Sugar and Stems

Chapter 3

I hoisted my little basket and made my way toward Maggie’s farm, trying not to wobble over the cobblestone street like a newborn giraffe.

Maggie waved as I approached. “Azalea! Here for more flowers?”

“Yes” I said, smiling. “I need whatever you think will make me look like I know what I’m doing.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve got the spirit, that’s more than half the battle. You’re doing fine. Don’t let being new scare you.”

I leaned against the fence for a second, letting her words sink in. Maggie had only known me a for a short while, but she’d been nice, encouraging, and—dare I say it?—practically a lifeline. She talked to me like I wasn’t just some outsider trying to sneak into the town. She even invited me for tea once, and I’d actually considered it. Who does that these days?

“I’m still trying not to look like a tourist every five seconds.”

“Don’t worry,” Maggie said kindly, pulling out a few stems. “You’ll fit right in. Folks here are curious, but mostly friendly. Give it time.”

Her smile was easy, warm, the kind that made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could survive this life.

We spent the next few minutes chatting, her showing me the best stems to pick, me fumbling with tying them just so. Somehow, it all felt normal. Comfortable.

By the time I loaded my basket to leave, the sky had shifted from soft gray to full-on threatening clouds. I didn’t even make it past the farm gate before the first raindrops hit.

Great. Just great.

I ducked under the nearest awning, trying to shield the flowers and myself. My little apartment was not that far but there was no way I wanted to tromp home feeling like a drowned garden gnome.

The rain came down harder, almost aggressively, and I shuffled along the street, searching for some kind of dry haven.

That’s when I spotted the warm glow of a bakery. Perfect.

I stood there awkwardly for a moment, flowers in hand, looking like a very soggy, very confused florist, when someone’s voice broke through my rain-blurred thoughts.

“Hey” said a calm, familiar voice.

I looked up to see the guy that came to my flower shop, standing just inside the bakery doorway. “It’s pouring, come on in” he added, gesturing me toward the entrance.

“I—uh—thanks,” I stammered, stepping inside. Flowers clutched tightly, basket slightly damp, skirt sticking in all the wrong places… I was a walking mess.

“Here,” he said, stepping aside and holding out a towel before I could even protest. “You need it.”

I hesitated, flustered. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

“You’re not a bother,” he said with a slight smile.

I took the towel, muttering my thanks as I dabbed at my hair. He pulled out a chair and gestured toward a small table.

“Sit. You look like you could use a snack too.”

I shook my head. “No, no, I’m fine. I shouldn’t—”

“You’re not going anywhere until you eat something,” he interrupted lightly, like he didn’t even consider negotiation. A small plate appeared, warm, with a freshly baked pastry.

I blinked at him. “Are you serious? I just… I’m soaked. I can’t—”

“Its okay, it’s on the house” he said simply.

I gave a small laugh, surrendering. “Okay, okay. But just one bite. Don’t judge me if I get crumbs everywhere.”

He smirked, and I sat down, brushing the towel over my shoulders one last time. The bakery smelled like cinnamon and comfort. The rain streaked against the window, but inside, it felt calm.

“So,” I said, balancing the basket beside me, “do you do this for everyone who gets caught in storms? Random acts of bakery kindness?”

“Only those who look like they’re about to collapse in a puddle,” he said.

I snorted. “That’s oddly specific. I like it.”

He chuckled, then gestured to the flowers. “Those are yours?”

“Yes, for the shop”

“They’re good,” he said, eyes softening. “Really. Whoever gets them is lucky.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “Thanks. That… actually means a lot. Sometimes it feels like no one notices the little things, you know?”

“I get that,” he said quietly. “Small gestures matter.”

I picked up the pastry — a warm cinnamon swirl that smelled like heaven and maybe just a hint of sugar-induced euphoria — and took a tentative bite.

“Oh. Oh wow.” I closed my eyes for dramatic effect, because yes, it deserved a moment of reverence. “This is—” I paused, chewing slowly. “—wow. It’s like… cinnamon, clouds, buttery happiness, a little crunch, and maybe a tiny magical fairy sprinkling sugar on top? Honestly, it’s unfair how good this is.”

Theo raised an amused brow. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it?” I said, eyes wide. “I’m borderline writing a love letter to it in my head. Did you make this?”

“I did,” he said simply, smirking. “Fresh out of the oven.”

I grinned, nibbling another bite. “Well, if this is how you greet strangers, I’d have moved to here a while ago just for pastries.” I gestured vaguely with the swirl. “Also, the bakery smells like comfort. I might just nap here someday.”

He chuckled softly. “You’d be welcome. But try not to drool on the table.”

“Too late,” I muttered, taking another bite. “Seriously though, this is amazing. Do you own the place?”

“I do” he said, casually leaning on the counter. “I’ve been running it for a while.”

“Ah,” I said, swallowing quickly. “That explains the smell. It’s professional comfort. I mean, not that I know what professional comfort smells like… but this? Yep. Certified.”

He smiled at me, tilting his head slightly. “You talk a lot.”

I blinked. “Oh?”

“In a good way,” he added quickly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin too wide. “It’s cute.”

“I’m… uh… verbose? Expressive? Okay, maybe slightly too much sometimes, but I promise it’s harmless.” I winked, or tried to. “Mostly.”

“Mostly harmless,” he repeated, amused. “I can handle it.”

We sat in companionable chatter for a few more minutes — him asking about the flower shop, me rambling about how life had been so far and all the ridiculous things I’d seen in three weeks. Somehow, talking to him felt easy, like I could be loud and weird and he wouldn’t think I was completely insane.

Eventually, I glanced out the window. The rain had tapered off, leaving a gentle drizzle. “I should probably head home before the sidewalks turn into rivers. Apartment’s not that far, but still… rivers. And puddle monsters. You get it.”

Theo nodded. “Yeah. Don’t want to fight the puddle monsters.” He stood as I gathered my basket.

At the door, he hesitated, then said, “I just realized I never caught your name.”

I smiled, brushing a damp curl from my face. “Azalea.”

“Azalea,” he repeated, nodding as if testing the sound. “I’m Theo.”

I returned the smile, feeling a little lighter myself, and stepped outside. The drizzle barely touched me now, but the streets gleamed wet. “Nice to meet you, Theo.”

“Likewise,” he said, giving me a little wave as I set off toward my apartment

Even as I focused on dodging puddles and keeping my flowers safe, I couldn’t ignore the warmth lingering in my chest — the kind that had nothing to do with the pastry, the towel, or even the bakery itself.

No, that belonged entirely to the baker.