Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~5 min read
Leo had always been friendly.
That’s what Ivy told herself when he started bringing her coffee every morning. When he lingered at Sweet Haven after pickup runs for Moreau’s. When he laughed a little too hard at her jokes.
He was just friendly. Sweet. Twenty-five and earnest and absolutely not flirting with her.
Except he totally was.
“Your croissants get better every day,” Leo said, leaning against the counter on Wednesday morning. “Like, seriously. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Practice,” Ivy said, boxing up his order. “Lots and lots of practice.”
“You should teach a class. I’d sign up.”
“You work in a professional kitchen. You don’t need my class.”
“But I’d get to spend more time with you,” Leo said, then immediately looked horrified. “I mean—because you’re a good teacher! Not because—I wasn’t hitting on you!”
Ivy blinked. “Oh. Okay.”
“I mean, you’re great! You’re amazing! But you’re with Chef, and I would never—” He was bright red now. “I’m going to stop talking.”
“That’s probably good,” Ivy said gently.
Leo grabbed the box and fled.
Ivy stood there, bemused. Had Leo just accidentally confessed he had a crush on her? And then immediately taken it back?
She texted Margot: I think Leo might have feelings for me?
Margot: Oh honey. Everyone knows. Bash is going to murder him.
Ivy: WHAT. No he won’t. Bash is rational.
Margot: Bash is territorial. Have you seen the way he glares when Leo talks to you?
Ivy: He doesn’t glare.
Margot: He absolutely glares. It’s very alpha chef of him. Also kind of hot.
Ivy: You’re not helping.
Margot: I’m going to make popcorn. This is going to be entertaining.
Bash noticed.
Of course he noticed. He noticed everything about Ivy—the way she hummed while baking, the way she always tucked the same curl behind her ear, the way she smiled at customers.
And he definitely noticed Leo bringing her coffee. Laughing at her jokes. Finding excuses to visit Sweet Haven.
“Leo seems chatty lately,” Bash said that afternoon, voice carefully neutral.
“He’s always chatty,” Ivy replied, mixing dough.
“With you especially.”
She looked up. “Is that a problem?”
Yes. “No.”
“Bash—”
“He has a crush on you,” Bash said flatly. “It’s obvious.”
“He’s harmless.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
Bash set down his knife. They were in his kitchen, prepping for evening service. “The point is he looks at you like—like you’re something special. Which you are. But he looks at you the way I look at you.”
Ivy crossed to his side. “Bash. Leo is sweet. He’s also young and probably has a crush on every woman who’s nice to him. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something to him.”
“But not to me.” She took his hands. “I’m with you. Only you. Leo’s attention doesn’t change that.”
“I know.” But his jaw was still tight. “I don’t like it. I don’t like people looking at you like they want something.”
“People look. I can’t control that. But I can control who I’m with. And I’m choosing you. Every time.”
Bash softened slightly. “I’m not good at this. The jealousy thing. I’ve never—no one’s ever been mine before. Not like this.”
“I’m yours,” Ivy said. “And you’re mine. Leo bringing me coffee doesn’t change that.”
He kissed her then, deep and possessive, and Ivy felt heat pool in her stomach.
“I should talk to him,” Bash said when they broke apart. “Set boundaries.”
“Please don’t make it weird.”
“I’ll try.”
He absolutely made it weird.
“Leo,” Bash said that evening during prep. “We need to talk.”
Leo looked up from his station. “Sure, Chef. What’s up?”
“Ivy.”
“Okay?”
“Stop flirting with her.”
Leo’s eyes went wide. “I’m not—I wasn’t—”
“You were. You are. It stops now.”
“Chef, I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just nice and funny and makes really good pastries, and I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know,” Bash interrupted. “But she’s mine. We’re together. And I need you to respect that.”
“I do respect that! I respect you! Both of you!”
“Good. Then we’re clear.”
“Crystal.” Leo paused. “For what it’s worth, Chef? She looks at you the way my mom looks at chocolate. Like you’re the best thing in the world. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Despite himself, Bash smiled. “Thanks, Leo.”
“But maybe dial back the alpha chef thing? It’s a little intense.”
“Noted.”
When Ivy heard about the conversation—because of course she heard; Leo told Margot who told literally everyone—she marched into Moreau’s during dinner service.
“Kitchen,” she said to the host. “I need to see the chef.”
She found Bash at his station, focused and precise. He looked up when she entered, surprise crossing his face.
“Ivy? What’s—”
She kissed him. Right there. In front of his entire staff and several tables who had a clear view of the kitchen.
When she pulled back, he was staring at her, dazed.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said. “Jealous and territorial and kind of alpha chef about it.”
“I—”
“Also kind of hot,” she admitted. “The possessive thing. In moderation. But Bash? You never have to worry. It’s you. It’s always been you.”
The kitchen staff was staring. Someone whistled.
Bash didn’t seem to notice anyone but her. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now get back to work. Those duck confit orders won’t cook themselves.”
She left him standing there, and didn’t look back. But she heard the staff teasing him, heard Leo’s laugh, heard Bash’s muttered “shut up and focus on your station.”
She smiled all the way back to Sweet Haven.
Tomorrow was the festival. Tomorrow they’d show the town what they could do together.
But tonight, she’d shown Bash—and everyone else—exactly where she stood.
With him. Always with him.
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