Page 102 of All at Once

He gives me a sarcastic smirk, before his expression grows tender. “Thank you again for helping out. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I could do.” I shrug like it’s nothing. “Everything seems to have gone smoothly.”

“So far,” he says. “We still have the meal and the rest of the reception to get through.”

“It’ll be great,” I reassure.

He gives me a half-smile, and I catch him looking over his shoulders as if expecting something to go wrong. “I know you’re busy. You should go,” I offer, nodding my head toward the area the guests are heading. The chairs are being cleared off to make room for the dance floor, and it feels like an important time for Enrique to be “on.”

He nods. “Seriously, thank you,” Enrique repeats, squeezing my hand in a gentle grip. It’s sweet. It’s a kind gesture. But, at the same time, it feels likenothing. No electricity. No butterflies. No desire to twine our fingers together.

My feeling is further proved when he lets go of my hand a few seconds later and I don’t feel like his presence next to me is missed. I don’t feel like my hand is missing something when it’s not holding Enrique’s.

_________

An hour later, I find myself running around the reception in my heels carrying trays of pastries, while trying my best to not faceplant in front of all these people. While I knew that Enrique needed our help for the remainder of the day, I didn’t expect it to be this intense. Or to dothismuch cardio.

As the food starts to dwindle and music starts playing, I use this as an excuse to take a break. Moving past the countless orchids, peonies, and gardenias, I manage to sneak two very fancy glasses of champagne as I look for Luca who I just saw pass by here a second ago.

After walking around for a few minutes with no luck, I notice the familiar silhouette of him sitting near some rocks overlooking the shore. “Champagne?” I offer as I approach him.

He playfully searches every directionbutwhere I’m standing before looking at me, making me giggle. “Thanks,” he says. Even his tired smile lights up the already moonlit beach. Then his eyes immediately drop wide open when he takes a sip. “Shit. That’s strong. Way stronger than the sangrias you like.”

I sit on the rock next to him, take a large gulp, and shrug. “I didn’t even notice. I’m still asleep.”

“Oh me too. I almost fell off this rock. I felt like I was you again,” he says smugly, before taking another sip, while holding eye contact with me.

I would roll my eyes. But the warmth that’s cascading down my body at the way his eyes curved to the side just now has myfullattention. “Did you hear that couple talking about our cakes?” I ask, trying to pull myself together.

Luca chuckles. “Yes. I literally had to walk away because I was about to start laughing.”

“I actually laughed. So I hope they didn’t hear me.”

“Of course you did.” He smiles. “It was the ‘these cakes must be from an award-winning pastry chef’ for me.”

“No, I liked the lady who was shit talking the mousse,” I add. “She literally said it was the worst filling texture she’s ever tried.”

He shakes his head. “The contrast between their comments was gold.”

“It really was,” I say as my laughter subsides. “I know I’m biased, but I think we did a pretty good job.”

He jolts back so quickly with brows creased. “We did a fuckingamazingjob,” he says, before pretending to look around again. “Where’s our trophy?”

I giggle at his silliness. “I should just move here and start a bakery.”

“I mean, you could. Why not?”

“I’m athousandpercent joking.” He shrugs and now my brows furrow. “You weren’t joking?”

“It’s just a thought,” he replies. “You were saying how you haven’t found something you like to pursue yet. Keeping the possibilities open wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

I’m so taken aback by Luca’s suggestion that I almost don’t realize how much he’s opened up to me. And just as impressively changed his opinions on certain things. With a now warmer chest, I confess, “I could never imagine doing something like that.”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Honestly? Moving here or starting a bakery,” I admit. “I’m just not adventurous.”

He looks at me like he doesn’t agree with a word I’m saying. “You really don’t give yourself enough credit.”

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