Behind me, Rafael wiped down the counter with all the finesse of someone clearly out of their depth but still trying.
His towel missed half the crumbs and smeared the rest into a vague trail of butter and sugar. He’d left Bear and Bun early and arrived here just a few minutes before closing time.
“Okay, chef,” I said, amused. “You might be strong enough to lift a car, but you’re a disaster with a dish towel.”
He looked up, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “In my defense, I usually leave the clean-up to someone else at Bear and Bun.”
I walked over and plucked the towel from his hand. “It’s charming.”
“You think everything I do is charming.”
“I really don’t,” I teased, brushing past him to clean up properly. “But I make an exception when you’re trying so hard.”
He stepped behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, chin dropping to my shoulder.
“I do try. Mostly to impress you,” Rafael said.
“Well,” I said, tilting my head to rest against his, “mission accomplished.”
His lips brushed my jaw, soft and unhurried. “Let me take you home.”
“You just want a reason to steal more pastries.”
“Maybe,” he whispered. “Or maybe I just want to fall asleep with you again.”
The way he said it, low and almost shy, sent warmth all the way through me. I turned in his arms and smiled up at him. “Let me just finish closing.”
We cleaned the shop together. Well, I cleaned. Rafael mostly hovered nearby, stealing sips from my abandoned latte and bumping into me on purpose.
Every time he did, I got a little less annoyed and a little more smiley, until we were laughing more than wiping things down.
By the time we turned off the lights and stepped out into the crisp night air, I was leaning into his side, and his arm was securely around my shoulders.
We didn’t talk much on the walk over to his apartment.
The stars were out, peeking through a stretch of clouds, and the cool night breeze carried the scent of pine and the fading sweetness of sugar that still clung to my skin.
He held my hand the entire time like he didn’t want to let go.
The walk back to Rafael’s place was peaceful, our hands clasped as we strolled under a sky dotted with stars and lazy clouds.
It had cooled just enough for me to lean a little closer, not that I needed the excuse.
Every time his thumb brushed mine, a little jolt danced up my spine like my body was still catching up to the fact that this was real. We were real.
By the time we reached his apartment, I was yawning behind my hand, the long day finally catching up to me.
The door clicked shut behind us, and I kicked off my shoes with an exaggerated groan.
“My feet are suing me for workplace abuse,” I muttered, wobbling toward the couch. “They’ve unionized. Demands include a raise, benefits, and a week off.”
Rafael laughed behind me. “Is there a strike pending?”
“It’s already begun,” I said dramatically, collapsing face-first into the couch cushions. “I’m no longer mobile. This is where I live now.”
He set the bag of leftover pastries on the table and leaned over me. “Want tea?”
“Always.”
