Chapter 28
Leo
The door seals behind us with a soft hiss.
The proofing room is almost entirely dark. The only light is the faint green glow of the thermostat, numbers floating like a pulse. The air wraps around me immediately, warm, wet, alive. It smells like yeast and heat and something dangerously close to comfort.
And Tess.
She’s still holding me.
I don’t move. I barely breathe. My heart is slamming so hard I’m afraid she can hear it over the hum of the machine.
“Tess,” I whisper again, because I don’t know what else to do with the sound in my chest.
She looks up at me, but she doesn’t step away. I can’t see her face clearly, just the darker outline of her body against the darker room. I feel her before I see her. The warmth of her. The heat between us is turning the air thick.
“You’re still dusty,” she says quietly.
I let out a weak, breathless laugh. “I know.”
Her hand presses flat against my chest.
I stop talking immediately.
Her palm is warm. Solid. Real. Right over my heart. Right where the stupid gold star used to be.
“You did great today,” she says.
I swallow. “Thanks.”
The word comes out rough. I would give her anything she asks for right now. Space. Time. Distance. I’ll walk out. I’ll sit on the floor. I’ll disappear if she wants.
Her hand slides slowly down my chest, dragging through the flour dusted across my shirt. My skin feels electric wherever she touches, like my body has been waiting for permission.
“This,” she murmurs, rubbing her thumb against the fabric, “is still a mess.”
My breath stutters. “Yeah.”
Her other hand comes up, gripping my shirt at my waist. Not pulling. Just anchoring.
“I have a better way to clean up,” she says.
My brain short-circuits.
“Tess,” I manage. “If this is, if you’re not sure…”
She tilts her head up. I can just barely make out the gleam of her eyes in the low light.
“I’m sure, Leo,” she says.
And then she kisses me.
It’s nothing like the crosswalk. Nothing like the almost kisses, the broken, panicked moments. This is slow. Deliberate. Her mouth presses to mine like a decision, not a question.
I make a sound I don’t recognize. It’s too much. Too sudden. Too perfect.
I don’t grab her. I don’t push. I let her set the pace, let her mouth move against mine, tasting faintly of sugar and exhaustion and something deep and familiar.
When she pulls back, just a fraction, she exhales against my lips.
“You still listening?” she asks.
“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”
“Good.”
Her fingers curl in my shirt again, and this time, she pulls.
I go willingly.
She backs me up until my shoulders hit the padded wall. The warmth presses in from every side. My skin is buzzing. My hands hover uselessly in the air because I don’t know where I’m allowed to touch.
“Leo,” she says softly.
“Yes.”
“Touch me.”
The permission hits harder than the kiss.
My hands land on her hips, tentative at first, like she might vanish. She doesn’t. She steps closer, fitting against me like this is where she’s been aiming all along.
I feel everything. The curve of her. The heat of her body through her clothes. The way she exhales when I finally pull her closer.
“This, ok?” I whisper into her hair.
“Yes.”
I kiss her again. Slower. Deeper. My hands move with purpose now, not greed, learning her, memorizing the way she responds. She makes a quiet sound that goes straight to my spine.
The proofing room hums around us, warm and breathing and alive.
I’ve never felt more present in my life.
I don’t know what comes next. I don’t plan. I don’t fix.
I just stay.
And listen.