And he wanted to lick every bite.

Okay, that was a little ridiculous. But he meant it.

He’d never been so…aroused. He’d definitely never felt this way for someone who also had the capacity to annoy him so much.

Honestly, he’d never felt this way for anyone before.

And he’d never worried about a few kisses before like he was worrying now. Not because they weren’t amazing. But because he’d been filled with a feeling that he made certain to never mix with sex.

Tenderness.

He liked and admired her. And he absolutely did not want to be just friends with her.

He wanted her, plain and simple.

But she deserved someone who was dedicated, faithful, and capable of giving her 100 percent. Not someone who avoided love at all costs because it simply hurt too much.

Leo dried off, brushed his teeth, and collapsed onto his bed, trying to decide if he could really muster the ability to watch television. As he rolled on his side, a scent permeated his brain—lilies of the valley, ocean breezes, grassy hillsides…he had no idea what he was smelling, but he knew this: it was hers, left behind from when she’d slept in his bed last night.

She’d left her scent in his bed and her imprint on his soul.

And he was in big trouble. Because he’d gone and fallen for his wife.

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

The following Saturday, Tessa got Vivienne to cover her in the bakery so she could go over to Leo’s for the big lunch “presentation” that he’d arranged for his dad. They’d been so busy preparing the last few days, there hadn’t been any time to think about the couch incident. She was brushing her hair and retying it in a ponytail when her grandmother came up behind her at the old mirror that hung in the supply room at the back of the bread shop.

“Is that lipstick?” her grandmother asked.

Tessa rolled her eyes.

“I saw that,” her grandmother said.

“Well,” Tessa said, finishing her hair tie, “I can’t look like I’ve been up since four thirty this morning, can I?”

Her grandmother came up behind her and tugged at her ponytail, something she used to do when Tessa was a girl. “You’re nervous for him.”

“Yes.” She met her grandmother’s eyes in the mirror. “He’s poured everything into this. Farm-to-table, organic, delivery options. And it’s all much different from what his father is used to.”

“And you’re going to support him?”

“I’m in charge of dessert,” she said proudly as she reached into the old fridge and pulled out an enormous cake lined with a row of strawberries, layered with airy patisserie cream, and topped with piped-icing flowers.

“You made fraisier,” her grandmother said, clapping her hands.

“It’s summery and delicious, and it wows with its looks.”