Sugar and Stems

Chapter 5

Azalea

If there were a world record for 'Most Outfit Changes', I’d win. Gold medal. Standing ovation. Probably a documentary, too.

“Okay, Azalea,” I muttered at my reflection, planting my hands on my hips. “You’re not going to overthink this.”

My reflection blinked back, unimpressed.

“Okay, you’re definitely going to overthink this.”

The floor was a battlefield — jeans, blouses, a floral dress that looked too “spring picnic,” and a jumpsuit that suddenly felt like too much commitment. My bed was no better; it looked like a fabric tornado had passed through.

I’d closed the shop a little earlier today so I could rush home, shower, and pick something simple. Just something nice enough for dinner, comfortable enough to breathe in, and casual enough to pretend it wasn’t a date.

That was thirty minutes ago.

Yet, I’m still standing here, surrounded by clothes and confusion.

Every option suddenly had a personality. The cream sweater said “cozy and safe,” the dark dress said “trying too hard,” and the jeans said “at least you tried.”

I sighed, grabbing the sweater again, holding it up like it might whisper the right answer. “You’re warm, you’re neutral”

It won. Mostly by default.

I paired it with my favorite jeans — the ones that made me feel like I at least had my life somewhat together — and stared at my reflection again.

Not bad. Not breathtaking either, but not bad.

A soft sigh left my lips. “He’s just Theo,” I reminded myself. “It’s just dinner. Totally casual. Completely normal.”

Except my heart clearly hadn’t gotten the memo, because it was doing somersaults every time I thought of him.

I arrived back at the shop a few minutes before seven. The street was quiet, the kind that made every sound feel louder — the faint rustle of leaves, the hum of passing cars, even the soft tap of my shoes against the pavement.

I realized, after about thirty seconds of standing there, that I might look too eager. Like some kind of overexcited golden retriever waiting for its owner.

Maybe I should wait inside, I thought, reaching for my keys. Then a car slowed to a stop right in front of the shop, headlights washing over the cobblestone for a second before going dim.

Theo stepped out, and okay. Wow.

He wasn’t dressed fancy, but somehow he made simple look unfairly good. A black sweater that fit a little too well, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Dark jeans. His hair was neater than usual, but still had that “ran my hand through it five times before leaving” look.

And then there was me, standing there like a decorative plant outside my own shop.

If I’d been holding a bouquet, I probably would’ve dropped it. I told myself to breathe, which, frankly, felt like an extreme request.

“You’re early,” I said once I was sure my voice worked again.

“So are you.” He said it simply, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes that made my stomach do a small, unnecessary flip.

For a second, he just looked at me. And not in that awkward “someone forgot their line” kind of way. It was more like he was quietly admiring, memorizing. Then my brain, being unhelpful as always, decided to panic about what to do with my hands.

So I went with humor. My greatest coping mechanism.

“You can take a picture if you want,” I said, crossing my arms lightly. “I mean, I don’t blame you. I look amazing tonight. Probably frame-worthy.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, still smiling. Then, softer, “I mean, you’re always beautiful. I was just… taken aback.”

And there went my heartbeat again.

“Thank you.” I managed, trying to sound breezy but definitely failing.

He nodded, then moved to open the passenger door of his truck. “Ready?”

I nodded, walking over. I stepped past him and slid into the seat. The truck smelled faintly of sugar and cinnamon, like the bakery. Like him.

He shut the door gently, rounded to his side, and soon the engine came alive.

The car rumbled softly beneath us, the lights of the town blurring past the window. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, trying not to fidget with the hem of my dress.

“So,” I said, glancing at him, “where are we headed? Or is this one of those mysterious surprise things?”

He smiled faintly, eyes still on the road. “Nothing too mysterious. You’ll see soon.”

“That’s suspiciously vague,” I teased. “You’re not secretly taking me to a dark alley, right? Because I didn’t bring my emergency whistle.”

“No dark alleys, promise.Just dinner.”

“Hmm. We’ll see about that,” I muttered playfully, turning back to the window. The silence between us settled into something comfortable. I could hear the low hum of whatever song was playing on the radio, his fingers tapping softly on the steering wheel in rhythm.

After a short drive, he pulled into a small parking lot, the neon sign above the door flickering softly: Millie’s Diner.

Theo got out first, then walked around to open my door before I could reach for the handle. That simple gesture made something flutter in my chest.

“Thank you,” I said softly, stepping out.

Inside, the diner smelled like coffee and nostalgia. Vinyl booths lined the windows, and a jukebox glowed in the corner, softly playing an old tune. The walls were dotted with black-and-white photos of smiling people holding milkshakes and fries, the kind of happiness that looked timeless.

We slid into a booth near the window, and for a second, I just took it all in.

“This place feels like a movie set,” I said, tracing a finger along the table’s edge. “Like the part where the characters share milkshakes and plot their next big adventure.”

He chuckled as he sat across from me. “No milkshakes today, I’m afraid. But they do make the best grilled cheese in town.”

