She shot him a dagger-laden look. “I was thinking that maybe a rejection is lighter than an acceptance. A rejection is sorry, goodbye, and an acceptance is we need your money, your forms, and here’s all the info about the classes…”

“So, which do you think it is?” he asked, looking over her shoulder.

She set the envelope on the desk. “I can’t tell.” She wanted in so badly. She wanted to learn how to make pastries the right way. From real French chefs.

But she also wanted this safe, sweet haven they’d built here. The sparks between them that were just beginning to…become something—both for their business ventures and for each other.

They were a great team. And maybe something more.

Leo rubbed his hands up and down her arms. Looking from her to the envelope, he said, “Sweetheart, no matter what’s in there, we’re going to handle it.” She let that Sweetheart sink straight into her bones. “No matter what happens, you’re a very talented baker. And I, for one, couldn’t be prouder.”

“You just said we,” she whispered.

He turned her around and held her hands. “We’ll get through this together, just like we’ve done everything else so far.”

That made her tear up. She took strength from his firm, warm grip. From his positive words. “Thank you, Leo. For all your support. It means a lot.”

He picked up the envelope and held it out to her, lifting a brow.

She shook her head and pushed his hand back. “You do it. I’m too nervous.”

“Okay. Here goes.” He ripped the top open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. As she held her breath, he squinted at the print. “I need my glasses.”

“Leo, please.”

“Okay, okay. Dear Ms. Montgomery,” he read. “As you know, the Chicago School of French Pastry is a renowned institution and the only school in the United States devoted exclusively to the techniques of baking French pastry.”

“Leo!”

He was enjoying this way too much, as evidenced by the little twinkle in his eye.

After a quick wink, he started reading a third time. And she knew from the way his hand shook a little that this time was for real. “Dear Ms. Montgomery, The Chicago School of French Pastry is pleased to welcome you into our July class.” Tessa grabbed Leo’s arm. A giant grin spread across his face. “Our faculty of world-class bakers is excited to lead you on your journey in becoming a professional pastry chef.”

Tears blurred her vision. She hadn’t really comprehended anything except for professional pastry chef. And the fact that Leo set down the letter and took her in his arms.

“You did it,” he whispered against her hair. “Congratulations.”

She’d done it. She’d gotten in.