Chapter 2 #2
The last customer of the day pushed through the glass door, the small bell ringing overhead.
Olivia stood behind the register, rubbing her eyes as Elena tallied the final cash drawer.
The exhaustion of a demanding shift finally caught up to her, sinking deep into her muscles and making her shoulders ache.
"Have a good weekend, boss," Sam called out from the hallway, his backpack slung over one shoulder as he headed out the back exit.
"You too, Sam. See you Monday," Olivia replied, forcing a bright smile.
Elena snapped a rubber band around a stack of receipts and placed them in the deposit bag. "Everything matches to the penny. The counter is clean, the displays are empty, and my feet are officially done."
"Go home, Elena," Olivia told her, leaning against the oak counter. "I'll lock up."
"You're a lifesaver. Text me if you need anything."
Once Elena left, Olivia walked through the deserted storefront, returning the pastel chairs to their places.
As she wiped down the tables, she thought about the evening ahead.
It was Saturday night. She pictured walking to the corner boutique, picking a special bottle of Pinot Noir, and taking it home.
After the letdown of the previous evening, she let herself hope again.
They could share the wine, eat takeout on the couch, and talk.
They could finally have a night that belonged to them, a real chance to reconnect.
Her phone vibrated in her apron pocket. She pulled it out, her heart skipping a beat when she saw James's name on the screen.
Called into a business dinner. Don't wait up.
The hope drained out of her chest, leaving a hollow ache in its place. She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the glass. She dialed his number, pressing the phone to her ear. He answered on the third ring, background noise filtering through the speaker.
"James, I can run home right now," Olivia offered, keeping her voice light, masking the sting. "I can change and go with you."
"There's no need," James replied. His tone was brisk, entirely dismissive. "It's just business, Liv. None of the wives are going."
He made her offer sound like an inconvenience, as if her presence was a complication he didn't want to deal with.
"Okay," she managed to say, working hard not to sound hurt. "I understand."
"Gotta go. Love you." The call ended before she could even form a response.
Olivia stood in the empty bakery, holding the disconnected phone.
She didn't get the chance to say it back.
She tried to rationalize his behavior, feeding herself the excuses she had perfected over the last five years.
He was in a rush. He had to get ready. It was just a dinner.
She shouldn't make this bigger than it was.
But beneath the logical arguments, the deep sting of rejection remained.
He had pushed her aside, making her feel entirely disposable.
Going home to an empty house was out of the question. She decided to stay.
Olivia walked into the kitchen, letting the fluorescent lights wash over her.
She pulled her hair into a messy knot and directed all her frustration into the work waiting on the metal prep tables.
She dragged out bins of flour and sugar, laid out baking sheets, and began rolling out a fresh batch of shortcrust pastry.
She used a small metal cutter, pressing out delicate flower shapes, trying to pour her disappointment into something productive.
Two knocks came from the side door of the kitchen.
A genuine smile broke through the tightness in her face. She already knew who it was. She wiped her hands on her apron, walked over to the door, and checked the security monitor just to be sure. Satisfied, she flipped the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
Leo filled the frame. Standing at six-foot-five, he dwarfed her own five-foot-ten frame.
He had on dark jeans, scuffed combat boots, and a black Henley shirt that stretched taut across his broad shoulders and muscular chest. He possessed a striking, intense presence.
He had thick dark hair, a neatly trimmed dark beard, a strong square jaw, and ice-blue eyes that seemed to take in every detail of the room.
He looked intimidating at first glance, brooding and formidable.
But the second his eyes met hers, the harsh lines of his face softened.
The severe frown faded, replaced by a small, fond smile.
"Hey, Lily of the Valley," Leo greeted her.
Olivia rolled her eyes, though the smile remained on her lips. He had called her that since her sophomore year of college, a nickname that had stuck through graduation and beyond. She stepped back to let him inside, closing the thick door behind him.
"Hi to you too, Leo. What are you doing here?"
He walked past her toward the main sink, carrying a cardboard box in one large hand. He set it on the stainless steel counter. "I brought you some new flowers and herbs."
Leo owned and operated a highly successful specialty greenhouse just outside the city limits.