“Grilled cheese?” I gasped. “Be still, my heart. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

After a moment, he looked around, his smile softening. “I’m sorry it’s not a fancy restaurant. I used to come here when I was a kid. My mom would bring my sister and me after school sometimes. I don’t come here that often anymore, but I figured… it’d be nice.”

He hesitated, like he was second-guessing himself. “If you’d rather go somewhere else, we can—”

I shook my head quickly, smiling. “Are you kidding? Fancy dinners are overrated anyway. I’d take grilled cheese and good company over caviar any day.”

That made something in his shoulders ease. “Good,” he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Because I didn’t have a backup plan.”

I laughed, leaning forward a little. “Then it’s a good thing you brought me to the right place.”

“Thank you Azalea” he smiled.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said, leaning forward. “If the food’s bad, I’m totally blaming you.”

That got him to laugh, and just like that, the air between us felt a little lighter again.

“So tell me Theo, is this where you secretly impress girls with nostalgia and cheese?”

He grinned. “Only the ones who can appreciate the magic of buttered bread.”

“I’m honored,” I said, trying not to blush as the waitress brought us menus.

The waitress dropped the menus and two glasses of water on the table, gave a polite nod, and left us to decide.

I flipped mine open immediately—partly because I was starving, partly because I didn’t know what else to do with my hands. Across from me, Theo was doing the same, his brows furrowed in concentration like he was deciphering a secret code.

“Okay,” I said after a moment, “am I the only one who thinks this menu has too many good options? Because I’ve changed my mind like… five times already.”

He glanced up, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Five times? That’s impressive restraint.”

I snorted. “I take food very seriously. It’s an art form.”

He looked amused, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

I pointed my straw at him. “You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe.” He leaned back, closing his menu. “What are you thinking of getting, art connoisseur?”

“Hmm…” I pretended to deliberate dramatically. “The chicken pot pie, maybe. Or the steak sandwich. But then again, I don’t want to risk looking like someone who eats too much food when I—”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a thing?”

“Definitely,” I said.

His laugh was low, the kind that made me want to keep saying stupid things just to hear it again.

“Pick whatever you want to Azalea, no such thing as ‘too much’. Besides I’m getting the same,” he said finally, setting his menu aside. “The steak sandwich, not the fear of judgment.”

I grinned. “Good choice.”

The waitress came back to take our orders, and once she left, the silence stretched again—but it wasn’t uncomfortable. He was watching me with that same look from earlier, the one that made me feel like I’d been caught doing something fascinating.

“So,” he said, resting his forearms on the table, “how long have you lived here? You don’t seem like someone who’s been around too long.”

“Wow, that’s subtle,” I said with mock offense. “Do I scream outsider?”

“Not scream,” he said, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe whisper.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. “You’re not wrong. I think it’s been a month and some weeks? Still feels like I’m on vacation I forgot to go home from though.”

“Do you like it?”

I tilted my head. “The town? Yeah. It’s busier than what I’m used to , but it’s also… nice.” I paused, tapping my fingers on the table. “I think I like that people care here, even if they’re a bit nosy about it.”

He chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

“And you?” I asked. “You grew up here, right?”

He nodded. “Born and raised. Though sometimes it feels like a different place now.”

“That’s deep,” I said teasingly. “Careful, you’ll ruin your mysterious baker image.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Oh, I’ve heard. Frequently,” I said brightly, taking a sip of water. “But admit it, you’d miss it if I suddenly became quiet and reasonable.”

He met my eyes, and for a beat too long, he didn’t look away. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I think I would.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard by how sincere that sounded.

Our food finally arrived and wow the steak sandwiches were huge “Okay, there’s no graceful way to eat this.”

He bit into his like it was nothing. “You’ll figure it out.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I feel judged.”

“Not at all,” he said, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You just overthink things a lot.”

“Rude. True, but still rude.”

He laughed quietly, and I shook my head, pretending to be offended.

Between bites, we talked more—about small things, harmless things. Favorite desserts. How early he had to wake up for baking. How I once tried making cookies and somehow set off the smoke alarm.

“I’m guessing baking isn’t your hidden talent,” he said.

“Oh, it’s very hidden,” I replied. “Like, buried-under-several-failed-recipes hidden.”

“I could teach you,” he offered lightly.

“Is that your smooth way of saying I need help?”

His lips curved slightly. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s an excuse to spend more time with you.”

I choked on my drink a little. “You can’t just say things like that mid-dinner!”

He smiled into his glass, not saying anything, and I had to look away before my face betrayed me.

The conversation kept flowing—light, easy, and a little all over the place. We talked about everything and nothing at once, the kind of talk that made time slip by without either of us noticing.

It was strange. I didn’t know him. Not really.

But something about being there, talking like we’d done this a hundred times before, felt…familiar. Like maybe we’d just skipped a few chapters and landed right in the middle of a story that already existed.

That’s the thing about some certain people — you meet them, and suddenly it feels like you’ve known them through a hundred small yesterdays you just can’t remember.