Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Three
The bell above the door chimed, and I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. 

It was definitely Nelson. 

The past week was such a happy one for me. Business was doing well and of course, I got really huge tips from the most generous man himself and he always graced me with his majestic presence. 

He had a way of entering the shop like he belonged there, like the scent of cinnamon and vanilla had summoned him. 

I was behind the counter, preparing the packaging materials for the pastries when I heard his voice.

I hurriedly separated the paper bags for each pastry item and put them aside neatly to ease the work for myself later. My workers were off today and so I was the only one at work, which meant that I had to do everything by myself. 

Wednesdays were slowly becoming my favorite day of the week as I had learned to romanticize every bit of it. I enjoyed the silence and solitude, the opportunity to experiment with newfound ideas without having to do any much explanations. I just loved the idea of having a day of the week in my own shop, the table, the counter, and the oven to myself alone.

I could scream down the building while trying to hit a high note of my favorite songs and I could collapse and spread my legs comfortably on the bench without any questions.

“Nelson. How is it that you always walk into this building like you're some angelic being? I could literally feel your presence from this place where I stood while you were still minutes away from me,” I exclaimed. 

“Maybe I'm actually an angelic being. Hahaha! He laughed, and I just let out a smile.

“So, tell me, have you got something dangerously sweet for me today?”

I glanced up, smiling before I could stop myself. I hated that I made my cheerfulness obvious whenever he was around. Wasn't I supposed to be concealing it? Arrghhh…

“Well, it depends on what you want. Are you here for sugar or sarcasm?”

He grinned, walking toward the counter with that easy confidence that made my stomach flutter. “Ideally both. But I’ll settle for whatever you’ve got behind that glass.”

He leaned on the counter, his arms folded and his eyes scanning the display case like he was contemplating a life decision. 

Today he wore a soft grey shirt rolled at the sleeves, and his watch caught the light as he moved. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just stepped out of a magazine shoot and hadn’t bothered to fix it.

He looked breathtaking, I couldn't help but admire this handsome creation of the Almighty. 

“Your shirt, I didn't think this shade of grey existed. It has such a cool undertone.” I complimented him. 

He grinned shortly. “And I contemplated wearing it out, I always felt the color was weird, now it's going to be my favorite shirt,” he chuckled. 

“Cool. So I've got triple chocolate cupcakes, banana loaves fresh from the oven, and a new experiment-lemon thyme shortbread for you today.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lemon thyme? That sounds like something a poet would eat.”

I laughed. “It’s surprisingly addictive, like your tips,” I said, winking at him. 

He chuckled. “Ah, yes. My financial recklessness disguised as generosity.”

I boxed up his usual order which was two cupcakes, one banana loaf, and a shortbread sample, and slid it across the counter. He didn’t reach for it immediately. Instead, he rested his chin on his hand and looked at me.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said.

“Dangerous,” I replied, wiping my hands on a towel.

“Very. But hear me out. If I keep buying pastries I don’t need, tipping like I’m trying to impress a royal baker, and loitering at your counter like a lovesick teenager, at what point do you start charging me rent?”

I smirked. “You’re not loitering. You’re lingering. It’s more poetic.”

“Ah, so I’m a poetic lingerer now. That’s a promotion.”

I leaned on the counter, mirroring his posture. “You’re also dangerously charming. Which is bad for business.”

“Why?”

“Because I get distracted and forget to charge you.”

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that filled the shop like music. “Then I’ll keep distracting you. Consider it my civic duty henceforth.”

I shook my head, trying not to let the blush creep into my cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep letting me in.”

I opened the register and rang up his order. He handed me his card, and I noticed again that he always paid without flinching, even when the total was absurdly low compared to what he tipped.

“Nelson,” I said, hesitating. “You don’t have to keep tipping like this. It’s generous, but…”

He tilted his head. “But what?”

“But it’s a lot. And I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

He leaned in slightly. “May, I don’t tip because I feel obligated. I tip because I admire what you’ve built. Because I see how hard you work. Because I want to support you.”

I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “Also, because your cupcakes are dangerously addictive. I’m pretty sure you lace them with magic.”

I laughed. “Only on Wednesdays.”

He picked up the box and held it like it was something precious. “Well, I’ll be back next Wednesday then. For magic.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“Oh, and May?”

“Yes?”

“You look beautiful today, just like every other day.”

And then he was gone.

I stood behind the counter, watching as he walked out of the shop. For the first time in years, I felt my heart clench because of the absence of someone, a man at that.

Nelson had become more than a customer. More than a generous stranger. He was a presence-steady, kind, and quietly magnetic guy and I admired him, more than I was ready to admit.

He was the perfect picture of the perfect gentleman. The type whose dressing you didn't have to worry about because he knew his way around his wardrobe. 

He was the kind of man who listened and paid close attention to details. With him, I didn't have to mention something more than once, he quickly took note of anything and acted accordingly.

I found myself smiling at his thoughts and I slapped myself back to reality.

He was just being a good and supportive friend, I'm pretty sure he had no ulterior motives so I wasn't supposed to see him that way either.

The other day at the cafe, he kept looking out for me, holding every single door and pulling out a chair first for me before he did for himself. And when it was time to order, I didn't seem to like the ramen that I had requested, genuinely because the chef probably missed out on something but it didn't just hit the right spot like I expected it to. 

“What’s that expression on your face?” he asked, staring at me with such a deep look of concern.

“Oh, it's nothing,” I responded, trying to hide my dissatisfaction.

“I know that look, girl. You don't like the food, do you?”

“Uhmm, yeah, but I'll manage.”

“On my watch? Hell no!” he protested.

Before I could say Jack, he called the server and asked him to serve me something else that would be palatable. I scanned the menu, not wanting to make a second mistake and then I finally settled for spaghetti bolognese which turned out to be really nice.

Nelson hated to see me uncomfortable or struggle. He was such a kind man, exactly the type I wanted, even though I had concluded that I didn't want anyone of that gender anymore. 

I quickly went back to my work, wrapping the items and packing each order, ahead of the delivery and pick up time.