Chapter 9:Damien Small Steps
1560 Words
Three months.
To anyone else, it wasn’t a long time.
To Damian…
It was enough to memorise Skylar’s routines.
His favourite tea.
The songs he hummed while kneading dough.
The way he absentmindedly tucked his long hair behind one ear whenever he concentrated.
The way his eyes softened whenever someone genuinely enjoyed something he had baked.
And…
The Great Saturday Escape.
Damian smiled to himself as he signed another document.
Every Saturday.
Without fail.
Skylar vanished after breakfast.
Every Sunday evening.
Without fail.
He returned carrying another box of pastries as though homemade bread somehow erased the fact that he’d spent the weekend hiding at his father’s estate.
Damian had never stopped him.
He never intended to.
If spending two days with his father gave Skylar comfort…
Then Damian would never stand in the way of it.
His thoughts drifted back to the beginning.
Their first week as husband and husband.
Skylar had barely left his room.
Meals had been sent upstairs.
The staff tiptoed around the second floor, careful not to disturb him.
Damian remembered asking Martha quietly,
“Has he eaten?”
“Oh yes, Sir.”
“Is he comfortable?”
“He seems… nervous.”
“I know.”
“He’ll come around.”
Damian hadn’t believed it.
Not because he doubted Skylar…
But because fear wasn’t something that disappeared overnight.
Then…
The second week came.
One morning Damian walked downstairs expecting silence.
Instead…
The entire house smelled of fresh bread.
Butter.
Vanilla.
Warm cinnamon.
Every servant seemed unusually cheerful.
Martha practically floated through the hallway carrying a tray of pastries.
“Our young master has taken over the kitchen.”
Damian had smiled.
“I noticed.”
From that day onwards…
The kitchen belonged to Skylar.
No one questioned it.
No one complained.
In fact, the household staff secretly looked forward to whatever masterpiece Skylar decided to make each morning.
Sometimes it was fruit tarts.
Sometimes fresh focaccia.
Sometimes delicate pastries that disappeared almost as quickly as they appeared.
And every morning…
Without fail…
There would be coffee waiting for Damian.
Prepared exactly how he liked it.
Alongside breakfast.
Prepared by Skylar.
It had become their quiet tradition.
No words.
No grand gestures.
Just a warm cup of coffee…
And food made with care.
Damian treasured it more than he ever admitted.
He also treasured something else.
The ridiculous distance Skylar insisted on keeping at breakfast.
Their dining table could comfortably seat twenty people.
Skylar somehow managed to sit at chair number twenty.
Every.
Single.
Morning.
Damian often wondered whether the poor man would sit in the garden if another chair existed further away.
The thought amused him far more than it probably should.
⸻
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
“Come in.”
His assistant entered carrying another stack of contracts.
“These require your signature today, sir.”
Damian accepted them.
His phone caught his attention.
He glanced at the time.
Almost one o’clock.
Without thinking…
He picked it up.
Skylar answered on the third ring.
“…Hello?”
Damian leaned back in his chair.
“How’s your day?”
A brief pause.
“It’s… good.”
“Have you eaten?”
“…Yes.”
“What are you doing?”
Another small pause.
“I’m baking.”
Damian smiled.
“I suspected as much.”
A quiet laugh came through the speaker.
“So…”
“What are you making today?”
“…Lemon loaf.”
“Will there be enough for me?”
“…There always is.”
The answer came so naturally that Skylar seemed surprised he’d said it aloud.
Damian’s smile deepened.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“…Okay.”
“And Skylar?”
“…Yes?”
“I hope you’re having a peaceful day.”
“…You too.”
The line disconnected.
His assistant stared openly.
Damian looked up.
“What?”
“…Nothing, sir.”
“You seem…”
The man searched for the right word.
“…happy.”
Damian simply returned to signing documents.
“I am.”
⸻
By the time he arrived home that evening, the sun had already begun to set.
He handed his jacket to one of the butlers before stepping into the foyer.
Then…
He stopped.
Skylar was sitting there.
Waiting.
Damian blinked.
That…
Was new.
Normally Skylar would have disappeared upstairs long before Damian returned from work.
Instead…
He sat nervously on one of the sofas, twisting his wedding band around his finger.
The moment their eyes met…
Skylar looked away.
