I was blowing warm breath against the oven door when my phone vibrated in my apron pocket. A familiar profile picture popped up with a new message: “Take your time. I’m coming to pick you up with stars.”
As the doorbell chimed, he stepped in clutching a brown paper bag, fine raindrops clinging to his hair. “Got caught in a light shower,” he said, giving the bag a little shake. The aroma of freshly baked croissants mingled with the scent of cedar wafted over. I turned to grab the plates, only to hear a soft rustling behind me—he was on his tiptoes, draping a string of star-shaped fairy lights over the baking rack. In the warm golden glow, the little bear sticker on the flour bag seemed to smile.
As we shared a lemon tart, the rain outside gradually stopped. He talked about the organic blueberries he’d gone out of his way to buy that morning, and the funny story of spilling egg yolk in baking class, his eyelashes casting delicate butterfly-wing shadows under the table lamp. When my fork touched the last almond crumb at the bottom of the tart, he suddenly pulled a tin box from his pocket. Inside was a frost-adorned brooch: a tiny fox holding a piping bag.
“Found it at the craft market,” he said, pinning it to my apron. The warmth of his fingertips seeped through the fabric. “Doesn’t it look like someone who always gets flour on her nose?” Moonlight trickled in through the skylight, pooling like a galaxy on the countertop. The leftover cream in the mixing bowl glowed faintly, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if the sweetest thing in the air was the dessert… or the gentle flush on his cheeks.
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