“Hmm,” Tess muses. “Maybe something new? Or a classic?”
“I’m sure I’ll get inspired somewhere today,” I say, taking a sip of coffee as I begin prepping for the day.
I’m elbow-deep in croissant dough, literally elbow-deep, because the butter is cold and stubborn, and I am apparently just as determined to out-stubborn it, when Tess suddenly rushes toward the back. A moment later, the doorbell rings.
“Hey.”
At the sound of his voice, I look up immediately. Zane is standing at the entrance in a hoodie, which somehow makes him look even better than usual. The cold has brought a flush to his cheeks, and his hair appears slightly damp, as though he’s just come in from the outside air.
“Hi,” I say, my voice coming out louder than intended. I quickly regain myself. “Were you done with practice already?”
A slow smile forms on his lips. “I left a little early. Wanted to make sure I could still get a pastry from the best bakery in town.”
Behind me, the espresso machine hisses to life. The bakery buzzes with movement, voices, trays, and timers, but somehow my attention narrows to the space between Zane and me.
I reach for my tools on the counter just to give my hands something to do. “So,” I say, gesturing toward him with my dough scraper like I’m conducting an orchestra, “how’s life as a human Zamboni?”
Zane blinks. “Is that… what hockey players are?”
“You clean up messes other people make,” I explain with mock seriousness. “You move in circles. You wear layers.”
He studies that for a moment with a level of seriousness that would be funnier if it weren’t… kind of attractive.
“That’s uncomfortably accurate,” he admits.
I grin, satisfied. “Thank you. What can I get you today?”
He smiles slowly. “What do you recommend?”
“Maybe a croissant?” I suggest.
Zane nods immediately. I can’t help but wonder if he would’ve agreed to anything I said.
“Coffee as well?” I add.
“Black, please.”
A minute later, I hand him his coffee and pastry. He takes them with an easy familiarity that somehow feels natural, like this moment has already happened a hundred times before.
“I figured out a second date,” I tell him proudly. “Are you free Friday night?”
The confidence in my voice feels unfamiliar in a good way. Two weeks ago, I never would’ve asked him out. Now here I am.
“I am now,” Zane says with a smile before taking a bite of his croissant.
“Good?” I ask.
He swallows. “Ridiculously good.”
I nod, as though I expected nothing less. “I told you.”
“I have to get going, but I’ll see you Friday,” he says, grabbing his coffee to go.
“See you soon,” I reply with a smile, watching him leave.
He pushes the door open, and the bell jingles lightly as he steps out, as if nothing significant had just happened.
As if my heart didn’t stumble over itself.
