If anyone had told Axton Creighton a year ago that he would trade corporate boardrooms for the smell of butter, sugar, and freshly baked bread, he would have laughed until his jaw hurt.
Boardrooms had always been his world, polished floors and glass walls reflecting the sharp suits and sharper minds he commanded. But now, standing behind the counter of Bluebell Bakes, sleeves rolled up and flour dusting his wristwatch like accidental confetti, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.
The aroma of warm dough, vanilla, and caramelized sugar filled the space, and it settled over him in a way that no office ever had.
He had shifted half of his meetings to video calls, much to his executives' confusion and mild panic. The Creighton name carried power; his presence alone often sealed deals, his word could tip entire mergers. Yet lately, his laptop sat propped open on the café counter beside a tray of golden croissants.
Through a wireless earpiece, he discussed profit forecasts and partnership renewals, his voice firm and measured, occasionally pausing to stir a bowl or correct a touch of icing on a tart. Flour dusted his fingers, and the faint scent clung to him in a way that made the sterile world of business feel distant and irrelevant.
It wasn't just protectiveness — though after the supermarket run-in between Elin and Sebastian, that had sharpened to a fine, simmering edge.
Being here, helping Elin, observing her quietly as she worked, softened him. The rough edges that years of corporate battles had carved into his posture, his tone, his thoughts, seemed to fade. He felt grounded, tethered to something real. Elin had a rhythm that was effortless, her motions precise but relaxed, her laughter spilling over the counters and into his chest, calming a part of him he hadn't realized had been so tense.
Elin had long given up trying to convince him to leave the bakery during working hours. She had learned that his mind would wander to spreadsheets no matter where he was, but his heart stayed here, in this fragrant little sanctuary, tucked between the pastel walls and racks of freshly baked bread.
"You know," she said one afternoon, balancing a mixing bowl in her arms with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times, "most CEOs don't spend their board meetings next to a rack of pastries."
Axton looked up from his screen, lips quirking in a rare, easy smile. There was a softness in his gaze when it met hers, a warmth that he no longer tried to hide. "Most CEOs don't have a girlfriend whose croissants can silence their stress," he replied, teasingly.
Elin rolled her eyes but smiled, the kind of smile that made everything in the bakery feel brighter, warmer. She nudged a tray of éclairs toward him with her elbow. "Careful. You're going to make the executives jealous if they knew the source of your calm."
"If they knew," he said softly, "they'd understand why no deal is ever as important as this." His hand hovered briefly near hers as she reached for another tray, an instinctive, protective gesture, and he caught himself, aware of the quiet electricity in that small contact.
"That's not how meetings work, Mr. Creighton."
"That's exactly how mine work now," he replied smoothly, his gaze teasing as he reached for the spoon resting in the ganache she had been stirring. The rich chocolate clung to the utensil, glossy and dark, and he let the tip graze his lips before she could protest.
"Axton!" she scolded, swatting at his hand with the back of her own. Her voice carried a mixture of exasperation and laughter, light and melodic, yet there was an underlying softness he noticed, a rhythm that made his chest tighten slightly.
He smirked, leaning back in his chair with the ease of a man who knew he could break rules and still charm the enforcer. The corner of his mouth curved as he tasted the ganache, rich and sweet, and a faint sparkle appeared in his eyes.
He hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his laptop. "Needs a touch more salt. But the texture—" he pointed the spoon at her "—perfection."
Elin laughed despite herself, shaking her head.
"You're irresistible when you're focused," he murmured, his tone soft enough that it melted through the hum of the espresso machine.
Her blush deepened.
The two of them had fallen into a rhythm — an odd blend of business and bakery, of suits and aprons. Between calls, Axton would carry trays to the front, refill the display with whatever Elin had finished, and even wipe down tables when the aunties weren't around. Customers often did double takes, whispering among themselves about the tall, handsome man in designer slacks quietly helping behind the counter.
But to Elin, he wasn't the CEO everyone admired.
He is the man who insisted on walking her home, who made her tea every night when she was too tired to stand, who had rearranged his entire life so he could simply be near her.
Even when she teased him about it, she never asked him to stop. She knew that beneath his calm exterior, Axton carried an instinct that was both tender and fiercely territorial.
After what had happened — the slander, the public humiliation, and now the sudden appearance of Sebastian — he couldn't risk her being alone again.
That evening, as twilight draped the city in soft amber and violet hues, Elin carefully placed two freshly baked tarts on the counter. The sweet, citrusy aroma mingled with the faint scent of Earl Grey, filling the small space with a comforting warmth.
