Page 93 of All's Well that Friends Well

“I’ll get it,” he says gruffly, once again not looking at me. “I need mine anyway.”

“I—all right. It’s in the paper bag,” I say, my voice faint. “With my name on it.”

He nods and stands, moving through the room easier now that people have returned to their seats with their cookies.

I’d say my baking experiment was a success, which is a strangely satisfying realization. Making people happy, helping them warm up to each other—I knew I liked those things, but I’m not sure I realized howmuchI liked them.

I’ll bring treats once a week for as long as I’m working here.

When Luca sits back down in his chair next to me, he passes me my lunch without speaking and then opens his own. I watch with interest as he begins pulling food out, because I’ve never thought about it before, but I’m interested—what does Luca Slater eat for lunch?

A sandwich comes out first, and I blink; I guess I expected something more sophisticated, or maybe more…grumpy? I don’t know. But it’s a sandwich in a sandwich bag, wheat bread cut into two triangles.

Next comes a protein bar of some kind, probably the sort that tastes like sawdust. I’ve eaten my fair share of those, and they’re palatable, but they’re not great. I wrinkle my nose and keep watching as he finally pulls out another sandwich bag, this one stuffed with apple slices and strawberries. The apple slices have turned a little brown, but that’s to be expected; they’ll still taste good.

I nod at Luca’s sandwich as he pulls it out of the bag. “What kind?” I say.

He grunts without looking at me, a faint flush of red creeping up his neck. After a second of what looks like internal debate, he says, “Peanut butter and jelly.”

Incredible. Delightful. A smile spreads over my lips as I look at him.

My giant manly boss, the one I’m over halfway in love with, is eating good old peanut butter and jelly for lunch.

“It’s good,” Luca says before I can respond, his voice defensive.

“I agree,” I say quickly, my smile growing. “I love peanut butter and jelly. I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect it. I figured you’d have a protein salad or a bunch of kale or something.”

His broad shoulders jerk into a shrug as his eyes finally dart over to me. “I like what I like.”

And for a second, it feels like he’s telling me something. But then his gaze drops away from mine and down to my paper bag. “Eat your food,” he says. “Don’t just stare at me.”

“But Ilikestaring at you,” I say with a sigh. I keep my voice quiet as I go on, “You’re so handsome.”

The corner of his lips twitches. “You’ll get over it,” he says.

He’s wrong. I won’t get over it.

But he just keeps speaking. “Come on, eat,” he says. “We don’t have all day in here.”

Boo. Heisright about that. So I work my way methodically through my lunch, stopping only when I get a text, my phone buzzing in my little pink bag I’ve set on the table next to my food.

I dig my phone out and check the message. I don’t recognize the number, so my brows furrow, but my expression clears when I read more.

Miss Marigold, this is Susan from the HR office,the message reads.I’ve been asked to inform you that today is Mr. Slater’s thirty-second birthday, in case you would like to wish him a happy upcoming year.

My eyes widen, and despite the bite of carrot I’mhalfway through chewing, my jaw drops. I whip my head around to stare at Luca.

“Is today yourbirthday?” I hiss at him.

“Hmm?” he says absently; he’s nodding at the people around us as they pass. They seem to have come in together.

I nudge Luca with my elbow. “Your birthday,” I say. “Is it today?”

“Oh,” he says, finally looking back at me. He thinks for a second. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Youguess—you—” I swallow as a sad, muted horror rises in my throat. “You guess? Were you going to tell me? Were you going to let me go all day without saying happy birthday?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Luca says with a shrug.

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