The morning rush had thinned, leaving behind only the faint hiss of the coffee machine and the low murmur of conversation from a pair of elderly regulars who sat near the front window. The air still carried the buttery perfume of fresh croissants, and Elin wiped down the counter with slow, practiced strokes, enjoying the rare lull.
When the doorbell chimed again, she glanced up—and there he was.
Axton lingered at the entrance, shoulders squared as if bracing himself for battle, though the slight hesitation in his step betrayed him. His gaze skimmed the shelves of pastries before settling on her, and for a fleeting second, the usually self-assured man looked almost... sheepish.
"You again," Elin said, folding her cloth with a smile tugging at her lips. "Don't tell me you're becoming a regular."
He arched one brow, his voice pitched in mock seriousness. "Is that frowned upon?"
"It depends." She moved around the counter to face him, wiping her hands on her apron. "Are you here for the pastries, or for the company?"
His mouth twitched, like a smile was threatening to escape but he held it back. "Both," he admitted, after the slightest pause.
Elin blinked. The air between them shifted with that single word, and warmth pricked at her cheeks. She hadn't expected him to be so blunt, not in the way that left her scrambling for what to say next.
She cleared her throat quickly and gestured toward the small table tucked in the corner near the window. It sat a little apart from the rest, bathed in sunlight and half-hidden behind a display of flowers. "Well, if you're going to keep showing up, you might as well have a spot. That one's free."
Axton followed her gaze, then glanced back at her as if to make sure she wasn't joking. When she didn't backpedal, he gave a slow nod, like he was accepting an invitation into something more personal than just a table.
He crossed the room, moving with deliberate calmness, and slid into the chair. His large frame seemed almost comical in the small space, but somehow he made it work. His eyes flicked to the window, to the trays of bread, and finally back to her, watching her with that same quiet intensity that always left her unsure of where to put her hands.
Elin busied herself at the counter, pulling a plate and reaching for a fresh croissant. "So," she said lightly, trying to cut through the quiet. "What's the verdict? Have you recovered from your first cinnamon roll experience?"
He leaned back in the chair, finally allowing himself a smile. "Recovered? No. I think it ruined me for life. Everything else I eat now is just... disappointing."
Elin laughed, the sound bubbling out of her before she could stop it. She set the croissant down in front of him, the flaky crust still warm. "Careful, that sounds dangerously close to flattery. You'll make me think you only came back because of me."
Axton picked up the croissant and held it as though it were something sacred. "And if I did?" he asked, voice low and teasing, though his eyes were serious.
Her heart gave a small, traitorous lurch. She quickly looked away, pretending to tidy the sugar jar. "Then I'd have to raise the price for you."
That drew a quiet chuckle from him, low and warm. He tore into the croissant, and the buttery flakes scattered across the plate. For a while, the only sound was the delicate crunch of pastry between his teeth. Elin watched him from the corner of her eye, pretending not to notice how he was savouring it like someone starved.
When she finally met his gaze again, she caught him mid-bite, crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth. He froze, realizing she'd seen.
Elin couldn't help it. She giggled. "You're supposed to eat it, not wear it."
Axton reached for a napkin, dabbing quickly, though he didn't quite get it all. "I was going to impress you with my refined table manners," he muttered, deadpan.
She leaned against the counter, grinning. "Oh, you're doing a marvellous job."
The banter settled between them like something easy and natural, the space around the corner table softening into something warmer, more intimate.
Axton looked up at her again, and this time, he didn't hide the smile tugging at his lips.
"What's good today?" he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes lingered on her as though he was more interested in her answer than the menu.
"Everything," she replied with mock pride, a small lift to her chin. Then she relented, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "But the kaya buns just came out of the oven. They're soft, sweet, very Singaporean. You should try."
He leaned back, considering, as though she had presented him with a serious proposal instead of breakfast. "Teach me," he said at last. "If I'm going to keep eating pastries, I might as well learn what makes them special."
Her lips curved, her amusement lighting her face. "Lesson one, then. Kaya buns are comfort food. They taste like childhood mornings and lazy weekends. You can't rush through them." She plated one and slid it in front of him.
