Elena's POV
The familiar scent of freshly brewed espresso, warm vanilla, and toasted cinnamon hit me the moment I pushed open the heavy wooden door of Rose's Café the following morning.
After a night of restless sleep—my mind repeatedly looping through the quiet hum of the high-rise restaurant, the glow of the skyline, and that brief, rare smile on Asher's face—coming to the bakery felt like stepping back onto solid ground. Here, the world made sense. There were no financial reports, no cold executive glass walls, and no towering expectations.
The bell above the entrance chimed softly as I walked inside, setting my handbag on the corner counter.
"Good morning, my dear," Mrs. Rose called out from behind the glass pastry display, holding a tray of freshly baked blueberry scones. Her warm
