“I think he comes in for more than the egg croissants.” Wait. Did he just sound jealous of an eighty-year-old who might be a little enamored of his fake wife?

She shrugged. “Well, who doesn’t like company?”

Leo leaned against the bakery case and stopped the small talk. “You thought I was evicting seniors?”

“Maybe?” she said in a very quiet voice. He shot her a frown. “Okay, yes.”

He touched his chest with a dramatic gesture. “That’s cold, Tessa. Really cold.”

She pressed her lips together and shrugged.

That wasn’t good enough. Somehow he felt a strong need to do more than joke about this. “You actually thought I was a cutthroat landlord who would stop at nothing to get what I wanted.” He couldn’t help pressing the issue because…because he wasn’t that. And for some reason it was important that she knew it.

She fidgeted by smoothing down her apron. She was also blushing, which made him feel a little better. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I mean, in my defense, you always have been very goal directed. And Bea said—”

“There’s a big difference between goal directed and cutthroat,” he said. “I’m not the villain you think I am.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” she said with a half smile. “But maybe I’m not who you think I am, either.” She’d put her hands up on top of the bakery case. Nice hands. Hardworking hands. After work, she always put lotion on them that smelled like roses. She kept a million jars and tubes on her sink top. She was on the messy side, often tossing her clothing over chairs and on the closet floor. Yet their kitchen was always neat as a pin. She left romance novels in stacks lying open in various places around the house, especially in their living room. And she loved plants.

And wait. Did she just say she was afraid of knowing he wasn’t a bad guy? Interesting. “How do I think wrong about you?” he asked, trying to stay on track. And forgetting why he’d come in here in the first place.

“I think you feel that I’m uptight. Not a risk-taker.” She gestured around the faded bakery. “Stuck here.”

He leaned a little closer, his gaze holding hers, and dropped his voice so her mother and Vivienne, whom he supposed were in the back, couldn’t hear. “I think we’ve both taken a pretty big risk.”

Her eyes were blue like the sky on this perfect June day. For a moment, he was at a loss trying to describe their color. Sapphire? No, too dark. Nassau Blue like his ’vette? Closer.

“And I’m working as hard as I can to make that risk pay off.” She straightened out and fidgeted with her apron ties, breaking his gaze. “Do you mind if I ask you another question?”

“Sure. Anything.”