Axton tore a piece, the crust giving way to pillowy bread, kaya oozing from the centre. He chewed slowly, his brows rising in near-comical surprise. "This... is dangerously good."
She laughed softly, the sound slipping out before she could temper it. "See? You're learning fast."
A flicker of something pleased passed through his eyes, like he had scored a small victory just by making her laugh.
The bell above the door jingled, and a group of students spilled in, their chatter and laughter rising above the hum of the coffee machine. They crowded the counter, making quick choices, their energy a sharp contrast to the quiet cocoon of the corner table.
Elin glanced at them with fondness, her smile lingering as she watched one of the students insist on paying for another. Then she turned back, catching Axton still watching her instead of the bun in his hands.
"Do you always sit and linger?" she asked lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Rarely," he admitted. "My life doesn't leave much room for lingering. Meetings, flights, deadlines. Everything is scheduled down to the minute. Sometimes I forget what it feels like to just... be."
"So why here?" she pressed, her voice soft, inviting, careful not to pry too much.
He met her gaze, green eyes catching the morning light in a way that made her stomach twist slightly. His expression softened, a rare vulnerability flickering across his sharp features. "Because here feels... different. Quiet. Like I can breathe. And not just because of the air or the bread," he added, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "but because I don't feel like I have to be anyone other than... me."
Elin felt warmth spread through her chest at his words, a gentle reassurance that she hadn't expected. "I'm glad," she murmured, almost to herself, then forced a playful note into her voice. "But don't get used to all this honesty. You might ruin your mysterious reputation."
He chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Mysterious reputation? I thought I was just tall, brooding, and inexplicably drawn to pastries."
"You are," she said, smiling, "but I might be biased."
Axton's words lingered in the space between them, soft but steady. Elin blinked, her hands tightening on the edge of the counter. She wasn't used to people saying things like that. Customers usually came for coffee, a loaf of bread, maybe a slice of cake. They didn't talk about breathing, or what this little corner of hers meant to them.
Axton chuckled, low and amused. "Noted." He took another bite of the kaya bun, his expression thoughtful as if he were trying to catalogue the flavours like a man learning a new language. "Sweet, creamy, a little nutty. But there's something... floral almost?"
"Kaya's made from coconut milk, eggs, sugar, and pandan leaves," Elin explained, pleased he noticed. "The pandan's what gives that fragrance. It's... well, it tastes like home, to most of us."
"Home," he repeated softly, rolling the word like he was testing it on his tongue. His gaze flickered briefly toward the window, to the passing crowd outside, then back to her. "I like that. I don't really... have one."
The quiet weight of his words settled between them. Elin's chest tightened, but she didn't push. She had learned long ago that some things weren't meant to be pulled out too quickly, like dough before it was ready. Instead, she gave him a small, reassuring smile.
"Well," she said, her voice gentle, "you can borrow this one. At least when you're here."
His lips parted, surprise flickering across his face before it softened into something almost boyish. "Generous offer. I'll take it."
The students at the next table burst into laughter, breaking the moment. One of them spilled a bit of coffee, and Elin instinctively grabbed a cloth, dashing over with practiced ease. She teased them lightly, her warm laugh blending into theirs as she helped clean up.
Axton watched her as she moved, his expression unreadable, though his fingers tapped idly on the table as if restless. When she returned, he sat back in his chair, feigning a casual tone. "You're good at this."
"At what? Cleaning up messes?" She raised a brow, smirking.
"At making people feel at ease," he said simply.
Elin felt her chest flutter again, more than she wanted to admit. To distract herself, she tapped the edge of his plate. "Lesson two. Don't just eat the bun. Pair it with kopi." She poured him a small cup from the pot she kept on the counter. "It's strong, sweet, and will probably knock you off your chair if you're not prepared."
He lifted the cup with mock solemnity, sniffed it, then took a sip. The bitterness hit first, followed by the sweet condensed milk. His eyes widened slightly. "That is... wow. Okay, that's powerful."
"Told you," Elin said, grinning.
Axton tried another sip, this time holding it longer, as though determined not to be bested. He placed the cup down carefully, straightened his posture, and cleared his throat as if delivering a grand speech. "I could drink this every day. Builds character. Strengthens resolve."
