I blinked, pushed myself up. For a second, I considered ignoring it. But then I caught the scent. Soft, warm, spiced sugar and something brighter beneath it. Nervousness.
Sean.
I opened the door.
He stood there holding a small box, the edges smudged with grease stains and the faintest shimmer of powdered sugar.
“I, uh… brought something,” he said, eyes flicking to mine, cautious but not afraid.
I stepped aside silently and let him in.
He placed the box on my kitchen counter like it was an offering to the gods.
“Honey cake,” he said, glancing at me with a crooked smile. “I remember you said it was your favorite.”
It was. It is. My throat tightened. “You didn’t have to—” I began.
“I know.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. “But I wanted to.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I just nodded and opened the box. The smell hit me instantly. Sweet and golden and warm. Like sunlight made edible.
I grabbed a slice and felt a little better.
Sean leaned against the counter, watching me. “You know what always cheers me up on days like this?”
I looked at him. I was already on my second slice of cake.
He lifted a brow. “Late night baking.”
A pause. “It helps.”
He said it like a dare, or maybe a soft nudge. Something about the way he smiled, gentle but sure, made my chest ache.
So I nodded. And just like that, we were moving around my kitchen like we’d done it a dozen times. He reached for bowls. I measured out flour.
There were brushes of shoulders, lingering glances over shared spoons of batter. At one point, his fingers accidentally grazed mine and neither of us moved away.
I found myself smiling. Really smiling.
He cracked a joke about how Rafael would’ve already burned the sugar if he were here. I laughed. It felt like I hadn’t laughed all day. Maybe longer.
When the second tray of cookies went into the oven, Sean leaned back against the counter, watching me. “Feeling better?”
I met his eyes and didn’t lie. “Yeah. I am. Thanks to you.”
Sean smiled, that soft kind of smile that always made me want to pull him closer.
But something still sat in my chest, heavy and gnawing. I exhaled slowly and rubbed a hand down my face.
“I’ve never lost my temper like that before,” I said quietly. “Not since we came to Sugarpaw Springs.”
His smile faded just a little, but he didn’t look away.
“I’m sorry,” I added, voice low. “For frightening you. For scaring the customers. I thought I was better than that.”
“You didn’t scare me,” he said, firmly. “Not for one second, Beau.”
I looked at him.
