36. Cooper
36
Cooper
I scroll through everything I have on Leah’s case. She didn’t give PJ the name of her shop. But she did give him the podcast. Nothing is in writing, though. The fact that they made a small amount of money on the podcast makes this tricky. Technically, Leah’s sleazy ex has rights too.
Still, I’ve listened to the episode where Leah tells the story of how the name Sweet Swirls came about—it’s charming, tender, even. Yes, I am a six-foot-three-inch man who may have teared up when Leah talked about her abuelo calling her cinnamon rolls her sweet swirls, how they came up with the recipe together, how he was her best friend growing up and how she spent every summer with her grandparents in Puerto Rico. She talked about how her heart broke when he suddenly passed away two years ago, and how he always gave her credit for their baking concoctions in the end. It’s clear from that episode that the name came from Leah.
For some judges, that would be enough—law of noncontradiction. For others, it wouldn’t matter. Technically, even without written consent, she gave him the podcast and with it, the original name of the podcast, Sweet Swirls .
I click on the files that PJ’s lawyer sent to me. His work is hasty. He wants this won and done. But I’m not going to make it that easy for them. I’m taking my time. I’m going to figure this out and, in the end, I’m going to win—for Leah.
Whether on purpose or not, the man has sent a personal file of PJ’s. Apparently, he’s publishing a recipe book, which he’d also like to call Sweet Swirls — Sweet Swirls by Preston Jasper Booker. This, I would guess, is the real reason he wants the rights to the name. And this was not meant for me. However, he sent it. And now, it’s legal for me to go through the documents.
Except, they’re recipes. Recipe after recipe. I’m not sure how they’ll be much help in the end, but the knowledge of what PJ really wants is very helpful.
There’s a tap on my office door, and Leah pokes her head inside.
My insides possibly jolt at the sight of her. Sure, I saw her this morning for my breakfast pick-up. I also got my credit card bill today. It’s a good thing I am now only buying rolls for Arnold. Leah never gave me a total, I never asked, and— wow . I have been spending a small fortune on baked goods.
It’s all worth it, though. I wouldn’t take it back. However, I do need to pick up a few more cases. The kind that will pay off my bills.
“Hey there,” Leah says. She’s changed out of her black leggings and work shirt. A floral skirt flows around her legs while her blue-and-white striped top hugs her abs and chest. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. Her green eyes sparkle, peering at me so differently than they did on that blind date .
I like this look. I like everything about this woman.
“Hey.” I stand, though hastily. I haven’t rolled my awkward office chair out far enough, and my thighs hit the edge of my desk, jostling everything on top.
Leah chuckles at my clumsiness. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I can’t quite get to her fast enough. I kissed her last night. She asked me to kiss her. This morning, she was working, but now?—
I step around my desk, attempting not to appear quite as anxious as I feel.
“Cooper,” she says with a sigh. “About last night?—”
“No, no.” I shake my head, cutting her off before she can voice any regrets. I move myself right in front of her and dip my head, meeting her eye level.
“No, what?” she says.
“Uh.” I run a hand through my hair, suddenly all of my nerves are on alert. “No to whatever you were going to say.”
Her brows lift and she crosses her arms over her chest. “No to ‘Thanks for a lovely night, Cooper’?”
I reach for her, holding her arms just above the elbows with both of my hands. “Yes. One hundred percent yes to that. But nobody starts thank you with about last night .”
“Maybe I do,” Leah says, still blinking innocently up at me.
“You don’t.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “But I am more than happy to keep it at thanks. Thanks is great. In fact, you’re welcome. Let’s do it again. Tonight.”
“You’re an anxious one, aren’t you?” she says. “I never realized that in high school.”
“That’s because I wasn’t anxious in high school. I’m pretty sure I’m only anxious around you.”
“Then maybe —” she starts, but maybe is just as bad as about .
So, I do the only thing I can: I shut that woman up. I swoop in—without permission—and press my lips to Leah’s. It only takes a second before her shock and stiffness melt away.
No maybe about it. Leah weaves both arms around my neck, lifts up on her toes, and kisses me back. She is the most addictive substance I’ve ever come across.
She falls back onto the heels of her red tennis shoes, and our mouths part. With my arms tied around her waist, I hold her close. There’s no reason for her to remove her arms from around my neck.
“Shoot, you’re good at that,” she says, her sweet breath warming my skin.
Well, that feels like a win. “Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” she says, but there’s only resolve in her tone.
“Really? Because it sounded like a compliment.” I peck her lips once more. Because I can. Because I know she’ll let me in this minute. Because I really, really want to.
“How’s the case going?” she says, and at least she’s done with her about last night thought. She’s also chatting while wrapped up in my arms—which I am absolutely in favor of. I have no issues discussing business from our current position.
“Ah—good. It’s coming along. If I can’t get PJ to settle before we see Judge Harris, then I’ve got options for us. I’ve been reviewing similar cases. They’ll help with angles we might take. And I suggest we play parts of your podcast.”
She nods, her eyes searching mine, her lips pressed in a flat line. “But there’s no guarantee.”
“There’s not,” I tell her, because she deserves the truth. Because I don’t feel like I have this one in the bag— yet . “But we’ll keep fighting. We won’t give up. Hey, did you and PJ ever create any recipes together?”
“Not from scratch. When we cooked together, we’d use each other’s recipes at times, making adjustments just for personal preference.”
A short, round figure steps into the arch of my office doorway. Barney clears his throat, and with reluctance, I drop my arms around Leah.
A flush flames over Leah’s face, and she clammers into a line-up beside me.
