Page 25 of The Break-Up Pact

I don’t ask him why he did it, because we were both there. I had feelings for him in high school. He didn’t. That wasn’t the issue, though. The issue was that after it all came to an explosive head, instead of talking about it, Levi did what he’d always done—avoided the problem.

I just never imagined back then that one of those problems would be me.

“I’m glad you’re back,” I say instead. “And I’m glad you’re writing again. I know I joke about the book and all—but I’m really glad you’re writing.”

He nods, settling his chin on the side of my head for a moment, pressing his fingers into my back so deliberately that I can feel the pressure of each and every one of them, sweet aches against my skin. My eyes flutter closed, the side of my face nestled so deep into his shoulder that I’m overwhelmed by that earthy sweetness, by the warm undertone. By the strange collision of the yearning I had for him years ago and the pulsing, much sharper demand my body has for him now.

Both of these feelings can only get me in trouble. Levi didn’t want me then, and I know he doesn’t want me now. We have this entire Revenge Ex scam to prove it.

I pull back from him, taking a steadying breath. His face is settled again, but there’s still a weariness in those eyes that was welling up a few minutes ago, like he’s somewhere between the Levi who let himself feel out in the open and the Levi who snaps himself up before he can.

“I’m glad to be back in your life again,” he says.

The sincerity in the words makes me feel weak in every bone, only I can’t let it. Not if I’m going to come out of this pact we have in one piece. I whip out a quick smile, flashing it like armor, and tell him, “Say that again after I drag you to that cake tasting tomorrow, and I’ll believe it.”

Levi blinks, seeming almost disappointed by the sudden shift, but it leaves his face so quickly I might have imagined it.

“Do you eat anything that isn’t cake?” he asks. “Was this the secret to how you were crushing everyone on cross-country all along?”

I pivot myself back toward Tea Tide, and he falls into step next to me, his tall frame shielding me from the early morning sun. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s cake and chocolate. Balance is key.”

Levi’s lip twitches just before he says, “Whatever you say, August.”

I cackle, reaching out to lightly push him toward the waves. He pulls his arm out in an instant and hooks me by the waist, swooping me up and pretending he’s going to drop me into the water. I let out a squeak of surprise, the two of us catching each other’s eyes with a different kind of mischief—not the one we used to have, but something heated. Something a little more than friendly. Something I’ll have to keep in check because there’s no point in denying it anymore. I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

He sets me down and I’m breathless with laughter, stumbling on my feet. He keeps his arm around my waist until I’m settled again, and I look up at him and see one of those full Levi smiles—the kind so broad and bright in his eyes that it puts the sun behind him to shame—and I can’t help but feel smug knowing I’m the one responsible for it.

Chapter Nine

“That’s it,” I say flatly. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Levi doesn’t even glance up from the table. “Well, we had a good run.”

The two of us are currently locked in a flavor stalemate in the adorable little cake tasting room of Cassie’s Cakes. The walls are decorated with gorgeous pictures of tiered cakes with just about every frosting pattern and color under the sun, and the windows are decorated with prism crystals that project rainbows all over the room. In front of each of us there is a lattice-print plate with five small rectangles of cake in lemon, pistachio, chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, plus tiny bowls of different buttercream and cream cheese frostings. The idea is that we can mix and match them to come up with the ideal flavor combinations—not for the cake Dylan and Mateo planned out, but for a larger sheet cake we’ve had to get to accommodate the expanded guest list.

Leave it to Levi to somehow disrespect the entire institution of wedding cake by taking a shine to the pistachio cake and suggesting we don’t have any frosting to pair with it at all.

“Nobody’s breaking up with anybody until I get more of this caramel sauce in my mouth,” says Sana, the phone she’s been getting content with in one hand, a dainty spoon full of caramel in the other.

Cassie preens at the head of the table, where she’s been holding court as we go through the flavors. The two of us see plenty of each other since our shops are so close, but even if I didn’t, I could appreciate that not much has changed about her since high school—she’s still got that sunny disposition, that bright smile, and those big blond curls that always reminded me of Bad Sandy in Grease.

“We make it in-house,” Cassie says, pushing the bowl of caramel closer to Sana.

Sana licks her lips. “In that case, consider me moved in.”

“You understand that frosting isn’t just god’s gift to our mouths,” I continue to impress upon Levi. “It’s what makes the cake architecturally sound. You ditch the frosting, you lose the very glue holding it together.”

“If you did want to lessen the frosting ratio, they could consider switching to a naked cake,” says Cassie, flipping through her cake look book.

“Do not entertain this dessert delinquent,” I tell her.

Except the cakes she flips to are, of course, as beautiful as all the others we’ve seen pictures of on the walls. The edges of these are rough frosted with a thin layer so you can see the color of the cake underneath, and sometimes decorated with a few flowers on each tier. They’ve got a rustic, cottagecore feel that I know will appeal to Mateo’s vest-wearing sensibilities. (I’d take Dylan’s opinion into account if that opinion didn’t start and end with “When can we eat it?”)

“In fact, you might want to look into this option if you really are considering a beach wedding and want the cake displayed outside,” says Cassie. “We could dye the cake with their original colors instead of the frosting, and you won’t have to worry about the frosting sweating.”

Levi and I worked out the final details for reserving a permit on the beach yesterday, chatting it over during my “lunch break” (read: shoving a scone into my mouth with reckless abandon before running back to the front). Mateo suggested the stretch just outside of Tea Tide so we’d have the space to prep and give guests an option to chill out inside, and the idea of a beach dance party made Dylan’s eyes light up like a little kid on Christmas.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” says Levi.

---