Lena returned home to the cozy scent of flour and vanilla clinging to her clothes. Her apartment above the bakery was warm, familiar—everything Walker's sleek penthouse wasn't. Yet, it felt a little emptier than usual this morning. As if some part of her had stayed behind with him, tangled in those expensive sheets and whispered promises.
She moved through the apartment, tying her hair up into a messy bun and slipping on her favorite apron. The bakery below was already in motion, and she needed to prep for the weekend rush. No matter what had happened last night, cinnamon rolls didn't bake themselves.
Still, as she kneaded the dough, her thoughts wandered. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. The way his fingers had lingered on her skin, not like a man desperate for a night, but like someone afraid to let go. Her heart squeezed tight. She'd spent so long guarding that part of herself, convincing her mind that it had all been a childhood crush. But now?
Now it felt like something real was blooming. And it scared her.
Meanwhile, Walker sat in his corner office, tapping his pen against the desk while his assistant rattled off a list of afternoon appointments. His mind wasn't on mergers or quarterly reports. It was with her—covered in flour, brushing her hair out of her face, laughing over burnt muffins in the kitchen. He didn't know how she did it. Made everything feel grounded. Alive.
He hadn't planned on staying with her this long. The hotel had been booked for a reason. But Lena's place... her presence... had become his haven. The only place where he didn't feel like he had to be in control of everything.
When his assistant stepped out, he stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, the city pulsed forward, unaware of the internal war he fought. He loved this job. The power, the clarity, the sense of legacy his father had left behind. But lately, the boardroom felt less fulfilling. Like something was missing.
Or maybe, he thought, he'd just found something better.
That evening, Lena arrived at his penthouse carrying a white bakery box tied with twine. She was in jeans and a soft sweater, and she looked so natural in his space that it made his chest ache. "I brought dessert," she said.
Walker grinned, pulling her in for a kiss. "You brought yourself. That's more than enough."
They ate dinner curled on the couch, laughter and shared glances making the walls feel a little less sterile. When he reached for her hand, she let him. When he kissed her, slow and warm, she kissed him back with the ease of someone who'd been waiting for years.
Later, as they stood together at the kitchen sink, rinsing plates, she looked over at him. "Do you ever think this is all happening too fast?"
Lena searched his eyes, half-expecting hesitation, but found none. Just quiet certainty. The kind that unnerved her more than any doubt would have. She wasn't used to things feeling this easy, this natural. And maybe that was what scared her most—that something so good might also be something she couldn't control, couldn't predict.
He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "I think... it's happening exactly when it's supposed to."