Elin folded her arms, laughing. "You're trying too hard."
"Trying? No, no. That was natural talent," he said with mock indignation. But when he reached for the bun again, his elbow knocked against the cup, nearly spilling the kopi across the table. He caught it just in time, his reflexes quick, but not quick enough to stop a few drops from splattering on his sleeve.
"Smooth," Elin teased, handing him a napkin, her eyes dancing.
He gave her a sheepish grin as he dabbed at the stain. "I was... testing your crisis response time."
"And you failed spectacularly," she countered, though there was warmth in her tone.
"Failed?" He feigned offense, but his smile betrayed him. "No, I succeeded. You handled it perfectly. Proves my theory. You really are good at cleaning up messes."
Elin rolled her eyes playfully.
Axton leaned back in his chair, the warm morning sunlight brushing across his face. He swirled the last sip of kopi in his cup, the rich aroma rising in a way that made the buttery scent of the croissant even more enticing. The plate sat half-empty before him, crumbs clinging stubbornly to the edge, and yet, he didn't feel the urge to finish it quickly.
"You okay?" Elin asked softly, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the coffee machine. She had folded her arms, watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern.
He blinked, as if startled out of his thoughts, then gave her a small, hesitant smile. "I... I don't usually pause like this. Sit in one place. Watch people. Drink coffee. Eat something I like without thinking about the next meeting or the next flight. It's... unfamiliar."
"Unfamiliar isn't always bad," she said gently, tilting her head to study him. The sunlight glinted in her hair, catching in the stray strands that had escaped her messy bun.
"No," he admitted quietly, his gaze softening. "Not bad. Strange, yes. But... peaceful. Comforting. I don't think I've felt that outside of a few fleeting moments as a child."
Elin's chest tightened. The bakery was her safe little world, and yet, here was this man, letting her glimpse the side of him that few ever saw. She moved a little closer, careful not to crowd him, her voice lower now. "Sounds like this bakery found you at just the right time."
He met her gaze fully, and for the first time, she noticed the tension behind his normally calm green eyes—the subtle weight of someone who always carried the world on his shoulders. "I... I think you did," he said softly, his tone almost a whisper. "It's ridiculous. I've just met you, and yet... it feels easier to talk here than anywhere else."
Elin's fingers tapped nervously on the edge of the counter, betraying her own pulse. "Easier, huh? Well... I suppose that's what pastries do. They make people forget the rest of the world for a while."
"And some people," he said quietly, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking with hers, "make it impossible to leave."
Her breath caught. The words were simple, but there was a gravity to them she couldn't ignore. She forced a light laugh, reaching for a napkin, trying to steady the flutter in her chest. "Lesson three: don't let a pastry or a charming stranger distract you too much."
Axton smirked, but there was a softness to it now, one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Lesson three, huh? I might fail. Spectacularly."
Elin shook her head, smiling, but she felt the tension ease between them. They lingered in the corner of the bakery, a quiet bubble of conversation, laughter, and small, fleeting silences that spoke louder than words.
And in that moment, Axton realized something startling: it wasn't the croissants, the kaya buns, or even the coffee that had him lingering. It was her. The way she moved, the way she laughed, the way she made a corner table in a tiny Singaporean bakery feel like the safest place in the world.
Elin caught his gaze again, and for a heartbeat, the bakery felt suspended, the hum of the espresso machine fading to a soft background note. Outside, the streets of Singapore buzzed with life, but inside, it was just them: a corner table, warm sunlight, pastries, and unspoken words hovering between bites and sips of coffee.
She wiped her hands on her apron, pretending to tidy the counter, but her mind wasn't on the chores. Why was he so drawn here? Was it just the pastries, or something he wasn't telling her?
Axton's fingers brushed hers briefly as he reached for the napkin they had left from their earlier conversation.
His touch lingered longer than necessary, and a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. He didn't look away this time, and she felt a flutter she couldn't ignore.
Something about him was magnetic, pulling her in. She should have been cautious. She should have kept the walls she had built for customers and strangers. Yet here she was, leaning closer, heart thumping against her ribs, wondering how a tall, slightly awkward man with green eyes and a crooked smile could make a corner table in a small Singapore bakery feel like the safest place in the world.