"Axton," Gordon said as he reached them, clasping Axton's hand with the familiarity of old colleagues. "Bloody hell, good to see you again. Heard you were back in Singapore."
Axton's mouth curved in that unshakable, confident smile Elin was starting to recognize as dangerous. "Likewise, Gordon. I couldn't leave without dropping by. And—" he gestured smoothly toward Elin, who sat frozen in her chair, "—this is Elin Chen. She owns the bakery I told you about."
Elin blinked. Then blinked again. "You... told Gordon Ramsay about me?"
Her voice cracked halfway through, and Axton looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Gordon's gaze shifted to her, sharp and assessing, like he could see right through her trembling composure. "So you're the baker," he said, his voice carrying the same cadence she'd heard a hundred times on YouTube, except now it was alive, immediate, and terrifying. "I've been told your croissants are bloody good."
Blood rushed to her cheeks. She gripped her napkin in her lap, her palms damp. "I—I wouldn't go that far. They're... decent."
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
"Decent?" Gordon's brows shot up, his voice loud enough to make nearby tables flinch. He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowed, as though he were about to unleash one of his legendary tirades. "Either they're brilliant or they're not worth eating twice. Which is it?"
Elin swallowed so hard her throat clicked. "I... I guess you'll have to be the judge of that."
Beside her, Axton chuckled low in his chest, absolutely delighted. "Brilliant," he answered for her without missing a beat.
Gordon smirked, straightening. "Good. Then I'll expect proof. Bring me something tomorrow. I want to taste it myself."
Elin's jaw dropped. Her mind scrambled for words, but nothing coherent formed. "You—you want to eat my baking?"
"Not want," Gordon corrected firmly. His mouth curved into a sharp grin. "Need. If this man—" he jabbed a thumb at Axton, "—is calling me in the middle of dinner just to rave about your pastries, then I need to see what the fuss is about."
The world tilted. Elin clutched the edge of the table, trying not to look like she was seconds away from fainting. "I... oh my god. I can't—"
"You can and you will," Gordon said, dead serious.
The entire room burst into chuckles at the exchange, diners murmuring excitedly, some even pulling out their phones to snap discreet pictures.
Axton leaned back in his chair, smug as ever, his eyes glittering with mischief. "Looks like you have a new customer, Elin."
She dropped her face into her hands, groaning into her palms. "I'm going to die."
"Not before you bake," Gordon replied dryly.
The laughter rippled again, and Elin wanted nothing more than for the earth to open up beneath her chair. Except, even as she burned with embarrassment, something else flickered in her chest: a spark of pride.
When Gordon Ramsay finally excused himself with a firm handshake and a promise to "expect samples soon," Elin remained frozen in her seat. The din of the restaurant returned to its usual low hum, cutlery clinking against plates, glasses chiming softly, waiters gliding by. But for Elin, the world felt tilted, like she had stepped out of her life and into someone else's dream.
Her hands gripped the edge of the linen tablecloth, knuckles pale. She managed a shaky laugh. "I... I can't believe that just happened. Gordon Ramsay. Standing right here. Talking to me. And he—he wants to try my croissants?" Her voice pitched higher at the end, more a question to herself than him.
Across the table, Axton leaned back with an infuriatingly calm expression, one arm draped against the leather seat as if this were all perfectly ordinary. "Believe it," he said, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. "He does. And if you ask me, he's going to regret not knowing about you sooner."
Elin whipped her gaze toward him, eyes wide. "Regret? Are you hearing yourself? That's Gordon Ramsay. People would sell their souls just to get a minute of his time, and you..." She gestured helplessly toward him, words failing her. "You just call him. Like you're ordering lunch."
Axton's chuckle was low, deliberate, the kind of laugh that coaxed her pulse into racing faster. "Ordering lunch is a bit of an exaggeration. But yes, I happen to know him."
Elin blinked, trying to reconcile the casual way he said it with the fact that her idol had just walked up to their table. "Know him? Axton, how? Did you just... bump into him on the street one day and become buddies?"
