Page 117 of You're so Bad

“Leonard. You can see that he’s a good man.”

I take a sip of my drink, another special blend of who knows what that Mira has named ‘A 12 out of 10.’ It is. It really is. “Yes,” I say simply. “Obviously. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be so invested in helping Reese.”

Or in fixing Nana’s broken sewing machine, which she pulled out of the basement after God only knows how many years. She’s decided crocheting is too tedious, and she’d prefer to sew together fabric someone else had the misfortune of making.

Or in buying paint for the craft room downstairs because Reese told him the only thing he remembers about his mother is the color green. Her favorite. So Leonard wants to paint it for the kid’s birthday, make it feel like his.

Or in telling me the story of every tattoo on his body because I wanted to know—even the ones that embarrass him.

I was drunk when I got that one, Tiger.

That there is what a mistake looks like. You’ll see a few of them.

Or in taking a photo of a strange bug he saw while he was working on the house he’s flipping with Burke because he thought I’d ‘like the look of it.’

Delia’s still watching me, and I have a feeling she can see right through me or identify the color of my thoughts.

They’d probably be pink, dammit.

“You’ve fallen for him,” she says.

My heart feels like it’s thumping around in my chest. She’s right. Of course she’s right. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me.” She leans in a little closer, speaking in an undertone. “But maybe it’s easier for one person in love to recognize another.”

I glance behind the bar, but Mira is pouring someone a drink on the other side.

“Don’t tell Mira yet,” I say. “I have a feeling she’s not going to let me live this down.”

“I won’t.”

She’s smiling at me, which suggests she’s not totally horrified by what I just told her. Then again, smiling is her default mode. I’m not ashamed of being in love with Leonard. He’s a good man who’s had a hard life, up until recently, and I have every intention of continuing to make it better. But I have something I don’t want to lose—so naturally I’m worried that’s exactly what will happen.

“You’re not going to tell me I’m being stupid?”

“I’m not,” she says, stirring her drink with the pink flamingo stirrer. Honestly, this place. It’s ridiculous, and I absolutely love it. “Lucas and I were kind of hoping this would happen.”

“Seriously?”

“What’s happening?” Mira asks, flipping a towel over her shoulder and returning to her spot.

“We want to know if you’re moving in with Danny,” I deflect.

“Yeah, have you talked to him?” Delia asks. Turning to me on her stool, she explains, “She was supposed to talk to him on the phone yesterday.”

Mira pulls a frown. “Yeah, so he called me at like nine a.m. I don’t think I made the best impression. It was before my first alarm went off, and don’t even ask me about coffee.”

“She brings new meaning to night owl,” Delia tells me.

“He seems kind of…” Her face scrunches more. “I can’t think of the word, but he’s the kind of guy who’d come in here, with my awesome drink menu, and order a beer.”

The suit-type who sat next to Delia with a lot of enthusiasm before he caught sight of her huge rock shrinks a little on his seat. Busted, buddy. There’s a draft beer sitting in front of him.

“So?” Delia challenges her. “Maybe you can help him mix things up a bit.”

“Like a project?” Mira says, brightening at the prospect.

From what little I know of Danny, I suspect he won’t love being seen that way, but he probably could use some help loosening up.

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