Damian greeted him gently.
“Good evening.”
“…Good evening.”
He made no attempt to question why Skylar was there.
Instead, he began walking towards the staircase.
If Skylar wished to speak…
He would.
If not…
Damian wouldn’t pressure him.
Sure enough—
“…Damian?”
He stopped.
Turned.
Skylar looked almost painfully nervous.
“…Can I… talk to you?”
“Of course.”
Damian returned to the sitting area.
Skylar immediately chose the sofa farthest away.
Damian nearly smiled.
At least he’s consistent.
He took the opposite seat without comment.
Skylar took a deep breath.
“I’ve been thinking.”
Damian waited patiently.
“I…”
“I’d like to open another bakery.”
His voice grew a little stronger.
“A café.”
“I want to work again.”
“I don’t want to spend every day sitting at home.”
Damian wasn’t surprised.
He had expected this conversation eventually.
Baking wasn’t merely Skylar’s occupation.
It was who he was.
The kitchen had brought life back into him.
A bakery would allow him to shine again.
“What kind of café?” Damian asked.
Skylar’s eyes brightened immediately.
“A warm one.”
“Somewhere people can read.”
“Fresh bread every morning.”
“A little garden outside.”
“I want children to come after school.”
“And old couples.”
“And…”
He stopped himself, embarrassed.
“…Sorry.”
Damian’s expression softened.
“Don’t apologise.”
“I like hearing you talk about it.”
Skylar smiled shyly.
Then added,
“I’ve saved quite a bit of money.”
“And…”
“If I need more…”
“…I’ll ask Dad.”
Damian’s expression changed.
Not with anger.
With quiet firmness.
“No.”
Skylar blinked.
“No?”
“You won’t ask your father.”
“…Why?”
“You also won’t use your savings.”
Skylar frowned.
“But—”
“Skylar.”
Damian’s voice remained calm.
“You are my husband.”
“I’ll provide whatever you need to make your dream a reality.”
“I don’t expect you to ask your father.”
“And I certainly don’t expect you to spend the money you’ve worked so hard to save.”
Skylar looked conflicted.
“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
Damian shook his head.
“Supporting your dream isn’t being taken advantage of.”
“It’s what I want to do.”
“I’ll pay for the building.”
“The renovations.”
“The equipment.”
“Whatever you need.”
“You only have one responsibility.”
Skylar looked up.
“…What’s that?”
“Tell me what your dream looks like.”
For a long moment…
Skylar said nothing.
Then, very quietly,
“…I already found a place.”
Damian couldn’t hide the small smile that tugged at his lips.
“You have?”
Skylar nodded.
“I saw an empty shop a few days ago.”
“I wanted to look at it tomorrow.”
“I was going to…”
He hesitated.
“…ask if I could.”
“You don’t need permission to dream.”
Damian answered.
“If that’s the place you want…”
“We’ll visit it.”
“I’ll have someone arrange everything.”
Skylar opened his mouth to protest.
Then…
Closed it again.
Instead…
He simply nodded.
“…Thank you.”
The words were sincere.
They warmed Damian more than he expected.
Skylar stood.
“I should…”
“…let you rest.”
He gave one final, slightly awkward smile before retreating upstairs.
Back to the room that had become his safe place.
Damian watched him go.
A tiny smile remained on his face long after Skylar disappeared.
⸻
That night…
Damian lay awake staring at the ceiling.
His house felt different now.
Brighter.
Warmer.
It smelled faintly of vanilla because Skylar had baked all afternoon.
A loaf of lemon cake sat waiting in the kitchen with a handwritten note reminding him not to skip dessert.
He found himself laughing quietly.
Three months.
Skylar still couldn’t sit beside him.
Still ran away every weekend.
Still struggled to look him in the eye.
Yet…
He’d waited in the foyer just to ask about opening a bakery.
He had trusted Damian enough to bring him that dream.
It wasn’t much.
But it was a beginning.
Damian closed his eyes.
One day, he hoped Skylar would realise this house was truly his home.
One day, perhaps, breakfast would be shared across the same side of the table.
One day, perhaps, Skylar would look at him without fear.
Until then…
Damian was content with coffee made every morning, fresh bread cooling on the kitchen counter, and the quiet hope that tomorrow would bring one more small step forward.
- Writer