His grin deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Not quite. Let's just say I've picked up a few friends in my line of work. Friends who appreciate good food, good wine... and apparently, good bakers."
Her stomach somersaulted at the word. "Good bakers?" she echoed faintly. "You've turned me into a project, haven't you? A story to tell your famous friends. 'Look, everyone, I found a small-town baker who can roll dough really well.'"
Axton leaned forward, his forearms resting against the table, closing the distance between them. His voice dropped, soft enough that only she could hear over the bustle of the restaurant. "No. You're not a story, Elin. You're the reason I still buy bread when I could have chefs on call. You're the reason Gordon Ramsay came all the way over here. And you're the reason I can't stop thinking about croissants... or the woman who bakes them."
Elin shook her head, laughing nervously. "This is insane. I—I don't even know what to say. I'm not ready for... this world."
"You don't have to be ready." His tone was steady, almost commanding, but threaded with warmth. "That's the point. You're not supposed to change who you are to fit this world. If anything, this world could use more of you. And as for the rest..." His smile softened, almost tender now. "Trust me. Trust your hands. They've worked magic before. They'll do it again."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to argue, to remind him that she was just Elin Chen from her grandmother's bakery, not someone meant for glossy dining rooms and international icons. But the conviction in his gaze stole the words from her lips.
Instead, she whispered, almost in awe, "Why? Why would you even go this far for me?"
Axton's answer came without hesitation. "Because you're worth it."
***
The first rays of dawn barely touched the windows, but Elin was already elbow-deep in flour. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few strands glued to her forehead with sweat. The kitchen smelled of butter and sugar, the air warm and dense, like it held her nerves along with the heat of the ovens.
She worked as though her life depended on it. Fold, press, chill, fold again. Her lips moved soundlessly, counting under her breath, the rhythm steady, relentless. Croissants sat in neat rows like soldiers. Pain au chocolat rested on the trays, seams sealed with precision. She had tarts cooling on the rack, éclairs waiting to be filled. Her hands flew, guided by instinct sharpened with panic.
Every so often she paused, chest heaving, staring down at her dough as though it could answer the questions spinning in her head. What if it's not enough? What if he regrets asking? What if Gordon Ramsay spits it out?
By midmorning, the bell above the door jingled, and in breezed Mrs. Tan and Mrs. Lim. They were a whirlwind of chatter and clinking bracelets, their voices filling the space before Elin could even look up.
"Aiyo, look at her!" Mrs. Tan gasped dramatically, clutching her scarf like she was fainting. "Our Elin looks like she is auditioning for MasterChef. You see her eyes? So serious!"
Mrs. Lim peered over the counter, watching Elin carefully piping custard into golden shells. "See her face, so intense. Don't disturb her, Tan. Later the cream curdle, you responsible."
Elin's cheeks heated, but she didn't stop her piping. Her hands moved carefully, filling éclairs with custard, each one identical to the last.
Mrs. Tan grinned like a cat catching sight of cream. "She is not baking for us today. She is baking for love."
Elin nearly dropped the piping bag. "I am not— Mrs. Tan, please."
The Aunties exchanged a smug look. Mrs. Lim whispered loudly, "If it is not for love, then it is for what? Is it for that tall handsome man who buys croissants like it is gold?"
Right on cue, the doorbell chimed again. The air shifted. Axton stepped inside, the space seeming to fold around his presence. He had undone the top button of his shirt, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, but even without his full armour of a suit, he carried himself with that quiet authority that turned heads.
Mrs. Tan smacked Mrs. Lim's arm. "See! We summon him with our mouths!"
Axton arched a brow at their giggles, clearly amused, before his gaze landed on Elin. She hadn't noticed him yet, her brows furrowed, her lips pressed tight as she smoothed custard.
He came closer, his voice low, pitched so it wouldn't break her rhythm. "You look like a general leading an army into battle."
Her head jerked up, startled, a streak of flour across her cheek like war paint. "Axton. You—what are you doing here?"
