She saunters to the door, unlocking it with deliberate slowness.
“Sir, the bakery opens at 5AM,” she deadpans before gifting me with a grin. “You’re up early. I hope I didn’t wake you?”
I always wake up when she leaves my side, but I don’t dare say that out loud. Instead, I grunt at the unapologetic glint in her eye. “Never too early to prevent the smoke detectors from going off.”
She snorts. “If you just wanted some breakfast, you can just say that.”
I wanted more than breakfast. “Well, there was heavy foot traffic that I needed to dodge in the stairwell,” I deadpan. “Three dust bunnies and a spider. Worked up an appetite.”
Her laugh is bright in the pre-dawn darkness. “Well, you’re in luck. First batch is almost ready.”
I follow her inside, the warmth of the bakery enveloping me like an embrace. The smells sharpen—butter, sugar, the earthy sweetness of ube that she’s incorporated into half her menu since the competition.
“Congratulations again,” I say, nodding toward the magazine that she apparently received as an advance copy. “It’s a big deal.”
She shrugs, but I can see the pride in her eyes. “Just some publicity.”
I know how much winning meant to her. I do not let her just shrug it off. “Just some publicity in the most read food magazine in the country, let alone the Otherkin community,” I correct. “Don’t downplay it.”
She pauses, looking up at me with those eyes that see too much. “Hey, I’ve been curious about something. Yesterday, Mrs. Kang from the corner apartment mentioned that she was happy to see you actually coming inside my bakery now versus hovering around it. What did she mean by that?”
I freeze. “What?”
“Mrs. Kang from the corner apartment,” she repeats, crossing her arms. “Said she sees you skulking outside mybakery at ungodly hours every morning. Has been happening since ‘long before you two got together.’ Her words.”
First of all, Mrs. Kang needs to mind her business. My mind scrambles over the last few months. Installing updates, and inspecting the property for any potential issues. And, okay, maybe I prefer to do that in the morning when it was cooler and not too intrusive for business.
But the simple fact remains that I like knowing Lena is okay, even back then. “I like watching you work,” I admit, the words falling from my mouth like stones. Heavy. Undeniable. “I like seeing you—safe—in your element. Before anyone else does.”
Lena stares at me for a long moment. Whatever she is about to say gets interrupted when a timer dings. She turns abruptly, heading to the oven, pulling out a tray of perfectly golden pandesal. The scent fills the bakery with warmth.
She looks back at me, her otherwise open expression inscrutable. “Thorne the Minotaur. Labyrinth runner champion. Wood artist. And secret romantic. Who would have thought?”
“Not a word to anyone,” I warn, no heat behind it.
She grins, setting the pan aside to cool. “Your secret’s safe with me. Though it’s hardly a secret anymore that you’re obsessed with me.”
“I am not—” I start, then stop at her knowing look. “Fine. Maybe a little obsessed.”
“A little,” she echoes, laughing. “You built me a rotating dessert display with hand-carved, Filipino-inspired designs, and you’ve been stalking my bakery at dawn for months. That’s more than a little.”
I can’t argue with that.
She wraps a warm pandesal in a napkin and holds it out to me, but when I reach for it, she pulls it back.
“Nope. This one’s going to cost you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I own the building.”
“And I own the bread,” she counters. “New rule: payment required.”
“What kind of payment?” I ask warily.
She grins. “Walk me outside.”
I follow her to the front door, confused but willing. The street is empty, the sky just beginning to lighten with the promise of dawn. She stops under the awning, turning to face me.
“One kiss,” she says, her voice soft but determined. “Right here.”
