The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the bakery, slipping in through the windows and warming the floor. Lena had closed early for the first time since reopening, a quiet thrill fluttering in her stomach as she rolled up her apron.
Walker stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled, hands dusted with flour, trying and failing to twist croissant dough into neat crescents.
"Are you sure this is supposed to look like this?" he asked, holding up a lopsided blob.
Lena laughed, taking it from him. "That looks more like a tired snail than a croissant."
He mock-gasped. "I'll have you know, this tired snail is a work of edible art."
She raised a brow. "You mean 'inedible'?"
He grinned. "Touché."
Their hands brushed as she took the tray from him, and her heart gave a little stutter. It was strange how something so simple could feel so electric now—how every shared glance, every laugh felt stitched with meaning.
As they cleaned up, Walker leaned against the counter, watching her.
"I missed this," he said softly. "Not just the bakery. You."
Lena froze for a second before looking up. "You didn't even know you missed me."
"I didn't let myself," he admitted. "Back then, I was too wrapped up in proving myself. Getting into college, taking over the company—being what my dad wanted. I didn't stop to see what I already had."
She smiled faintly. "You were always chasing the next thing."
"And you were always the constant," he said. "Quiet. Solid. But you saw everything."
He stepped closer. "I remember that day you gave me a box of cookies before I left for college. You said they were just leftovers."
"They were your favorite," she whispered.
He nodded. "You wrote a note. Told me good luck. I kept that note in my wallet for years. Until it fell apart."
Lena's breath caught. "I didn't think you noticed."
"I noticed too late."
There was a beat of silence between them, the kind that pulled them closer.
"I don't want to miss it again," he said.
Just then, the oven dinged, breaking the moment.
Lena turned quickly, pulling out the tray of imperfect croissants. She set them down, steam rising, the buttery scent filling the room.
"Okay," she said, clearing her throat. "Moment of truth. Let's see if your sad little snail made it."
Walker picked one up and took a bite. He chewed thoughtfully.
"Well?"
"Crunchy. Kind of weirdly shaped. Tastes like… victory."
She laughed, and he leaned in, brushing a smudge of flour from her cheek.
"You're the best thing I've come back to," he said.
This time, Lena didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, cupping his face with flour-dusted fingers, and kissed him.
It was warmer than before, more certain. The kind of kiss that tasted like sugar and second chances.
When they pulled apart, Walker rested his forehead against hers.
"I'd burn every croissant in this place if it meant kissing you again."
Lena grinned. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
But secretly, she knew—no matter what rose or fell around them, they were starting to rise, too.
Together.