Chapter 24
Leo
Leo clipped a vibrant, green sprig of lemon verbena, the natural oils lightly coating his thumb, and placed it carefully into his woven harvest basket.
He knelt to check the delicate irrigation lines feeding a lush tray of micro-basil, brushing the fragile leaves aside to inspect the soil.
A subtle shift in the morning light, a golden cast catching the condensation on the glass panes, caught his attention.
He looked up toward the open greenhouse entrance.
Olivia stood by the threshold. She wore an oversized, worn gray hoodie that nearly swallowed her petite, curvy frame, the soft fabric draping over her hips.
A large, overstuffed canvas tote bag was slung over her shoulder, the fabric pulling taut against the strap.
She shifted nervously from side to side, her sneakers scuffing the concrete floor, yet there was an undeniable, bright energy radiating from her expression—a vibrant spark that Leo had not witnessed in over a month.
"I took a taxi," Olivia announced right away, her voice clear and carrying through the rows of plants before he could even form a greeting.
Leo stepped out of the narrow aisle, the foliage brushing his jeans, and set his metal shears down onto the scarred surface of a nearby wooden workbench. "You didn't have to do that. You could have called me, Liv. I would have come to get you—"
"I wanted to try something," she cut in, her knuckles turning pale as she gripped the thick straps of her canvas bag.
He grabbed a rough cotton towel from the bench and wiped the dirt from his hands. "Try what?"
"That place you took me over the weekend.
The hidden bakery with the sonker." She took a deep breath, her fingers twisting deeper into the canvas material.
"It inspired a new recipe. Not a direct copy of the dessert, but something capturing that exact feeling.
Comfort, authentic North Carolina tradition, ripe fruit.
.. but entirely my own style." She lifted her chin, looking him straight in the eyes with fierce determination.
"I officially entered the competition. I know there is no guarantee I will be accepted, but if I am, I want to be ready. "
Leo felt a rush of pride so fierce it tightened his throat and stung his eyes.
He crossed the concrete floor, closing the distance between them.
He wrapped his arms around her back, burying his face in her hair, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what this meant.
She had been through unimaginable hardship, and now she was standing right here in his greenhouse, armed with a bag full of baking supplies and a genuine reason to create. She was hungering for something again.
"What do you need?" he asked, pulling back to look at her face, his hands resting gently on her arms.
Olivia walked down the long rows of thriving plants.
She reached out to touch the varying textures of the leaves, rubbing the fragrant greenery between her fingertips to release their essential oils, and debated complex flavor profiles out loud.
She considered the bright notes of lemon balm, the subtle licorice hint of anise hyssop, and the delicate visual appeal of edible violets, analyzing which citrus-forward herb would complement the sweetness of the fruit best. Leo followed a step behind her, gladly answering her rapid-fire questions about growing cycles, soil acidity, and flavor retention.
He was entirely captivated. Surrounded by living things, developing flavors, and endless possibilities, he could clearly see essential pieces of the vibrant woman he loved returning to the surface.
They moved out of the glass structure and into the house.
Olivia enthusiastically unloaded her canvas bag onto the expansive, cool granite island in his kitchen.
Bags of unbleached flour, blocks of butter, cane sugar, cartons of plump fresh berries, slivered almonds, dark glass bottles of extracts, and a worn, leather-bound notebook filled to the margins with frantic, creative scribbles soon covered the broad counter.
They fell right back into their natural, old rhythm. She doled out the baking orders; he acted terribly offended by her culinary bossiness, crossing his arms in mock defiance.
When she informed him he chopped the berries far too thick, he handed her the chef's knife handle-first and playfully challenged her to do better.
They laughed out loud when a rogue cloud of sifted flour dusted the front of his dark shirt, leaving him looking like a messy baker's apprentice.
He scrubbed the dirty mixing bowls under the running faucet while she meticulously adjusted the fruit filling on the stove.
He intentionally kept his hands to himself, making sure the kitchen truly belonged to her in this process, offering no expectations and no pressure.
The back door creaked open. Brooklyn strolled in from the guest house, dramatically inhaling the sweet, buttery scent filling the room. "Are you two testing edible happiness in here without inviting me?"
Olivia smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Grab a spoon."
Brooklyn proved to be a remarkably terrible sous-chef, measuring the granulated sugar incorrectly and asking an endless stream of distracting questions, but her presence made Olivia laugh until her sides physically hurt.
The three of them worked together around the island in a way that felt wonderfully easy and deeply affectionate.
The very first test batch emerged from the hot oven looking a little uneven around the edges, but the resulting taste was incredibly promising.
Olivia looked physically exhausted, leaning against the counter, yet visibly happier than she had been in ages, her pen already flying across her notebook pages to record tomorrow's precise adjustments.
***
Leo leaned his hip against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching Olivia pipe an intricate swirl of rich frosting onto a cooled test pastry.
Over the past three weeks, this particular setup had become their established, comfortable routine.
Olivia reliably came over after the bakery closed for the day to test new, improved versions of recipes for the competition.
Some nights Brooklyn joined them for the tasting portion.
Other nights it was exclusively Leo and Olivia.
His spacious kitchen had naturally evolved into her unofficial testing headquarters.
Olivia had confessed earlier that, with everything going on in her life, she simply did not feel secure staying alone at her bakery after hours.
The kitchen at her parents’ rented house was severely lacking the counter space and equipment built for serious, repetitive testing.
Her parents had recently returned to Hendersonville, and on some nights, when the testing ran exceptionally late or she felt too physically drained to navigate the drive across town, she curled up and slept in his spare guest room.
Leo loved having her there in his space.
He loved it far more than he ever let himself admit out loud.
But he remained exceptionally careful. He never pushed her boundaries.
He never reached out to touch her unless she clearly invited the contact.
He never once brought up the kiss they had shared.
He provided her with ample physical and emotional room to breathe, even as his deep, visceral need for her grew stronger and more persistent with every passing day.
Olivia let out a frustrated groan, dropping the sticky piping bag onto the granite counter with a wet smack. "It's wrong. It simply won't hold the defined shape. It's far too sweet on the palate and not structurally stable enough for the high-level presentation I want."
Leo stepped up closely behind her. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, using his thumbs to knead the tight, tense muscles knotted at the base of her neck. "Relax. You can try the mixture again tomorrow."
The physical touch was meant to be comforting, but the fragile line between providing comfort and pure, burning wanting was wearing dangerously paper-thin.
Olivia let out a shaky breath and turned around within his loose grip.
They were facing each other, mere inches apart.
The entire mood in the kitchen shifted into something electric.
She looked up into his eyes, her gaze inevitably dropping down to trace the line of his mouth.
Leo’s pulse spiked, hammering against his ribs.
Before he could even lean in, Olivia blurted out, "Why did you never explain Brooklyn to me?"
Leo let out a short, genuinely surprised laugh, his chest vibrating. "I was wondering when you would finally ask about that."
"There's been a lot going on," Olivia defended herself, her cheeks flushing pink.
She looked down at the scattered baking tools on the counter.
"After you kissed me... I felt terrible guilt.
I apologized to her because I fully thought there was something romantic going on between you two.
She told me you were only friends. I just want to understand the dynamic. "
"She is strictly a friend," Leo confirmed, his voice gentle but firm. He leaned his hips back against the edge of the island to give her a fraction more room. "I actually met her on a dating app."
Olivia blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion.