The warm scent of sugar, butter, and fresh dough hung in the air like a promise. Elin carefully brushed a thin layer of glaze over a tray of cinnamon rolls, their spirals gleaming, sticky, irresistible.
The bell above the door jingled, and she glanced up.
Axton. Tall. Broad. The unmistakable presence that seemed to fill the room simply by existing. He stood near the counter, staring at the pastries as though they were an uncharted territory, a boardroom full of charts he didn't understand, or possibly a puzzle he wasn't sure he had the credentials to solve.
"Good morning, Axton," she said, trying to sound casual, though her heart betrayed her with a quick little flip.
He looked up and smiled faintly. "Morning." His green eyes swept over the trays with the intensity of a man unaccustomed to such... frivolous choices. "Everything smells amazing."
Elin felt her cheeks warm at the genuine admiration in his voice. "I just finished glazing the cinnamon rolls. Would you like to try one?"
He hesitated, tapping a finger against the counter as if it were a question of national security. "I... rarely eat pastries, actually. My schedule... I just never have the time."
Elin tilted her head, a playful glint in her eye. "Rarely eat pastries? You're missing out. Life's too short for missed cinnamon rolls." She picked up a warm roll and pushed it toward him. "Here. Just one bite. For life experience purposes."
Axton stared at the roll like it might explode. He leaned slightly forward, sniffing it as though it might give him the answer to some great mystery. Then, with exaggerated care, he took a tentative bite.
The cinnamon and sugar hit his taste buds like fireworks. His eyes widened slightly, and a low hum escaped his throat, uncharacteristic and, to anyone watching, deeply comical.
"That... that is..." he began, faltering as he searched for words. "Exquisite. Remarkable. Certainly, life-changing."
Elin raised an eyebrow. "Life-changing? Really? It's just a cinnamon roll."
He swallowed, licking his lips with an air of solemnity. "I assure you, Miss Chen. I am not exaggerating. The layers of sweetness, the delicate balance of butter and spice, the—" He paused, attempting to sound scholarly, then froze as a little trickle of glaze threatened to drip down his hand.
Elin couldn't help but giggle. "Careful. That glaze has a way of claiming victims."
He glanced at his hand as if it were an offense against nature. "It... it's a formidable adversary."
She laughed, brushing her fingers lightly over his hand to steady him, and he flinched, startled by the touch. "It's fine," she said softly. "You'll survive."
He nodded, still holding the cinnamon roll like it was an artifact. "I will... survive. But only barely. This... this is dangerous in ways I could not have anticipated."
Elin leaned on the counter, eyes twinkling. "Dangerous? You're a corporate titan, Axton. Cinnamon rolls are your greatest threat?"
Axton swallowed again, glancing down at the roll with solemn reverence. "In certain... contexts, yes. In the wrong hands, it could topple nations—or at least topple me into sugar-induced surrender."
Elin laughed so hard she had to grab the counter to steady herself. "Sugar-induced surrender. That's the best excuse I've ever heard for eating breakfast!"
He gave a small shrug, feigning dignity even as crumbs clung to his fingers. "I stand by it. And I submit. But consider this... a fair demonstration of my respect for your craft. I am humbled."
Elin shook her head, smiling as she rolled her eyes. "You are ridiculous. But okay, I'll accept your surrender. Just don't start writing sonnets about pastries, alright?"
He gave a mock bow. "No promises. But I might consider it... if inspired."
Before Elin could respond, a sharp, brash voice cut through the cozy hum of the bakery.
"Excuse me! Are these prices for real? One coffee and a tart costs more than in the café down the street!"
Elin turned, forcing her lips into a polite smile even as her stomach twisted. The customer was frowning, tapping the counter with a pointed finger, and the impatient click of her heels against the floor made it clear she expected drama.
"We use fresh ingredients and bake everything daily," Elin said, keeping her voice soft but firm. "I hope you enjoy it if you try—"
"Daily or not, it's overpriced! What is this, a bakery for tourists?" the woman snapped, her words slicing through the air like a knife.
Elin's smile faltered. The warmth she usually carried behind the counter seemed to shrink, and the heat of embarrassment crept up her neck, threatening to flare across her cheeks. She opened her mouth to explain again, to offer calm reasoning, but the words lodged in her throat.
Axton stepped forward, his presence suddenly impossible to ignore. His height alone shifted the energy in the bakery, and when he spoke, it was low and measured, carrying an authority that seemed effortless.
"Are you finished?" His green eyes were fixed on the woman, calm but sharp, as if she had just made the most ridiculous mistake of her life.
The customer blinked at him, momentarily thrown off by the sudden, unexpected challenge. "I... I—"
Elin's heart thumped in her chest. He was standing so close that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. Somehow, that proximity made her feel both comforted and slightly flustered, like being under a very tall, very protective umbrella.
Axton continued, voice steady, almost amused now. "This is a bakery. Prices reflect quality, not convenience. If that doesn't suit you, there are plenty of other cafés in the city. But please, do not speak to the baker like she owes you an explanation."
The woman sputtered, eyes widening. "I... I just—"
"Exactly. You just think before opening your mouth next time."
His gaze flicked to Elin, softening immediately. "Don't worry about her," he said quietly, just for Elin. "I've got this."
Elin's cheeks warmed, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips. She tried to hide the flutter in her chest, but she was grateful in a way she couldn't quite articulate.
The customer, realizing she was thoroughly outmatched, muttered something about finding a cheaper place and stormed out. The bell chimed behind her, leaving an echo that seemed to linger in the bakery.
Axton turned toward Elin, green eyes sparkling with amusement now, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "See? That wasn't so bad. Crisis averted."
Elin shook her head, trying to regain composure while internally squealing at how absurdly heroic he looked. "You didn't have to do that. I could have handled it—probably."
"Probably?" he repeated, raising one brow. "You? Handle a verbal assault from a tart-hating tyrant? I think not. You would have melted faster than one of your cinnamon rolls under a heat lamp."
"You were... really something," she said, a playful lilt in her voice.
Axton straightened, trying to reclaim some dignity. "I only did what anyone in my position would have done."
Elin raised an eyebrow. "Which position is that exactly? CEO? Hero? Professional croissant protector?"
He hesitated, then gave a small, self-deprecating grin. "Professional croissant protector. Definitely that one."
Elin gestured toward a small corner table. "You can sit," she said, trying to sound casual, though her heart thumped louder than she expected. "I'll bring over a croissant for you."
Axton followed, his long legs folding carefully under the table like a man unused to tight spaces. "This feels... domestic," he admitted, his deep voice soft, carrying just a hint of amusement. "I rarely sit anywhere that isn't a boardroom or a conference hall."
Elin laughed. "Well, lucky you. You're sitting in my little bakery now. Try to contain your excitement."
He smirked faintly. "I'll do my best."
She returned with a plate, placing a perfectly golden croissant in front of him. The smell alone made his stomach rumble again. He looked up, slightly sheepish. "I think my survival instincts are failing me."
"Then eat," she said firmly, amused. "Before your pride stops you."
Axton took a careful bite, letting the buttery layers melt on his tongue. He chewed slowly, savouring it as though analysing the texture scientifically. "I... this is excellent," he said finally, setting down the croissant. "I take it you make everything yourself?"
"I do," Elin replied, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Most of it anyway. The days are long, but it's worth it." She hesitated, then asked casually, "What about you? You mentioned never having the time for pastries."
Axton leaned back in his chair, one elbow resting on the table, his gaze thoughtful. "I suppose I don't really... pause much. My days are... structured. Meetings, calls, decisions. Everything is scheduled. But then you taste something like this," he gestured at the croissant, "and you realize maybe you've been missing out on... small joys."
Elin tilted her head, studying him. "Small joys. That's a nice way of putting it. You sound almost philosophical for someone who owns half the city."
He chuckled, a low, genuine sound. "Philosophical? Perhaps. I wouldn't risk it becoming a habit. It might ruin my reputation."
She grinned. "I doubt anyone's reputation is ruined by enjoying a croissant."
"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I'm used to... control. I like control."
Elin raised an eyebrow. "Control? Over pastries or life?"
Axton smirked faintly. "Both, ideally. But some things, like this," he tapped the croissant lightly, "are beyond control. And that... is oddly comforting."
She laughed, the sound spilling warmly through the bakery. "I never thought I'd hear someone who can probably run an entire company say they find comfort in a pastry."
He shrugged, hiding the small smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe comfort is underrated."
They paused for a moment, the bakery quiet except for the soft hiss of the espresso machine and the gentle chatter of other customers. The connection between them felt easy, like the warm light spilling across the room.
Curiosity flared in Elin's eyes. "You've never told me your story. Do you always live in skyscrapers and boardrooms, or do you ever... step out into the real world?"
Axton's lips curved slightly, his green eyes softening. "Real world? Rarely. But when I do... it's usually by accident. Like last night. Or now, sitting in a bakery, eating cinnamon rolls and being mildly humiliated by a customer."
Elin laughed again. "Mildly humiliated? You mean impressively heroic."
He raised an eyebrow. "Heroic, perhaps. But modesty must be maintained. Otherwise, who knows what chaos might follow."
She leaned back in her chair, eyes twinkling. "I like that. Chaos, modesty, and pastries. Sounds like an interesting life."
Axton leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs under the small table, and let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh. The morning sunlight warmed his shoulders and caught the faint dust in the air, turning it to little flecks of gold. He lifted the croissant carefully, almost ceremoniously, and took a slow bite, savouring the buttery layers.
"You know," he said, setting the half-eaten pastry down, "I do not often... sit and eat. I tend to consume my meals like paperwork—efficiently and without thought."
Elin raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. "Efficiently and without thought? That sounds exhausting. Are you saying you've been wasting your life by ignoring pastries?"
"I—" He cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. "I didn't mean to imply... well, perhaps. Yes. I suppose I have." His lips curved in a small, sheepish smile. "Until now."
Elin laughed softly, the sound light and musical. "Until now, huh? And what changed? Did the bakery's magical powers compel you, or was it purely the cinnamon rolls?"
"Cinnamon rolls," he said solemnly, nodding as if pledging allegiance. "They are... transformative. Life-altering, even."
Elin smirked. "Life-altering, huh? I'll have to remember to warn my customers. 'Beware the cinnamon rolls: you may never look at breakfast the same way again.'"
Axton chuckled, then suddenly paused, his green eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You know... I rarely talk about... myself. Not like this. I usually maintain... appearances. Composed, precise. Unflappable. But sitting here... eating a pastry... I feel strangely... unguarded."
Elin leaned forward, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Unflappable, huh? That's hard to picture. You seem like someone who has it all together, all the time."
He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Appearances. That's the trick. In truth... I collect things. Little things. Tickets, maps, receipts. Tiny reminders of where I've been, moments I've lived. It's... silly, I know."
Elin's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Silly? I think that's actually... kind of endearing. You, Mr. Big-Time CEO, hoarding paper scraps like a squirrel."
He winced, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. "I just... I like to hold onto small pieces of life. Tiny bookmarks, if you will."
She laughed again, leaning back in her chair, shaking her head. "Bookmarks of life. You are something else. I'm going to start picturing you surrounded by little piles of tickets and napkins, muttering about memories."
Axton smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching as a faint flush appeared on his cheeks. "Exactly. But not cinnamon rolls," he added, gesturing at the plate. "Those deserve to be eaten immediately and without regret."
Elin grinned, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as if daring him to make another joke. "I think I like you more for that than I should."
He gave her a small, sheepish grin. "I promise, I am usually much more intimidating. Or at least, I try."
"Try being the operative word," she said with a teasing smirk. "You're far too easy to laugh at. Dangerous combination: tall, brooding, and comically vulnerable."
Axton laughed, the sound low and rich, echoing slightly in the cozy bakery. "Comically vulnerable... I might have to add that to my resume."
Elin's laughter softened, turning into a smile that lingered longer than usual. "I think you should just keep it as a secret. Makes you more human."
He looked at her then, his green eyes catching the sunlight, warm and thoughtful. "Human, yes. Often awkward, always complicated. And sometimes... strangely fortunate."
Elin tilted her head. "Fortunate?"
"Because sometimes," he said quietly, almost as if confessing, "you stumble into a bakery, eat a cinnamon roll, and meet someone who makes you forget about... the rest of the world."
Her heart fluttered, and she realized her cheeks were warm. "Well... I suppose that could happen. But only if the cinnamon roll is worth it."
Axton leaned back, smiling faintly, savouring the moment. "It's worth it," he said simply.
They sat in companionable silence for a beat, the soft hum of the espresso machine and the gentle chatter of other customers filling the space.