He’d used something symbolic and original. And he didn’t want her to have to bake by herself.

She tried to say something normal like it’s beautiful, but suddenly her throat closed up and her vision blurred.

Leo looked at her nervously, then focused intently on the door. “See the panels? I’m going to sand and stain them. And Jack knows someone who will give me a great price on a marble slab, if that’s what you want. I mean, we needed this, right? It’s a small kitchen without any work space, and we both like to cook and…”

She stared at him. He was fisting and unfisting his hands and transferring his weight from foot to foot.

She ran a hand along the smooth surface. Sawdust littered the ground and filled the air with the smell of wood.

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“This isn’t part of our business deal.” He was still clearly uncomfortable. “And I didn’t do it for any reason other than I see you work so hard and I hope this makes things a little easier for you. And…we need one.”

“Leo, I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.”

It wasn’t even the island itself that made her emotional. It was the fact that he’d made it for her.

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Leo waited patiently for Tessa to finish her shower. He sat at his grandfather’s desk working on his computer, but trying to make the restaurant accounts balance was giving him a headache. Out of boredom, he popped open the secret drawer, only to be confronted by Tessa’s mom’s proposal, which he’d stashed there so Tessa wouldn’t see it. He prayed that the lunch he’d finally scheduled would turn the tide with his dad. At last he heard Tessa’s footsteps as she padded out to the living room in her robe and slippers.

He slammed the secret drawer shut.

He knew her routine. She liked to wind down in the evenings by working on a puzzle. Her puzzle boxes were all stacked under the coffee table, and they were all French-themed—Monet, the Eiffel Tower, a Parisian café scene, Provence.

She settled in to work, pulling a felt roll out of the closet and unrolling it on the coffee table.

“What puzzle are you working on?” He already knew. Her current challenge was a thousand-piecer, a Monet painting of irises in his garden at Giverny, loaded with purples and greens. And she was about thirty pieces away from being finished.

Except by five minutes in, she began looking under the felt. In the box. Dropping down to search behind the couch.

“What are you looking for?” Leo innocently looked up from his book.

“I must’ve lost some pieces in the move. I’m bummed, because I’m almost finished.”