Chapter 4 - The Midnight Delivery
Two weeks rolled by in a blur of flour, sourdough starters, and covert family dinners.
The fake relationship had somehow evolved into something terrifyingly real, even if neither of us had used the proper labels. Lily spent every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon at Honey & Rye Bakery, her school backpack dumped by the counter while she learned how to laminate pastry dough and talk about her favorite books. Roman started showing up around five o’clock—not to interrogate me, but to help clean up the heavy mixer, sweep the floors, and walk me to my car when the shop finally locked its doors.
It was a domestic rhythm I hadn't asked for, but one I found myself looking forward to with a dangerous intensity.
Then came the storm.
It was a Thursday night in late October. A sudden, violent autumn storm had blown in off Lake Michigan, turning the city streets into slick, dark rivers of rain and wind. By nine o’clock, the power in the bakery had flickered twice, and the wind was howling against the front glass like a trapped animal.
I was in the back storage room inventorying bags of unbleached flour when the front bell chimed.
I froze. Nobody came to the bakery at nine o’clock on a stormy night.
“We’re closed!” I called out, wiping my hands on my apron as I stepped out into the dim showroom.
The door was locked, but standing on the other side of the rain-streaked glass, drenched to the skin, was Roman.
He wore a dark raincoat, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, holding a brown paper bag in one hand.
My heart did a traitorous little flip. I rushed to the door, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled it open, dragging him inside out of the lashing wind.
“Are you out of your mind?” I demanded, grabbing a dry towel from the counter and thrusting it at him. “What are you doing out in this weather?”
Roman didn't take the towel immediately. He stood there in the center of my bakery, water dripping onto the clean tile floor, his dark eyes burning with an urgency that made my breath hitch.
“I couldn't sleep,” he said, his voice rough and low.
“So you drove through a hurricane to deliver... what? More baking supplies?” I gestured to the brown bag in his hand.
Roman set the bag down on the counter. He finally took the towel, wiping the rain from his face and hair, never breaking eye contact.
“I didn't bring flour,” he said quietly. He reached into the bag and pulled out a small, square cardboard box tied with a thin silver ribbon.
I stared at it. “What is that?”
“Open it.”
My fingers trembled slightly as I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside, resting on a bed of dark velvet, was a silver charm bracelet. Hanging from the center was a tiny, exquisitely detailed whisk and a miniature silver rolling pin.
I looked up at him, the words completely failing me.
“Roman...”
“I know we started this under false pretenses,” Roman said, his voice dropping into a register so vulnerable it made my chest ache. “I know I walked in here demanding a lie because I was desperate to get my aunt off my back and give Lily a normal environment. But somewhere around the third flour explosion, I stopped pretending.”
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating off his broad chest.
“I don't want a fake girlfriend, Clare,” he whispered, lifting his hand to gently brush a stray lock of hair away from my face. His thumb traced my cheekbone with a feather-light touch. “I want the real one. If you’ll still have me.”
The storm outside battered the windows, rattling the glass frames, but inside, the bakery smelled like warm vanilla, yeast, and home.
I smiled, my eyes stinging with happy, sudden tears. I held out my wrist.
May you like
“Put it on, Duca,” I whispered. “And if it falls off, I’m throwing a bag of flour at you again.”
Roman let out a low, gravelly laugh, slipping the silver bracelet over my hand. The charms chimed softly as they settled against my pulse.
