When I circle back to Dylan's station, he's switched to a delicate sugar flower that requires tweezers and a steady hand.
"Can I get a close-up of that?" I ask.
He nods without looking up. "Just don't bump the table."
I crouch beside him, framing the shot so his hands fill the viewfinder. The way his fingers move is almost hypnotic. He’s careful, controlled, like he's done this a thousand times, but still treats each petal like it matters.
"You're really talented," I say softly.
His hands still for just a fraction of a second. "It's just practice."
"It's more than that."
He glances at me, and we're suddenly much closer than we were a moment ago. We are close enough that I can smell the scent of vanilla and something warm that might just be him.
"You give a lot of compliments," he says quietly.
"Only when they're true."
The air between us is thick. It’s definitely charged. It feels like the moment before a thunderstorm when you can feel the electricity building.
Then Maddie's voice breaks through from somewhere behind us. "Daddy, can I've a cookie?"
Dylan blinks and pulls back, the spell broken. "Just one bug, ask Evan to get it from the top shelf."
Maddie scampers off, and I stand up, putting a more professional distance between us.
"Sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to distract you."
"You're not," he says, but his voice suggests otherwise.
I busy myself with my camera, reviewing the shots I just took. They're good. Really good. They’re the kind of images that will make people want to visit this bakery just to watch him work.
"Piper," Dylan says, and I look up. He sets the tweezers down and wipes his hands on a towel. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why content creation? You could probably do a dozen other things with your eye for composition."
The question catches me off guard. Most people don't ask about the why; they just ask the what.
"I like that it keeps me moving," I say honestly. "New places, new projects. I don't have to put down roots."
"That sounds lonely."
The observation is gentle but direct, and it hits closer than I want to admit.
"Sometimes," I concede. "But it's also freeing because no one expects anything from me beyond work."
"Is that what you want? No expectations?"
I study him for a moment. This man clearly carries the weight of a hundred expectations every day. Who shows up forhis daughter, his business, his town. Who hasn't done something just for himself in years.
"I don't know what I want," I admit. "I've been moving so long, I'm not sure I'd recognize home if I found it."
He nods slowly, like he understands something about that. "I used to think stability was the opposite of freedom. Now I think maybe it's the foundation for it."
"That's very philosophical for a baker."
