Page 2 of Leo, My Partner

That’s a good idea. If I stand here much longer without Mr. Anderson making an appearance, my legs will give out. “Thank you. I’ll be just over there.” Then I point, like a fucking imbecile. Of course, I’ll be over there. That’s where he told me to go.

Instead of making an even bigger fool of myself, I weave around the tables and chairs and sit down beside the stage. I’ll be even more on edge if I keep watching the door, hence why I’m looking at an empty stage.

I should have asked Sam to come with me. Even if he didn’t sit in on the tasting, he could have been my support. Sammy works from home as a graphic designer. Since he makes his own schedule, he could have chilled here for an hour, made sure I wasn’t spiraling, then left when he saw I had shit under control.

A frustrated sigh leaves my lips as I drum my fingers on the table. I can do this. I’m capable of handling this interview on my own.

“Sorry, I’m late,” a smooth voice says, and my mouth drops open when a good-looking man drops down in the empty chair in front of me.

This whole time I thought an old man owned the place. The man sitting across from me is a fucking snack. Holy fuck.

He’s maybe early or mid-thirties, tall, blond, and fucking jacked. I’m not sure how he fits in the small chair he’s perched on. Not like he’s steroid built. He’s solid, muscles gained from strenuous gym workouts or hard labor.

Not only is his body nice, but he has the face to match. His blue-green eyes are luminous and vibrant, the smile tilting his lips crinkling them in the corners. And his smile, Jesus his smile. He has dimples so deep if I stuck my finger in one it might get lost. Even, white teeth flash at me as he folds his hands on the table.

“You’re not old,” I blurt out and want to fucking kick myself. Sometimes, the filter between my brain and my mouth is broken.

Thankfully, the man—Mr. Anderson, I presume—chuckles, shaking his head so his blond hair falls into his face. He pushes it back with a quick swipe of his hand. “No, I’m not. I’m thirty-three. Though to some, that’s still pretty old. What about you?”

“Oh. I’m twenty four.”

His smile hasn’t dimmed, a sign that I didn’t fuck this tasting up before it started. “Forgive me,” he says in an apologetic tone. “I’m Leo Anderson. I have a partner, June King, but he’s on vacation this week. I’ll be conducting your tasting today.” He holds his hand out, and I shake it firmly. His much larger hand engulfs mine, warm against my palm.

“Tyshawn. Tyshawn Glassby. Though most people call me Ty. You can call me Ty. Or Tyshawn or Glass. No, not Glass, that’s stupid. No one calls me Glass.” I clamp my lips shut. I’m rambling. I square my shoulders and try again. “I’m Tyshawn. You can call me Ty.”

“So Glass is off the table?” His eyes twinkle with mirth, and I’m not sure if I should be mortified or roll with it.

Fuck it. I’m going to roll with it. “Glass is off the table. Sorry for the inconvenience there.”

Leo chuckles. “Maybe I’ll wear you down one day.”

Is he flirting? That tone sounded very flirty. “I doubt it, but you’re welcome to try.” Fuck, am I flirting now?

We sit silent for a moment, just staring at each other. Fucking hell, Leo is fine. Like really fine. It’s obvious he knows it, the self-assured air surrounding him telling me as much. He has the right to feel that way with a face and body like that.

Finally, I shake my head to get myself back in the game. “I have some baked goods for you to sample. They’re recipes passed down in my family that I tweaked and made my own. I’d like to showcase some here if you’ll allow me.”

“Let’s see what you have.” Leo sits back in his chair to give me space to rest my basket. His eyes bore into me, like he’s trying to stare into my soul. It’s not a bad feeling. It sends a shiver down my spine that I fight to suppress. “We don’t have anyone on the calendar for the foreseeable future, so if they’re as good as your email claims, you could be a permanent fixture here.”

I’ll admit that I talked myself up in my email, telling Mr. Anderson—Leo— that my cupcakes will be the best he’s ever tasted, and if he’s not a cupcake person, I have cookies and Danishes that would satisfy anyone with a sweet tooth. I went all out selling myself —I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.

Keeping up my confident air, I say, “They’re better. Which would you like to try first?”

He points to one of the cookies with a smile. “I’ll try one of these first. The cupcake can be next.” He winks at me, and my face heats. “What is it?”

“It’s a lemon drop and lavender cookie.”

Leo wrinkles his nose. “Lavender in a cookie?”

“Don’t let that deter you. It’s not a lot of lavender, and it helps balance the taste of the lemon drop. It’s not sweet like most cookies, but it packs flavor.”

Grabbing a napkin from my basket, I place a cookie on it, and I slide it over to him. For some reason, I expect Leo to stuff the whole thing in his mouth with little to no grace. He surprises me when he takes an almost dainty but hearty bite. My lungs stop working as I wait for his verdict.

Leo chews thoughtfully, his expression giving nothing away. I stare at his mouth, surprisingly more because his lips are nice and plump than wondering if he likes the cookie. Focusing on Leo and his good looks bring my nervousness down rather than making me even more so. For some reason I can’t quite put my finger on, he’s calming me. I don’t know him, and he practically holds my future in his hands— and mouth—but I’m at ease enough to joke and even flirt. After my word vomit earlier, that is.

While Leo chews, he maintains eye contact. There’s something behind his stare that I can’t nail down. It’s searching, roving, and … something else. Something more intimate and intense.

Finally, Leo swallows and nods, dropping his gaze as he sets the rest of the cookie back on the napkin. I blow out my pent-up breath, both from nerves at if he liked the cookie and from how intensely he stared at me. “I didn’t expect a lavender cookie to taste so good.” I beam. “What’s next?”

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