“Barney, this is Leah Bradford. Leah, my boss, Barney Schumacher.”
“This is the cinnamon roll girl? The one paying you in baked goods? The one you aren’t romantically involved with?”
I clear my throat. There are some yeses and a very new no in there. I settle for, “It is.”
Barney grunts, then holds out a hand to Leah. “I like the raspberry.”
“Oh.” Leah’s mouth parts into a wide grin. “Thank you.”
“Are you paying him in hugs too?”
“Barn—” I start, but Leah cuts me off.
“Yes. I am.” She nods, eyes still on my somber boss. “The man is willing to do a lot of legal work for one hug.”
And then—Barney laughs.
My mouth has gone dry, but I speak up anyway, seeing how I have silently vowed to be Leah’s defender for the rest of time. “She’s been a big help with the Macias case too.”
Barney pushes his spectacles up with the back of his hand, his thick, bushy brows raising. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Your brilliant plan of me learning Spanish in a matter of weeks didn’t quite pan out?—”
“Though he can ask for a coffee like a champ,” Leah says, her grin wide.
“Leah speaks Spanish. We visited her at the shop, and she helped me with a few terms that Google Translate got wrong and Duolingo never taught me. Macias trusts me now. We’re making strides.”
“I saw your notes.” Barney’s bush-man brows raise up, his eyes dragging from me to Leah and back again. “Looks as though you’re headed in the right direction.”
“Yes. Thanks to Leah,” I say.
She leans closer, then discreetly pinches my side. She may not want the credit, but it’s hers. I’m giving it.
“All right, Casanova. I get the picture.” His eyes slide to Leah once more. “And your case? How’s it going?”
“Cooper’s taking care of me,” she says. Dang, I like the sound of that.
Barney nods. “Good. Save two raspberry rolls for me tomorrow, will you? Coop will pick them up for me.”
“You’ve got it.”
“I’m headed out for the night,” Barney says to me. “You’ll lock up?”
“Yeah. I’m leaving soon too.”
With a nod for Leah, Barney turns on his heels, ready to end the day.
“Hey,” Leah says once Barney is out of sight. “If you’re done for the night, do you want to take a walk with me?”
“A walk?” It’s probably thirty degrees out there. But then, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to say no to Leah. “Sure.”
“It’ll be a short one. Arnold’s shop light is still on. Want to go check it out?” Her eyes widen as if we’re conspiring together.
“To… ask for a free coin? It’s a coin shop, right? ”
Leah laughs. “Yes, it’s a coin shop. We aren’t asking for anything, just seeing him on his own turf.”
“Okay, then. As long as we aren’t robbing poor Arnold, I’m in.”
“Poor Arnold?” Leah’s left brow hikes up on her head. “That man gets a free cinnamon roll every single day.”
We step into the small entry, and Leah slips into a blue jacket hanging on the coat rack right next to my suit coat.
I hold the door open for her and my gaze falls to her hands. Do I get to hold Leah’s hand now? I’ve confessed my feelings, as did she. I’ve kissed the girl. Hand-holding is a given at this point. Isn’t it?
She walks through the door, and on her way through I muster my confidence. Reaching for her hand, I slip my fingers through hers. She pauses as the door shuts behind me.
I wait for her to protest, but she only says, “Don’t forget to lock up.”
One-handed, I slip the key into the mechanism and lock up my office building.
We’ve taken two steps when she asks, “Why do you buy a roll for Arnold every day?”
“Why not?” I say as we start down the street.
“That isn’t an answer, Bailey. Come on.” She peers over at me. “Why?”
I clear my throat and lift my shoulder in a shrug. I haven’t really thought about why . “I don’t know. Because he’s there. Because he wants one.”
“Cooper.” She huffs. “You’re a lawyer. You have zero issues with confrontation. So why don’t you just tell Arnold to buy his own roll?”
Blinking, I think, attempting a sincere answer for her. “It makes him happy.”
“Are you for real?” She shakes her head. “Is that the only answer you’re going to give me?”
I swallow. It’s silly, but it’s true. “I like making people happy. And if something as small and simple as a cinnamon roll makes Arnold’s day”—I shrug—“then why not? It’s not like it takes a lot of effort on my part.” Although my credit card bill might disagree with me. Even with Leah’s free rolls, I’ve spent over three hundred dollars on cinnamon rolls this month.
“And that’s why you babysit your nieces and nephew? Why you take cases where you get paid in pastries?”
“Payment in pastries is a first for me.” I pinch my lips together, unsure what else to say.
Leah smirks, her gaze casting down to the sidewalk in front of us. “You’re the cinnamon roll.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are a giant cinnamon roll, Cooper Bailey. Perfect and pretty on the outside, warm, sweet, and a little gooey on the inside.”
“Did you just call me perfect?” I lift my brows—maybe she’ll say it again.
She coughs out a laugh. “Um, no. I did not.”
“You called me a cinnamon roll. Your favorite thing in the entire world.”
“They aren’t my favorite thing.” She scoffs. “I didn’t mean it that way. You are far from perfect, Mr. Do-You-Think-I’m-Sexy. In fact, your ego may need deflating because it’s never going to fit through Arnold’s doorway.” She bobbles her head in a shake once more, not looking at me. “I called you gooey. Gooey isn’t a compliment.”
“And sweet. And perfect.”
“Shut up.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t buy Arnold rolls anymore? ”
“Oh, by all means, keep paying for his breakfast. You are keeping me in business.”
“There you go,” I say, lifting her fingers tangled with mine and kissing the back of her hand. “I’m making you and Arnold both happy. Win-win.”