“Oh. Right. That’s fine.” I mentally cringed. Why had I assumed this was a date?
“Okay, great. I’ll text you the address,” he said easily, like nothing had shifted. “Oh, and Yellow?”
“What?”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
The line went dead. I pulled the phone away from my ear, feeling like I’d just been swept up in a storm I hadn’t seen coming. An unforecasted one. But as far as chaos went, this was the kind I could live with.
I stared at my reflection again, fully aware I had no idea what to wear. I considered calling Cherry, then immediately dismissed the idea. I could already hear her laughter when I explained I needed outfit advice for a not-date with a boy I barely knew, to do something I didn’t even know yet. I settled on something simple. Jeans and a white shirt. It would have to be enough.
My parents barely reacted when I told them I was heading out. They probably assumed I was meeting Cherry or going to work. Those were the only two places I ever seemed to go. Once I was in my car, I checked the address Austin had sent. It didn’t give anything away. Just an unfamiliar street a few minutes from my house.
The drive there was spent trying to calm myself, though my stomach was already wound tight with nerves. Not the bad kind. The kind that blurs into excitement until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. All I knew was that my body felt alive, buzzing with something new.
I tilted my head as I pulled into the parking lot, my eyebrows lifting when I registered where I was. Baker Dayz. The signwas cheerful, almost playful. The windows were plastered with photos of desserts, every kind imaginable. Cakes, pastries, frosting piled high. The bakery itself looked delicate, almost childlike, painted in pale colors that softened its edges. It was cute. And confusing. It felt like the opposite of what I would have expected from Austin.
My lips curved into a smile when I spotted him. He was leaning against the front of the bakery, wearing the leather jacket I already recognized, the one he’d worn every time we’d met. Or, in his words, collided. His blond hair looked different tonight, less messy, like he’d actually taken time with it. His eyes were already on my car, a smile mirroring my own spread across his mouth. The moment he realized it was me, he pushed off the wall. His hands stayed tucked into his jacket pockets as he walked alongside my still-moving car, matching its pace until I pulled into a spot. Before I could even glance at my reflection in the window, he was opening my door.
“Hey,” I said, stepping out, fighting the urge to let my eyes travel over him. I refused. I was not embarrassing myself tonight.
“Yellow,” he smirked. He didn’t bother pretending not to look. His gaze moved over me, slow and deliberate, like he was taking me in as a whole rather than picking me apart. It didn’t feel invasive. It felt intentional. “You’re beautiful.”
“What is this place?” I asked quickly, latching onto the distraction before my heart could fully betray me. I stepped out of the car, and Austin closed the door behind me without thinking, like it was second nature.
“Just a little place I found,” he said easily, that same smile still playing on his lips as he looked at me.
“Okay,” I nodded. “What did you want to do?”
“Really, Yellow?” Austin tilted his head at me. “You think I’d ask you to come see me without having anything planned? You might want to evaluate the quality of men you’re letting hang around you if that’s what you’re used to.” As he spoke, his hand settled on my back, familiar now, just like it had been at The Pitt. He guided me toward the bakery door with an ease that felt practiced.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, watching the corner of his mouth twitch into a deeper smirk.
“You should,” he replied. “Or you could consider eliminating the lower-quality ones altogether.” He pushed the door open and held it for me, letting me step inside first.
The bakery looked exactly how I expected. Soft and bright. The décor was all gentle colors, pale blues, blush pinks, buttery yellows. Everything felt light in here, almost airy. What I didn’t expect was the emptiness. No customers. No employees behind the counter. I took another step inside, glancing around just as I heard the click of a lock behind me. I turned, raising an eyebrow at Austin.
“I like privacy,” he shrugged, his hand leaving the lock. “I paid to rent the place out.”
“Should I be concerned?” I teased. “Is this where you kill me?”
His expression shifted instantly. The smirk faded, replaced with something more serious. “Are you not comfortable being alone with me in here?” he asked, already moving back toward the door. “I can unlock it.”
“No,” I said quickly, surprised by the warmth that flooded my chest. “I was joking.”
Then I glanced around again, curiosity taking over. “But how are we supposed to order?”
Austin’s face lit back up. “You really do underestimate me, Yellow,” he said, and his hand found my back again, warm and familiar. He guided me toward the back of the bakery, and with every step, my curiosity sharpened. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
At the table farthest from the windowed front of the store sat five cupcakes. They were arranged perfectly, centered in the middle of the table, spaced with intention. Each one was a different color. No repeats. No randomness. Just five small, deliberate bursts of color against the pale tabletop. I slowed, my eyes moving over them without meaning to. Austin pulled out a chair, the one directly facing the cupcakes, clearly meant for me.
“You want to play a game, Yellow?” he asked.
“A game?” I repeated, suspicion coloring the word as Austin took the chair across from me.
My gaze bounced between him and the cupcakes laid out in front of us, the bright colors demanding attention even as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Eventually, my eyes settled back on him. Austin looked amused by my confusion, like he was proud of the fact he’d rendered me nearly speechless. I could feel the wonder sitting openly in my expression, the kind that comes when you’re trying to decide if something might be too good to be true.
His lips were still curved into the smirk I was starting to recognize. The one that looked smug at first glance, but really wasn’t. It felt more like enjoyment. Like he was genuinely having fun, and maybe even surprised by it. As if he, too, was trying to figure out whether something in this moment was too good tobe true. I just wasn’t sure what that something was supposed to be. Finally, I dropped my gaze from his face, suddenly aware of how long I’d been staring. A flicker of embarrassment crept in, but it didn’t last long. He was still looking at me. He didn’t seem bothered by it at all.
