“Oh, come on. The two of you clearly have some sort of Sam and Diane vibe.”
“You’re so old, Leo,” Ginny says.
“Ha. Cheers is on Netflix. I didn’t watch it in the ’80s. Also, I turn thirty-three today, so I’m not that old.”
“Happy birthday, Leo!” Ginny says.
I stop him, slamming an arm against his. “Today? You turn thirty-three today? You were trying to sneak a birthday past me again?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m not turning one, twenty-one, or one hundred one, so it’s no big deal.”
“It’s your birthday. That’s a huge deal, and you never ever let us celebrate it before.”
“I’m just not one of those birthday people.”
“Whatever. That’s crazy talk. I’m making you a cake, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
“No?” he offers.
I wave it off. “Won’t accept it. The only question you should be answering right now is chocolate, marble, black forest, pineapple coconut, or strawberry.” I tap my toe, deliberately impatient. “What does the birthday boy want?”
His eyes roam up and down my body, lingering on my throat, my breasts, then finally my lips.
That, right there—the dark look in his brown irises. That’s the definition of “melting point.” I go from solid woman to liquid desire.
“I want . . . pineapple coconut.”
Have it. Have me. Have everything, I want to say.
“I’ll make it for you.” My voice betrays me. It’s breathless, husky. I want to make him a cake, and I want him to have it and eat it too.
Ginny rolls her eyes. “Speaking of vibes . . .”
But before I can ask about vibes, Noah is Forrest Gumping toward us again, pointing down the street. “Isabelle called her building! I talked to the doorman. She’s at school. It’s two blocks away. I’m going to get it to her before second period.”
Then he’s Road Runner, flying past us, turning down the next block, and blowing away all the cheetahs in the world.
Ginny watches him, stars in her eyes.
Despite Noah’s best impression of cheetah-meets-Olympic-medalist, we arrive at Grand Central Terminal thirty minutes after we wanted to.
But Isabelle has her backpack, and she told Noah through tears and a smile how happy she was to have it.
Inside the still-grand train station, we rush to the famous clock. It’s made of gold, and because of its four opal faces, it’s said to be worth $10–$20 million. Hence the weigh me part of the clue, since gold is valued by weight.
We take a photo beneath it.
Next, we head to the departure boards, where every train is listed as running one minute earlier than it actually leaves. That’s deliberate to accommodate stragglers. We snap another shot of the four of us.
After that, we look skyward, where the stars and the constellations are depicted in gold and green on the ceiling. Another picture.
Finally, we hunt for the marble inlays that appear to be squashed pineapples but are actually acorns, a symbol of the Vanderbilts, who financed the terminal. We find them and take the final photo, sending it in right before the two-hour deadline.
All the items we’re unearthing are from years ago. The clock. The ceiling. The departures board. Even the symbol of the Vanderbilts. For a moment, it’s as if Kingsley is reading my mind. Making me think about the past. Leo and I have so much past between us.
But even so, I’ve learned the past isn’t what matters anymore.
It’s the present and what we do with it.
I don’t believe RaeLynn is correct, after all. I definitely don’t care if anyone thinks I slept my way to this post. I know the truth. I know my truth. I’m here at Heavenly because I’m a damn good chocolatier. I won Kingsley over with my talent. I don’t need to prove a thing to anyone but our customers. For them, the chocolate is the only proof needed.
As I gaze at the constellations etched into the ceiling, as I stare at the board where the time isn’t always right but is designed to be on our side, and as I take one last look at the clock worth millions, I have to ask myself if time is the answer. If time is bigger than should I or shouldn’t I?
The past is no longer present. And in my present, my heart wants what my heart wants.
And I am no longer wary of it.
The time is now.
As Ginny and Noah debate the ethics of eating food left unmarked in a company’s break room fridge—Noah says everything is fair game, while Ginny says gross—they duck into a deli to grab sodas. I grab the opportunity to pull Leo aside between a shoeshine and a flower stand. “Come to my chocolate shop later. Before your cake.”
His eyes sweep over me, sending a fresh flurry of tingles through my body. “Chocolate and cake? What are you doing to me, woman?”
The way he says that word—woman—is commanding, possessive, and also . . . crystal clear.
There’s no mistaking his intention when he calls me that.
