not Nathaniel?”

He winces. “He lived with our dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Why Paul? What was it about him that pulled you to him?”

I stiffen, more because Paul is the last person I want to talk about when I’m sitting here beside him versus his obvious change of subject.

But I’ll give him time. Trust is earned, not given, and for a man who’s in the public eye, no doubt everything he says is up for sale in most cases.

“Paul.” I sigh. “He seemed so well put together while I was all over the place. Worked at a big accounting firm while I was struggling to find my way. He was kind and flirty and made me feel seen when I’d never had that before. In hindsight, I realize that he was good at manipulating situations and controlling narratives so that ‘I’m sorry’ was a constant refrain on my lips even when I knew I’d done nothing wrong. He made me feel like I was never enough, you know? Like everything I did was somehow wrong. But I think that was part of his thing—if you make someone feel inferior, then they’re easier to manipulate and control.”

Jase’s jaw clenches. “He ever hurt you?”

I swallow. “Not physically. No. I’d never allow that.” I say the words but know damn well that emotional abuse can be just as damaging. But I’m working on that. On owning my mistakes, loving who I am, and how I’m not the inadequate woman Paul painted me out to be.

Jase leans forward, presses a kiss to my cheek, and whispers, “If he ever comes to the bakery again, you tell Sammy right away.” His voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it, something protective and sharp that makes my stomach flip for an entirely different reason. “He’ll make sure he’s removed promptly.”

I clear my throat and nod. “Okay. He won’t come back.” Then again, when he finds out that I’m married, he just might. “My turn.”

His lips twitch. “Hit me.”

“Why no girlfriends?”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t do well with relationships.”

“That’s not an answer.”