He cultivated rare herbs, edible flowers, and unique culinary plants, supplying top-tier chefs, high-end restaurants, and local businesses.
He also made a point to grow specific varieties strictly for Olivia to use in her recipes.
She had tried to pay him countless times, but he refused every single dollar.
She knew he had inherited a large fortune from his parents and didn't need the money, but she hated feeling as though she was taking advantage of his generosity.
To ease her guilt, she made sure his kitchen was consistently stocked with his favorite baked goods, often dropping off fresh boxes of pastries herself.
Olivia walked over to the box and peered inside. She picked up a delicate, deep purple blossom she had never seen before. She held it to her nose, breathing in the sweet, earthy scent. She loved it on the spot. "What is this?"
"It's a specialized violet hybrid," Leo explained, his gaze tracking her reaction. "It has a subtle vanilla and mint flavor. I thought of you the second it bloomed. I figured it'd be perfect for one of your tart fillings."
Olivia felt a wave of profound gratitude. He always paid attention to the details. She rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek. "Thank you."
Leo wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close.
She stepped into him willingly, letting herself melt into the embrace.
She rested her cheek against his chest, feeling the heat radiating through his shirt and listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart.
After a grueling day and the bitter sting of James's phone call, being held by him felt reassuring.
His clothes held traces of pine and fresh earth.
It was a comforting, protective presence that made the edges of her terrible evening blur.
"I missed you," he murmured into her hair.
"That's your fault for disappearing for over a month," Olivia teased, her voice muffled against his shirt as she finally stepped back just enough to look at him. "I was starting to think your delivery guys were my only friends left."
"I had to handle a few things at the greenhouses," he replied.
She tightened her grip on his arm. "Well, don't disappear like that again."
Leo leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I won't."
He released her and walked over to the prep table, eyeing the shortcrust she had been working on. "What are you testing?"
"A new fruit tart," Olivia told him, gesturing to the remaining dough. "Using a lemon and lavender reduction."
"Need a hand?" Leo didn't wait for an answer. He picked up a spare cutter and began pressing out flower shapes, mimicking the exact technique she had been using before he arrived. It was a fluid, effortless routine. He had done this with her countless times.
Olivia grabbed her own cutter, joining him at the table.
They fell into an easy rhythm, talking and laughing as they arranged the pastry on the baking sheet.
When they finished, Leo picked up the large metal pan and carried it to the convection oven.
Olivia stepped ahead to pull the oven door open.
He slid the pan onto the center rack, she pushed the door shut, and they exchanged a quick high five, both laughing at the perfected synchronization.
She had long ago lost count of how many nights they had shared this exact ritual.
Leo leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Where is your husband?"
"James is at a business dinner," Olivia answered, keeping her eyes on the prep station as she wiped down the metal surface.
"Mm." The sound was short, deeply skeptical. He watched her for a moment. "Are you really spending your Saturday night alone in here baking?"
Olivia let out a breath. They had argued over this subject repeatedly. "Leo, the neighborhood's safe. We have cameras outside and inside, and the police station is two blocks away. Nothing is going to happen to me."
"Don't care," Leo grumbled, his jaw setting stubbornly. "I don't like it. I'm staying with you until you close up, and then I'm following you home."
Olivia planted her hands on her hips, giving him an exasperated look. "I'm pretty sure you'd be better off going on a Saturday-night date with one of the thousands of women who hit on you just for breathing."
Leo looked straight into her eyes, his expression uncompromising. "I'd rather hang out here with you and be the taste tester for whatever you're baking."
Olivia smiled despite herself, dropping her gaze to the floor. She muttered an uncomplimentary word under her breath.
Leo let out a deep laugh. He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I'm calling the Italian place on the corner. The one you love."
He placed the call, ordering a large dinner for the two of them. When the person on the other end asked what they wanted, Leo rattled off Olivia's usual order without a second of hesitation, knowing her exact preferences without needing to ask.
Olivia stood near the ovens, watching him as he confirmed the delivery details.
A deep sense of relief washed over her. Even though her chest ached from the dismissive phone call with James, Leo's unwavering presence made the empty bakery feel far less lonely.
She was grateful to have a friend like him.