A few customers wandered in, curious more than anything. Bought a loaf, maybe two. But not nearly enough to move the racks of bread we’d prepped.
Sean glanced at the remaining loaves. “What happens to it all?”
“We donate to the shelter,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel.
He stilled, eyes flicking to mine. “That’s good,” he said softly.
The warmth in his voice stayed with me the rest of the day.
I’d also been thinking about asking him out since the moment he stepped into my bakery.
The longer I spent around Sean, the more impossible it became not to notice the little things: the way he bit his bottom lip when he was concentrating.
How he smelled faintly of vanilla and fresh citrus, how his laughter, rare as it was, sounded like something precious.
The guy could bake like a dream, sure. But it was the softness under all his steel that got to me. The parts he tried to hide.
The way his shoulders tensed whenever the doorbell chimed, or how he’d look out the window like he was checking for ghosts.
I recognized that look. I used to wear it every damn day.
So I decided I wouldn’t push. I would give him space, respect. But still, the idea of asking him out settled in the back of my mind and refused to leave.
I told myself I was being stupid. He was probably just here for a while, passing through, like so many others before.
But then I’d catch him smiling to himself, or humming softly when he thought no one was listening throughout the day.
That quiet, aching part of me, the part I’d tried to bury years ago, started to wake up. Still, all day, I chickened out.
Every time I was about to say something, I’d find a reason not to. Customers. Cleanup. Bread timer. You name it.
What would I even say?Wanna get coffee with a scarred-up bear shifter who doesn’t know the first thing about real romance?Because that was the truth of it. I didn’t.
Dating hadn’t exactly been an option where I came from. My old clan wasn’t built for softness or sentiment. One-night stands were expected.
Relationships? They were liabilities.
You couldn’t afford to care when every day was a power struggle. When violence came easier than kindness. When you spent all your energy just trying to survive.
I’d never had the space to want someone. Not like this.
But with Sean, I wanted more than heat. I wanted time. I wanted the slow, quiet things. The looks across the counter, the coffee in the mornings, the warmth of someone staying.
So when we finally closed for the night, and he was wiping down the counter with that focused little frown, I made myself breathe.
Just ask. Worst thing he’ll say is no.
I cleared my throat, hands tucked into my apron pockets like a coward. “Want to grab coffee?”
He froze. Just for a second.
When he looked up, his eyes were wide, caught off guard. Something flickered there. Hope? Fear?
“I can’t,” he said, quiet but sure. “I mean… I’m not in a place where I can date. Not right now.”
It wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t cold. But it landed like a blow all the same.
I held his gaze, tried to keep my voice level. “No pressure.”
