Chapter 67 Bakery
DAMIEN
Her trembling hands. The way she had let me hold her again. My chest softened at the thought. I couldn’t let myself believe too much. Just because she had let me close didn’t mean she was coming back to me. It didn’t mean she trusted me yet.
She only needed me.
And that had to be enough. I started the engine and drove to Richelle’s house. When I arrived, I grabbed all three bags from the passenger seat, struggling to balance them in my arms. The smell of sugar and butter followed me up the porch steps.
I knocked twice.
Then pressed the doorbell, remembering there was one. I shook my head softly. “You’re nervous again, Blackwood.”
The door opened and Richelle stood there.
Her eyes went straight to the bags.
“Did you buy the whole bakery?” she asked.
I scowled. “Don’t mock me.”
She chuckled. “Come in.”
She took one bag from me and led me inside. The living room smelled faintly of coffee and lavender.
Then Jasmine appeared at the top of the stairs.
Her hair was still wet, dark strands clinging to her face, her neck, her shoulders. She wore a simple dress, but the way it followed her movements made my chest tighten.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
She walked slowly, like she wasn’t sure I was really there. I set the bags on the table and stepped toward her, then stopped a few feet away.
Unsure.
“Jasmine…” Her eyes met mine and she smiled—small, careful, but real.
“You came,” she said softly, surprise in her voice.
“Of course,” I replied. “I brought pastries.”
“Half the bakery, really,” Richelle added.
I shot her a glare. She raised her hands and disappeared into the kitchen.
Silence fell between us.
“How are you?” I asked gently.
“I’m better,” she said.
Her gaze flickered to my lips and then away.
I didn’t miss it. She shifted nervously, twisting her fingers together.
“Can I… hug you, tesoro?” I asked. She blinked, nodded and stepped into my arms.
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders slowly, afraid she might pull away. Her arms circled my torso and she rested her face against my chest.
I ran my hand up and down her back, threading my fingers into her curls.
We both inhaled deeply at the same time. Then realized it. She burst into giggles.
I chuckled. “We just sniffed together"
“Like old people,” she said, lifting her chin to look at me.
“I’ll take it.”
I lifted my hand and tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
Her smile warmed something broken inside me.
“Did you really buy half the bakery?” she teased.
“I panicked,” I admitted. “I didn’t know what you liked.”
She laughed again, bright and full. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you’re smiling,” I said quietly.
She froze, then nodded. “I am.”
And in that moment, standing there with sugar and fear and hope between us, I knew one thing for certain: I wasn’t going to lose her again.
Not to Raymond.
Not to fear.
Not to my own mistakes.
Even if all she could give me was this—this fragile closeness—I would take it.
Because my tesoro was still here.
And so was I.
~
They settled into Richelle’s living room like a fragile little family, the three of them gathered around the coffee table now cluttered with crumpled paper bags and open pastry boxes.
The sweet smell of sugar, butter, and jam filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of Jasmine’s shampoo and the coffee Richelle had brewed earlier.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, warming the room and making everything feel softer, safer—like time itself had slowed down just for them.
Richelle flopped down on one end of the couch with a plate balanced on her knees. Damien sat in the middle, stiff at first, unsure of where to put his hands, unsure of how close was too close.
Jasmine hesitated only a second before curling into his side. She tucked her legs beneath her and leaned against his chest, careful, tentative—like she was testing whether the ground beneath her feet would hold. Damien felt her weight and froze.
Then, slowly, he relaxed.
His arm lifted, hovering for a moment before settling around her shoulders. Jasmine let out a quiet breath, almost a sigh, and nestled closer.
Richelle watched them from the corner of her eye and smirked.
“Well,” she said, grabbing a croissant, “this is either a very emotional reunion or the start of a pastry addiction.”
Jasmine giggled softly and reached for a small tart. “I vote both.”
Damien looked down at her, amused. “You’re eating the one with jam first?”
She nodded seriously. “Always the jam first.”
Richelle snorted. “Of course you do.”
The movie began to play in the background—something light and ridiculous, full of exaggerated romance and dramatic music. None of them paid much attention to it at first. They were too focused on the small, ordinary miracle of sitting together without shouting, without fear.
Jasmine took a bite of the tart and hummed in approval. “Oh my God… this is illegal.”
Damien chuckled. “I told you I bought one of everything.”
“You bought happiness in paper bags,” she said.
She leaned further into him as she ate, crumbs falling onto her lap and the hem of her dress. A thin smear of red jam stained the corner of her mouth without her noticing.
Damien did. His gaze lingered there longer than it should have. “Tesoro,” he murmured.
She looked up at him. “Hmm?”
“You have something… here.”
He lifted his thumb and gently wiped the jam from the corner of her lip. The touch was slow, deliberate. Her breath hitched.
Before she could say anything, he brought his thumb to his own mouth and licked it clean, just like he had done at the restaurant.
Jasmine’s eyes widened. Her cheeks burned.
Richelle groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on. Can I at least finish my pastry before you two start doing that again?”