42. Leah
42
Leah
“ Y
ou’re making Cooper Bailey dinner?” My sister’s tone tells me that she does not believe me, or maybe that she’s worried I’ve lost my mind.
“Yes, Caitlyn.” I glance at my phone sitting on the kitchen counter on speaker, waiting for my sister’s reply.
“As in Do-You-Think-I’m-Sexy Cooper Bailey.”
“You know,” I say, keeping it playful, “I am perfectly content to just refer to him as Coop, but yes, that one.”
Caitlyn squeals in my ear, making me squeeze my eyes shut and sprinkle sazon on my counter rather than in my frying pan. “You call him Coop?”
“Caitlyn, haven’t you talked to Mom?”
“Yes, but she didn’t tell me about this. She was too busy asking me about my future plans and if they included paying my own phone bill.”
I sigh. My baby sister might be taking an extra year or four to get her bachelor’s degree. It’s fine. She’s going to be fine. I’m certain.
“Tell me all the things!” And then my sister turns into an auctioneer. “Does he still wear that Lake City football shirt that pulls at his biceps and looks as if it will rip open at any second? Wait! Does his hair still do that swish thing? Can you still see the little scar on his jaw?”
“Thankfully the man has grown up. He’s not wearing his high school football tees anymore. His hair—” I grin. I can’t stop it. “His hair is great. But he has a beard. I’ve never seen any scar.”
“A beard!” She squeals—again. “Cooper Bailey has a beard. Oh, man. That is mega sexy.”
It is. It really is. But I don’t say that. Because of the two of us, I am the grown-up here. Instead, I say, “Caitlyn, if you don’t stop squealing, I’m hanging up.”
“No. No, no! Stay with me. Tell me you’ve smelled him. Tell me you’ve touched—” Caitlyn cuts herself off. “Wait. Is this a date? A dinner date?”
“Um. It’s more of a work date. Cooper is helping me with work things. You really haven’t talked to Mom?” If Mom isn’t worrying her with PJ’s awfulness, maybe I shouldn’t either—which is exactly the opposite of what I’ve been telling Cooper to do. Okay, I’ll tell her.
She grunts. “Ugh. Mom is too worried about my life choices to talk about you. It has me wondering if I should change my major again. Maybe I should think about being a life coach.”
I choke. On nothing at all. I choke and cough and splutter all over the place. Because my baby sister, who has no idea what she wants to do with her life, is thinking about becoming a life coach . “Sorry—inhaled sazon,” I tell her.
“So, a work date? What’s up with work?” she says from the speakerphone on my kitchen counter.
I roll my shoulders and stir the seasonings in my pan. It’s never a fun thing to say. “PJ is suing me. He wants the name of my shop.”
“What?” she screeches. “But that’s yours and Abuelo’s, and he can’t have it!”
“I know.”
“I hate that PJ! Mom always said he had?—”
“I know, skinny ankles. Anyway, as you know, Coop’s a lawyer, so he’s helping me.”
“ Coop ,” she says as if she needs to try out the name on her lips. “He’s helping you with your case. So, not a lot of smelling then, huh? Or touching? Because if you could touch his hair just once and report back, I’d be so grateful.”
I press my lips together and decide in the spur of the moment to paint my sister a picture I’ve given to no one—not even Andrea. “Oh, I don’t know. Do you call helping pull my dress down over my J-Lo booty touching?”
“Leah!” she yelps. But this time, I’m ready for it. In fact, I’ve set her up for it.
“Or kissing his neck. I’m pretty sure I smelled him when I kissed him the other night.” I stir the meat in my skillet, loving every single second of this conversation. “Is kissing touching?”
“Leah Sofia Bradford! You . Did . Not .”
I keep quiet. In fact, there is dead silence for three whole seconds.
Right before my sister explodes. “LEAH!”
“Actually… I did. And you’re right, Catie. He smells fantastic.”
“You don’t even like Cooper Bailey!”
Man, I wish I could see her face.
I laugh. “Things change.”
“How many times, Leah? How many times have you kissed him? What does Cooper Do-You-Think-I’m-Sexy Bailey smell like? Tell me. Tell me all the things, and I promise not to hate you for keeping it from me.”
I can’t stop laughing. I giggle for a good sixty seconds, and then I give my sister every single juicy detail she wants. She is my sister. There’s some kind of universal rule that your sister gets to know. She can know, but she cannot tell.
Caitlyn swoons and sighs and awes at all the right moments. She’s such a good audience.
I am light-headed by the time Cooper rings my doorbell. I’m not crazy for finding all this surreal—Caitlyn’s reaction is proof of that. Cooper and me—it’s a bizarre idea. One I’m growing more and more used to. One that I’m even starting to believe in.
Cooper Bailey is a cinnamon roll, and I am a baker—how could we not go together?
I smooth the front of my apron, turn down my burner with my saucepan of arroz con guandules in it, and hurry into the living room. I open the front door of my little house to the best thing I’ve seen all day.
Cooper’s button-up shirt is rolled at the sleeves, leaving his forearms bare, and I am certain in this moment that my sister is wrong. Cooper’s biceps have nothing on those forearms. And all at once, I need to touch him. For me. For Caitlyn. For every girl who swooned in Cooper Bailey’s presence.
Cooper likes me. He told me so—in words and actions, so many times.
So, before the man can step into my house, I step out. I stand in the doorway, leaving him on my minuscule front porch. I lift on my toes, loop an arm around his neck, and pull him the rest of the way down to me. I breathe him in—for all those girls—and press a soft kiss to his lips.
Yes, Caitlyn—he’s real. I didn’t make this up. I’m not sure I could have. My imagination would never have done him justice.
“Hi,” he says, his mouth tickling mine with the one word. His lips turn up in a grin, and I drop to my heels.
“Hi.” I lick my lips and swallow. “Just testing something.”
One of his brows hikes up. “Testing what?”
But— if you’re real —doesn’t sound like something I should say? “Never mind.” I back up into the house, turning around and hiding the pink in my cheeks. “This way.”
“Where should I put my notes?” he asks, referring to our court case files.
“You’ve got the whole table. Dinner needs a few more minutes.”
He spreads his work out; one file folder and his laptop. “It smells good in here.”
I grin and flick my gaze to the beautiful man in my kitchen. “It’s Abuela’s recipe with a few extra spices.”
He’s looking at his laptop, scrolling through something.
“How are we looking?” I ask him, my heart pattering.
His blue eyes drag up to mine. “I’m working on it.” Cooper smiles, but it doesn’t reach those steel-blue eyes.
I turn back to my stovetop, leaving my wooden spoon in my pot. “Are we going to lose?” I was so sure Cooper Bailey could never lose at anything. Ever. And by default, with him on my side, I wouldn’t either.
“I’m not saying that.” He stands, abandoning his notes. “I’m just saying it’s tricky. It’s not a sure thing.”
I nod. But his logic and practical view isn’t encouraging. “I won’t hate you if we do.”
“Leah?”
“I hope you know that. I don’t think I could ever hate you again. If we lose, it’s not your fault.” I swallow, but my mouth is dry. The thought of losing my abuelo’s name might break my heart.
“I’m not giving up,” he says, walking over to me. “Are you?”
I shake my head and nibble on my inner cheek. I can’t give up.
“That’s right,” he says, dipping his head to meet my eyes again. He stoops, looking into my face. “No giving up.”
I blink my gaze up to his. “Okay.”
Then, Cooper Bailey, real as anything, pecks my lips. “Just testing,” he says.