We stepped inside the warmly lit cake shop, the scent of fresh pastries and sugar wafting through the air like a gentle embrace.
Amy welcomed us with her usual soft demeanor and led us toward a spot tucked away near the back.
It was a quiet table.
Although the shop was cozy and heated, the cold winter outside had thinned out the usual crowd.
Still, the place was far from empty—only three of the fifty tables were vacant.
It was just enough to give the space a soft hum of life without feeling crowded.
Amy gestured with a graceful motion, allowing us to sit down.
The soft clink of plates and the murmur of conversations filled the air around us.
Once we were settled, Amy stood with a slight tilt of her head and asked us for our orders, her eyes still closed, as always.
Without hesitation, Yr snatched up the menu with both hands and held it like a prized possession.
She stared at the cake list with excitement practically radiating off her.
