She’d grown up with her family giving the cold shoulder to the Castorinis next door, and that had been uncomfortable and awkward for as long as she could remember. She’d vowed never to let that happen with anyone in her own life.
“I was wondering if I could ask you something,” he said as she put his perfectly made sandwich in a bag. “Um, do you remember the name of that Italian restaurant in downtown Indy?”
“Which one?” She narrowed her eyes.
“I wanted to take Marcy to that rooftop one, but I couldn’t think of the name.”
“The one where you proposed to me?” She fought to keep her voice even.
Sam had the decency to blush. He should blush, because who would forget the name of the place where you proposed?
Forget about hitting him in the head with the baguette. She was now tempted to shove it somewhere dark and deep. Maybe that would keep him away. Because it was bad enough having to see your ex practically every day in their small town, but having to interact like this…the worst. “Google might know it,” she said, refusing to be hurt.
“Or should I take her to that other place—you know, that one that overlooks the river. With the great sunsets.”
The one where they’d celebrated her thirtieth birthday. “Sam, I think it’s kind of creepy to ask me for that kind of advice when you’re in a new relationship.”
“Well, we were friends for a long time, Tessa. And you always give such good advice.” He looked at her a little sheepishly. “I’m terrible at making these kinds of decisions.”
Tessa reached into the register and pulled out a quarter. “See this?”
“It’s a quarter.”
“Correct.” She reached out her hand and dropped it into his palm.
“How’s this going to help me?”
“You’re going to go home and flip it. That will help you decide.” She handed over his bagged loaf, even though she still felt like clubbing him with it. “Bye, Sam.”
“Thanks, Tessa.” His eyes darted around, indicating he was nervous.
She should’ve paid more attention to that shifty-eyed habit, because it probably would’ve let her know far earlier that he’d cheated on her.
Not to mention he’d been vocal about his dissatisfaction. He’d told her she wasn’t passionate. That she was hard to please, in bed and out. And he’d used those as excuses for his cheating. Which, a year later, still left her angry and hurt.
“Anything else?”
He took the sandwich and the coffee and left her the exact price, down to the fifty-three cents. Not that she wanted his tip, but his precise nitpickiness extended to…well, everything. “Thanks, Tessa. You make the best sandwiches.”
She fought not to roll her eyes. Please leave now, she thought but didn’t say. Instead she smiled.
“Seriously,” he said. “I mean it. I would never pretend with you.”
“Bye.” She opened the door and saw him out. “That’s funny, Sam,” she said to herself, finally letting out her anger as she leaned against the door. “Because I sure got good at faking it with you.”
As she headed to close out the register, she heard a faint chuckle. So faint she thought she’d imagined it. But then a chair scraped on the wood-planked floor as someone rose from the corner table, hidden from view by the bread rack beside the counter.
Oh no…
A man stepped into view, his back to her, but she could see he was tall and well built, jeans wrapping around muscular legs.
How long had he been there? How much had he heard? Surely everything. The early evening sun hit his wavy dark hair, making it shimmer with gold highlights until his big shoulders blocked it out.
And then her breath caught. Because as he turned and moved toward her, she recognized his stride, his athletic grace, and his big, warm eyes, the color of a fine espresso. The nose that would seem a little too big on another man but somehow fit his too-handsome face perfectly. And the defiant jaw that the men in his family couldn’t seem to avoid inheriting, right along with their stubborn natures.
Leo Castorini.
The son of the family who ran the Italian restaurant next door. For a flash, she was back in high school, watching him walk down the hall, his easygoing demeanor and good looks drawing her—and every girl—like a magnet.
And he wore that same smirk, like he was laughing at her. Still.
She’d had a terrible crush on him. He’d actually asked her out, even though they’d been in neck-and-neck competition for the candle factory scholarship. But stuff had happened, and she’d ended up learning that he’d never really liked her at all. He’d just been fake-pretending to be friendly with the competition, she guessed. And he’d laughed at her. Which had hurt more than losing the scholarship to him.
She could see herself as she was in school—the braces, the flyaway hair, the unruly brows, the ten pounds she wished she could shed. But all that had changed…contacts, a good haircut, the miracle of waxing, and the right clothing to complement her shape, thanks to input from her two sisters.
Leo sauntered up to the counter, which for some reason made her a lot more anxious than when Sam had done it.
“Hi, Tessa. Busy evening?” The deep tone of his voice vibrated clear through her in a way that put her even more on edge. Also, the years had been too kind to him. Little crinkles had formed around his eyes, making it seem like he laughed often, and he had a maturity in his physique that made him even more appealing.
But the place was empty besides the two of them. “You’re hilarious,” she said, deadpan.
Which wasn’t funny. But for some reason, he full-out grinned.
That feeling in her gut was not butterflies. She was just getting queasy from him pointing out their obvious lack of customers.
“Did someone die?” she asked.
His wide, big smile faltered a bit. “That’s a bit morbid, even for you.”
She crossed her arms. “Well, I’m sure your dad didn’t send you over for a cup of sugar.” Not when their families had been giving each other the cold shoulder since before she and Leo were born.
“No one died,” he said. That damn smile was back. Did he ever stop smiling? “I was just wondering if we could talk.”
She raised a brow. The last time they’d talked, it had been about the fact that their high school GPAs were .0004 points apart—but his was higher. After that, she’d spent the whole night kneading and baking away her frustration. She’d made more brioche than the entire town could have eaten in a year.