Chapter 19.
1192 Words
The afternoon sun filtered through the front windows of the bakery, catching the dust motes and the lingering scent of yeast and sugar. Briar was in her element, the rhythmic motions of the lunch rush having acted as a much-needed distraction from the electric tension of the morning. Her hands were dusted with flour, and her mind was focused on the precise science of baking- a world where everything followed a recipe and outcomes were predictable.
That predictability shattered the moment the bell above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of Archer and Victor.
Archer entered with his usual high-energy swagger, but Victor followed like a silent, dark cloud, his presence immediately making the cozy space feel smaller. He had changed into a clean black t-shirt that made the ink on his forearms pop against his skin, and his expression was caught somewhere between resignation and duty.
"Bri! Pack it up, sister of mine," Archer announced, leaning over the counter and nearly knocking over a display of macaroons. "The Lower Falls Annual Fair is calling, and it is a military necessity that you attend."
"Archer, I have a business to run," Briar said, popping out her hip as she set down a tray of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies on the counter. The heat from the oven had made a few stray blonde hairs escape her bun, curling damply against her neck. "That’s half a day of earning loss. Why on earth would I do that?"
"Because it would be fun!" Archer whined, throwing his hands up. "I’ve already done the impossible and made the General here reluctantly agree to go. Mallory is already there, probably halfway through a funnel cake and waiting for us. Don't be the boring one, Bri."
"I'm not being boring, I'm being financially responsible," Briar countered, though her eyes flickered to Victor. He was standing near the sourdough rack, looking at a loaf of bread as if it were an unexploded ordnance. "Is he really going?"
"I have been... persuaded," Victor rumbled. His voice was low, and when he finally looked at her, Briar saw the faint glint of a challenge in his eyes. He looked like a man being forced into a tactical retreat, and he clearly didn't intend to go alone.
"See? Even the General is going!" Archer propped his elbows on the glass. "Come on, Bri. I’d give you half a day’s pay if I could, but I think Mallory would kill me if I dipped into our apartment fund."
Victor didn't say a word. He didn't join the pleading. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a leather-bound checkbook. With a slow, deliberate motion, he clicked a pen, scribbled on the paper, and tore it off.
He set the check on the counter, sliding it toward Briar with two fingers.
Briar looked down, expecting a modest amount to cover her losses. Her breath hitched. The number written in Victor’s sharp, disciplined cursive was much more than half a day’s pay. It was more than a full day’s. It was, by her quick mental math, nearly a week’s worth of earnings.
"General, I can't take that," Briar said, shaking her head as she tried to push the paper back toward him. "This is far too much. It’s ridiculous."
"Take it," Victor said.
His face remained a mask of granite, stoic and unyielding, but his eyes told a very different story. They were burning with a quiet, "If I'm being forced into this social nightmare, so are you" energy. It was the look of a man who wasn't used to losing, and if he had to spend an afternoon in a crowd of civilians, he wanted the baker by his side.
Briar kept his eye contact for a long, silent moment. The air between them hummed, a private conversation happening right over Archer's head. She saw the stubbornness in his jaw and the silent plea behind the steel.
Finally, she let out a long, defeated sigh.
"Fine," she said, her sass returning as she snatched the check. "But for the next six weeks, everything you get here is on the house. No arguments. Starting now."
She reached into a nearby basket, grabbed a small brown paper baggy, and shoved four of the still-warm cookies inside. She thrust the bag toward his chest, her fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt.
"Eat," she commanded. "You’ll need the sugar if you’re going to survive Mallory and a Ferris wheel."
Victor took the bag, the warmth of the cookies seeping into his palm. He looked into the bag, then back at her, a whisper of a smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Understood."
"Victory!" Archer shouted, punching the air. "I’ll go start the truck. Ten minutes, Bri! If you aren't out there, I'm coming back in and carrying you out over my shoulder."
Archer vanished out the door, the bell jingling frantically in his wake.
The silence that followed was heavy and sweet. Briar leaned against the counter, looking at Victor. He pulled a cookie from the bag- it looked tiny in his massive, scarred hand, and took a bite.
"Is this part of the 'security detail'?" Briar asked softly, her eyes dancing. "Escorting the baker to the tilt-a-whirl?"
"Crowd control," Victor rumbled, stepping closer until he was looming over the counter, the scent of warm chocolate and sandalwood mixing between them. "And making sure no more polished strangers try to hand you their phone numbers."
Briar felt that familiar flush creep up her cheeks. She reached out, dusting a stray speck of flour off his bicep- a gesture that was far too intimate for a public shop, but perfect for the secret they shared.
"I think I can handle myself, General."
"Maybe," Victor said, his voice dropping to that gravelly whisper that made her knees weak. "But I prefer to be in the vicinity. Just in case."
"Well then," Briar said, untying her apron and tossing it onto the prep table. "Let’s go see if we can make a civilian out of you for a few hours. But if you get sick on the rollercoaster, I’m telling Archer it was your idea."
"I've jumped out of planes, Briar," Victor reminded her as he followed her toward the door, his hand hovering near the small of her back. "I think I can handle a fairground."
"We'll see," Briar teased, locking the door and flipping the 'Closed' sign. "Lower Falls has its own kind of gravity."
As they walked toward Archer’s idling truck, Briar felt a strange mix of dread and excitement. The six-week clock was still ticking in the back of her mind, but as Victor opened the door for her, his eyes lingering on hers for a second too long, she decided to follow his morning advice.
She was going to make the most of what they had left, one warm cookie and one fairground ride at a time.
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