He meets my gaze, saying nothing. The air pulses between us. And maybe this evening here in the bookstore, laughing, teasing, playing, does feel the slightest bit like a date.

And maybe I like how it feels.

That realization clobbers me from out of nowhere. But it shouldn’t. I’ve always liked spending time with Leo. I shouldn’t be surprised that I enjoy his company.

I simply need to remind myself that this is Lulu and Leo 101. We’ve taken this class. We know the curriculum cold.

We check out some more brain-busting books, since I’m convinced that’ll help us win the scavenger hunt, and when we’re done, we wander through the aisles. I run my finger along the shelves, savoring the feel of the wood, then the spines of the books. “I don’t think I’ll ever be an e-reader gal. Is that terrible to say?” I grab a book, open it, and sniff the pages. “I love the smell of books.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Why?”

“You’re a tactile person.”

“Am I?”

“Of course you are. You’re attuned to your senses. Your eyes seek out color, your hands are drawn to ingredients, your taste buds crave chocolate.”

“Speaking of . . .” I dip my hand into my purse then bring a finger to my lips. “Shh. I brought you a sample. Don’t tell a soul.”

He hums. “Gimme. Now.”

I hand him a chocolate square, and he drops it on his tongue. He sighs as he chews, taking his time, savoring the flavors, it seems. “Lulu, this is decadent.”

“You really like it?”

“I love it. It has a hazelnut taste, but then it’s strong too, with the darker chocolate. Is that from Brazil?”

I nearly squeal. “Yes. That’s amazing that you can tell.”

“I have good taste buds,” he says, in a whisper that’s a little naughtier than I expected. “Would you make me a secret stash?”

“For you, I would.”

His expression shifts like he’s studying my face, and the veracity of my answer. “You would?”

I slug his shoulder. “Of course I would. I’d do nearly anything for you.”

“Nearly, huh?”

“Oh, stop. When people say they’d do anything for someone, it’s never true. Rarely would someone do literally anything.”

“Is this one of those times when you’re talking about something other than what you’re saying?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“Is this you still feeling like you didn’t do enough for Tripp?”

I hit pause in the self-help aisle to think about his question. In general, I try to be up-front and direct. But with Leo, I feel like I can’t be anything but that. He knows me so well. He’s seen me incandescently happy, devastatingly sad, and everything in between. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and he knows it.

But in this case, he’s wrong. “No. I know I did enough. I have no regrets.” That’s honestly one of the greatest feelings ever—to be free of the past.

The smallest sliver of a smile plays on his lips, then it disappears as if he won’t permit it to stay. “Good. Because you did. We both did. How is it being back in New York?”

“You mean because it’s where Tripp and I used to live?”

“That’s one of the reasons you went to California, right?”

“I needed to get away at the time. I’m glad I did, but I’m happy to be in New York. Honestly, everything that happened with Tripp is behind me.” I say it like I mean it because I do. It took time and effort and introspection, but I’ve moved on. But has Leo? Something in his eyes, a sadness perhaps, makes me wonder. “What about you? Have you moved on?”

He scoffs like my question is crazy. “Of course. You can’t live in the past.”

When I look at Leo, I see a man who’s accomplished so much, who set out to chase his dreams and who achieved them. He wasn’t waylaid or sidetracked like I was, and I admire his tenacity.

“And you can’t live for someone else,” I add.

“You took the words right out of my mouth.” His gaze catches on his watch, then his lips part in an O. “Hate to end this, but I think you said you’re meeting your mom for dinner in ten minutes?”

And I hate the thought of this evening with him ending. “Come with me?”

14LULU

You know how tunics became popular with tweens? How they all started wearing long shirts over their yoga pants?

Those girls have nothing on Tabitha Diamond.

No one rocks a tunic like my mother.

She owned that look before it became trendy. She’s paired her clingy black top, cinched with a silver chain-link belt, with slinky leggings and black ankle boots. The woman defies age. Her dyed blonde hair—obviously it’s dyed, she likes to say with a knowing grin—is cut pixie-short.

She rises from her spot at the restaurant bar, embracing me then turning to Leo and clasping his shoulders. “Look at you.”

“How do I look?”

“Like someone we need to see more of.”

Leo laughs then drops a kiss to her cheek. “Pleased to see you again, Miss Diamond.”

She waves a hand affectionately. “Oh, I love you. Thank you for calling me ‘Miss.’”

“You forbade me long ago to ever call you ‘ma’am’ or ‘madam’ or ‘Mrs.’”

“And you remembered.”

He taps his skull. “Your daughter makes me work my brain.”

My mom turns to me with an approving nod. “And I made her work hers, even when watching TV.”