He smiled faintly, eyes soft. "Checking on my favourite baker. And making sure you've remembered to eat."
Mrs. Lim's eyes widened in mock swoon. "Wah, listen to him. Already sounds like a husband."
The Aunties cackled together. Elin groaned and tried to hide her burning cheeks with her sleeve. "Please ignore them."
Axton, of course, didn't. He inclined his head politely. "I think they are right, though. Someone needs to take care of you while you're busy conquering the culinary world."
Mrs. Tan clasped her hands dramatically. "Young man, you feed her, okay? Otherwise she will starve herself for croissant."
"Gladly," Axton replied without hesitation, though his eyes never left Elin.
Her piping hand faltered for a fraction of a second. She quickly steadied it, pretending not to notice the warmth creeping up her neck. "I do not have time to eat. Everything has to be perfect."
Axton leaned closer, his voice soft but certain. "It already is."
The words hit harder than she expected, her breath catching. She looked up at him, her hands frozen midair, the kitchen suddenly too warm.
Mrs. Tan gasped. Mrs. Lim fanned herself with a napkin. "Aiyo! Smooth talker. Better than the Korean dramas we watch every night."
The bell above the bakery door seemed determined to sing every few seconds. Customers poured in steadily, their chatter mingling with the clink of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine. The scent of butter and sugar hung heavy in the air, wrapping around everyone who stepped inside. The tables were full, the queue stretched toward the door, and still Elin moved quickly, her apron dusted with flour, her hands glistening with butter.
She barely had time to catch her breath as she pulled a tray of croissants from the oven, the golden crescents steaming, their flaky layers cracking gently as they cooled. She brushed the tops with a sheen of glaze, the motions precise and practiced, her mind too focused to notice anything beyond the rhythm of her work.
Until she heard a voice.
"That will be nine fifty. Would you like a bag for the scones, or are you planning to eat them before you even make it out the door?"
Her head snapped up. Axton stood behind the register, sleeves rolled to his elbows, flour already smudging the edge of his cuff. He moved with an ease that startled her, his large hand counting change, his posture relaxed but commanding enough to keep the line moving. He looked nothing like the polished CEO she had seen in the marble-and-glass office. Here, he looked grounded. Approachable. Almost as if he belonged.
The woman at the counter laughed nervously, brushing her hair back. "I might eat them now, yes."
"Good choice," Axton replied, his mouth tugging into a grin. "They're dangerous when they're warm. Trust me, I've tested them."
The woman giggled and left, clutching the bag like treasure.
Elin nearly dropped the spatula she was holding. "What in the world..." she muttered, then realized the aunties in the corner were already giggling.
"Wah, look at him," Mrs. Tan said, not bothering to lower her voice. "Looks so natural, ah. Like he's the boss here."
Mrs. Lim chuckled, fanning herself with the menu. "If he can count money and smile at the same time, Elin better keep him. Good catch."
Laughter rippled through the tables, and Elin felt her ears burning hotter than the ovens. She slapped the lemon tarts onto the tray with more force than necessary and marched to the counter.
"Axton," she hissed under her breath, careful not to disrupt the flow of customers. "What are you doing?"
"Helping," he said, tone maddeningly casual. "You were drowning back there."
"I wasn't drowning," she shot back, tugging the bag of bread from his hand before he could pass it over. "I was managing. You don't need to do this."
Axton leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice though the line of customers behind them craned their necks in curiosity. "Elin, your oven timer was beeping and the queue was nearly out the door. That looks like drowning to me."
"You don't have to do this," she said, flustered, her cheeks hot. "You'll ruin your shirt. You'll confuse the till. You'll—"
"Be fine," he finished, his voice low, steady. "Let me, Elin. You've got your hands full back there. I can handle the counter."
Her lips parted, but no words came. He was serious. Completely, maddeningly serious.
Mrs. Lim called across the bakery, "Don't argue, Elin! If he wants to help, let him. I think your customers are enjoying the view."
