Sunday, May 5 – Morning / Nicole Family Bakery
The smell of sugar and rising dough hit Jay before the bell even chimed.
Nicole Bakery.
He could've walked in with his eyes closed and still known exactly where he was. The wooden trim on the windows. The hand-lettered chalkboard sign. The sun catching just enough flour dust in the air to make it look like time slowed down inside.
He stepped in, bell jingling softly above the door.
Behind the counter, Amaya was juggling two boxes, a clipboard, and her phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder.
She looked up.
"Jay," she said, eyes widening, voice carrying a note of surprised relief.
He raised a hand lazily. "You look busy."
"That's because I am," she muttered, finally setting everything down with a breath. "Half the staff is out sick. I'm holding the place together with cinnamon and sheer will."
Jay leaned against the counter. "Need a hand?"
"You sure you didn't just come for free samples?"
Jay smirked. "That too."
Like Family
Before she could answer, her mother peeked out from the back kitchen.
"Is that Jay?" she called, wiping her hands on a towel.
Jay straightened. "Morning, Auntie."
"Oh, don't 'Auntie' me," she said fondly, walking over and cupping his face briefly in her hands. "You've lost weight again. Are you eating? I swear, the moment you move out, you forget how a kitchen works."
Jay chuckled. "I make toast."
"Tragic."
From behind her, Amaya's dad emerged, holding a tray of freshly baked loaves.
"Jay," he said with a nod. "Helping out today?"
Jay nodded. "If that's okay."
"You know where the aprons are."
"Of course."
As Jay went to grab one, her mom leaned in and stage-whispered to Amaya, "He's still cute. You could do worse."
"MOM."
The Apron Situation
Jay tied the apron around his waist and rolled up his sleeves, hands already dusted with flour.
Amaya glanced over—
—and immediately regretted it.
There was nothing new about Jay in this space. He'd grown up here almost as much as she had. But seeing him now, in an apron, sleeves pushed back, face calm and focused…
Why did he look like he belonged in the window display?
She turned back to the register.
Get a grip, Amaya. He's been in this bakery more than your own cousins. He used to steal donut holes from that tray. This is not new.
But it felt new.
Especially when he started humming softly under his breath while scooping filling into the pastry Molds.
She nearly messed up an order label.
III. Getting to Work
"Alright," she said, snapping herself out of it. "You get cookie duty. Keep them shaped evenly, and no eating the dough."
Jay raised an eyebrow. "I would never."
She gave him a look.
"…Not on purpose."
Their rhythm settled in fast — it always did. Years of childhood afternoons spent at the counter, sneaking sweets, doing homework under the front table. It had been a while since they worked like this, but somehow, nothing felt out of sync.
Jay handled prep.
She managed the register.
They crossed paths behind the counter, trading trays, bumping elbows, and moving in near-silent coordination.
Every time her fingers brushed his, Jay looked like it didn't register.
Every time it happened, Amaya looked like she might combust.
A Moment in the Quiet
In the late morning lull, Jay leaned against the counter and wiped his hands on a towel.
"Still think I just came for samples?"
Amaya slid a tray of mini muffins into the display and smirked. "Pretty sure you came for the apron compliments."
"I didn't hear any."
"I'm very restrained."
Jay tilted his head. "So you were looking."
She bumped his shoulder with hers and rolled her eyes, heat blooming in her cheeks. "Don't push your luck."
He smiled, slow and genuine — the kind of smile that only showed up when he was somewhere he felt safe.
And this place?
This place was home in a way few places were.