Steve, his name tag, crooked, said, "The usual, then?"
Chance threw a look at me, genuine, and almost shy. "Not tonight. She gets to pick."
Steve raised his eyebrows, clearly amused. "What'll it be, ma'am?"
I was so floored by the ma'am that I blanked, then blurted, "Whatever you recommend, honestly."
Steve nodded, then disappeared with a, "chef's surprise, coming up."
Chance pulled my chair, waited until I sat, then took the one opposite.
The room was warm, the table glowed under amber light. Out the window, colored lights twinkled.
He leaned in, elbows on the table. It should've come off as casual, but every inch of him was focused on me.
He asked if I'd ever read "A Sand County Almanac." I hadn't, but we traded titles. He'd read all the post-apocalyptic stuff, and I confessed to loving true crime even though it gave me nightmares. I mentioned that the river was best at sunrise, cold and wild, and he told me about mornings beginning in the bakery at 3am, how quiet the world was before dawn.
There were no awkward silences. If anything, the pauses made things better. Not dead air that made me want to grab words to fill it, the kind that let all the thoughts sink down and get real.
He told me about the bakery oven, how a contractor installed it wrong, and instead of calling lawyers or threatening to sue, Chance just yanked the whole mess out, rebuilt the framework, and rewired everything from scratch. "Twelve hours, two smashed thumbs, but cheaper than lawyers."
I could see it. The sweat, the swearing, the stubborn refusal to lose. The competence made my pulsespike. I tried not to stare at his hands after that, but it was a losing game.
We ordered drinks. Water for me, black coffee for him. He joked about how hard it was going to be keeping Lola the cat indoors now that she'd tasted freedom again. The idea of the world's most demanding Persian outdoors cracked me up.
He loved it. "You don't understand. She came to us as a stray and we let her be outside as much as she wanted. One time, she got up a tree, and I had to bribe her down with six ounces of smoked salmon."
"You feed the cat smoked salmon?"
He shrugged. "Some people respond to reason. Cats respond to fish."
The server appeared, college-aged, hair in a bun, with a wide bright smile. "Oh my god, are you the new baker from Sweet Dragon? That place is amazing. I lived on your sausage rolls during finals. You should sell them twenty-four hours."
I nodded enthusiastically. "Agreed."
"You like those too, huh?" Chance beamed at me. "They're my creation."
The server gushed, "I mean, they are legendary."
Dinner came, interrupting her sausage roll worship, plates loaded with every comfort food known to mankind. Mac and cheese, bacon-roasted Brussels,country ham. The food was insanely good, but what got me was how natural it was to just eat and laugh and talk like we'd been doing it for years.
Chance wiped his mouth, then dropped the next bomb.
"We do a little gift exchange at the house every Christmas Eve. Nothing big, just funny stuff or treats, but it kind of makes the night. I know it's last minute, but you and the girls are invited."
I dropped my fork. "We didn't shop for anyone. We don't even own wrapping paper this year. I don't want to show up empty-handed."
His face went soft. "You three being here are all presents enough for the rest of us. If you want to bring something, bring something sweet to eat. Nobody turns that down."
The words went warm all the way to my neck. I changed the subject, asking him about the weirdest order he'd ever filled.
"Birthday cake with bacon and kale." He shook his head. "It was surprisingly good."
But in my head, I was already plotting how to sneak out and buy him something before tomorrow. Maybe a joke gift. Maybe a mug with a dragon on it. Or a six-pack of first aid kits, for the baker who couldn't keep his own thumbs unscratched.
By the time dessert hit, I was so full I couldn't see straight. He paid, ignoring my protests, then led me back into the night air.
Main street had emptied. Our boots echoed on the sidewalk, but he didn't hurry.