Indeed, the queue didn't thin. If anything, it lengthened, people lingering just a little longer than usual.
The bell above the bakery door chimed again. Elin, still catching her breath after reclaiming the counter from Axton, looked up with a polite smile ready on her lips—only for it to freeze.
Standing in the doorway was Gordon Ramsay.
Not a lookalike. Not a customer in a chef's jacket. The Gordon Ramsay, tall, commanding, with his sharp blond hair and sharper presence. The conversations in the bakery died instantly. Even Mrs. Lim dropped her butter knife with a clatter.
"Bloody hell," Mrs. Tan whispered, clutching her pearls. "That's Gordon Ramsay."
Elin's stomach dropped. Her hands, still dusted with flour, tightened on the edge of the counter. "No. No, no, no, this isn't happening right now."
Behind her, Axton's low chuckle rumbled, maddeningly calm.
She whipped around, eyes wide. "You didn't."
His only answer was that infuriatingly satisfied smile.
Her hands shot to her hair, then down to her apron, then to the flour smudges on her arm. She looked like... well, like a baker in the middle of her shift. "Axton," she hissed, her voice breaking. "You can't just summon Gordon Ramsay!"
"Relax," he murmured, clearly entertained by her meltdown. "He's here for your baking, not your outfit."
Meanwhile, Gordon Ramsay strode inside, scanning the display with the intensity of a general inspecting his troops. He glanced at Elin, then at the trays of pastries behind her.
Elin's mouth opened and closed. "I—I—uh..."
Mrs. Tan was fanning herself dramatically while Mrs. Lim muttered, "Don't faint, girl, this is your chance."
Elin felt her knees weaken. She tried to speak, but her throat closed up. The silence stretched, unbearably heavy, until Mrs. Lim leaned over the counter with all the subtlety of a foghorn.
"Don't just stand there, girl, feed him something!"
Heat burned Elin's cheeks. She nodded frantically, bolting for the kitchen before she could humiliate herself further. Her hands trembled as she lifted the freshest tray of croissants from the rack. They were still warm, their buttery scent rising in delicate waves.
She carried them out like precious jewels, each step careful. The bakery had gone completely silent again. Every single customer watched her as if she were on stage.
Elin set the plate down in front of Gordon Ramsay, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please... try these."
He didn't answer at once. He reached for one, tearing it open. The crackle of the flaky crust made Elin's pulse pound in her ears. He examined the layers, his eyes narrowing slightly, then took a deliberate bite.
The room held its breath.
A moment passed. Then another.
Finally, Ramsay chewed, swallowed, and looked up. The corners of his mouth curved, not into his usual scowl but into the faintest smile. "That," he said, voice carrying easily through the bakery, "is bloody brilliant."
The bakery erupted like fireworks.
Mrs. Tan clapped so loudly her bracelets jangled. "Our Elin! Our Elin, Gordon Ramsay said it's brilliant!"
Mrs. Lim all but shouted across the counter. "I knew it! Didn't I tell you she was wasted on this little shop? Look at you, girl—you've gone international!"
Customers pulled out their phones, snapping photos as though they were capturing history in the making.
Elin's throat tightened, tears pricking at her eyes. Relief, pride, disbelief—it all tangled inside her until she couldn't breathe. She ducked her head, whispering, "Thank you," though her voice shook so much she wasn't sure he heard.
Ramsay leaned one elbow on the counter, his expression softening. "Don't you dare undersell yourself," he said. "You've got talent, real talent. Keep at it, keep pushing. The world doesn't need another bakery—it needs this one."
Her lips trembled. "I... I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll keep baking like that," he replied simply, straightening.
Elin's knees wobbled. Relief, pride, disbelief—it all crashed over her at once. She ducked her head, mumbling, "Thank you," though her voice shook.
Axton, beside her, leaned close enough for only her to hear. "Told you."
Her throat tightened. She turned, glaring at him, though her blush betrayed her. "You are... unbelievable."
He only grinned, as if this had gone exactly as he planned.