"Try this one," she said, her voice carrying a mixture of pride and nervous excitement. "It's a new recipe. Earl Grey custard with lemon zest. I wasn't sure about the balance, so... be honest."
Axton looked up from his laptop, his eyes catching the fading sunlight that slanted through the bakery's pastel blue windows. He slid his chair a little closer, careful to keep his balance on the tiled floor while letting the scent of the tarts envelop him. He picked up the tart with deliberate care, savouring the slight give of the delicate crust beneath his fingers.
He took a bite, and his expression shifted slowly, first thoughtful, then pleasantly surprised, and finally settling into a satisfied smile that made something in Elin's chest lift.
"Better than the last one?" she asked, a hopeful lilt threading through her words, her hands brushing lightly against the counter as she leaned forward, almost imperceptibly close.
Axton's eyes met hers, warm and appreciative, and he nodded slowly. "Much better. The lemon is bright without overpowering the Earl Grey. You've balanced it perfectly." His tone was light, but beneath it ran genuine admiration. "I can taste the care you put into it. Every layer, every flavour... it's all you."
Elin's cheeks tinged pink. She looked down at the counter, fumbling slightly with the tart she had set aside, as if trying to hide her own delight. "I... I was nervous," she admitted softly. "I wanted it to be right. I wanted you to like it."
"Like it? No." He paused, letting the words hang in the air, a teasing whisper that made her pulse skip. His hand hovered near hers for a brief moment, brushing against her fingers ever so slightly as if testing her reaction. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he moved, a subtle spark that made her straighten up instinctively.
Then he leaned closer, his lips brushing just past her ear, his voice dropping into a low, intimate murmur. "I love it."
Elin froze for a heartbeat, the sound of the ovens and soft clatter of utensils fading into the background. Her breath caught, warm against the cheek he had leaned toward, and she felt a rush of blood tinting her face pink.
His proximity was disarming.
She glanced at him, trying to pull herself together, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her with a small, shy smile. "Axton," she said softly.
"No, really," he said, tilting his head slightly. "I love it. Everything about it."
Elin watched as Axton took another slow bite of the tart, his expression thoughtful again, but softer now, more personal.
She leaned against the counter, watching him as he ate, her apron faintly dusted with flour, the faint curl of steam rising from the last batch of pastries behind her. There was a small streak of custard on her wrist she hadn't noticed, and something about the sight made Axton smile to himself. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. She was just... herself.
"You know," she said, her tone teasing but light, "you look suspiciously content for someone who's supposed to be stressed about quarterly reports."
Axton arched a brow, still chewing. "That's because my new stress management strategy involves your desserts."
"Right," she said dryly, smiling despite herself. "So the bakery is just your coping mechanism?"
"Exactly." He picked up the second tart, turning it slightly in his hand before looking at her. "Though I suppose the baker herself helps too."
Her cheeks warmed, and she tried to play it off by busying herself with wiping the counter. "Flattery won't get you a third tart."
He leaned back slightly, that easy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It might," he said. "It worked last week when you swore you were done giving me samples."
"That was different," she said quickly, glancing at him over her shoulder. "You looked like you hadn't eaten all day."
"I hadn't."
Her hand froze mid-wipe, and she turned to look at him properly. "Axton," she said, her voice softening, "you can't skip meals like that. You can't live on caffeine and sheer willpower."
He gave a faint, guilty shrug, though the fondness in his eyes betrayed him. "That's why I come here. To be fed and scolded."
Elin laughed, the sound light and genuine, filling the space between them. "I'm starting to think you enjoy being scolded."
"Only by you," he said before he could stop himself.
She blinked, caught off guard. For a brief second, neither of them moved.
Axton cleared his throat and looked away first, pretending to study the tart on his plate. "You should put this one on the menu. It'll sell out before noon."
Elin smiled faintly, her voice soft. "You think so?"
"I know so." He took another bite, slower this time, as if savouring not just the taste but the moment itself. "You have a gift, Elin. This place... it's you. Every detail. It's calm, warm, steady. I don't think you realize how much it feels like home."
She blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected depth of the comment. "You sound like you're reviewing wine, not dessert."
He looked up then, his gaze holding hers with quiet amusement. "Maybe that's what happens when you've been spoiled by your baking every night."
Her lips curved. "You're just saying that because I feed you for free."
"True," he said lightly, setting down his fork. "But it's still the truth."
There was an ease between them that hadn't always been there. The kind that came from unspoken familiarity, from nights spent talking about nothing in particular while the city wound down outside. Axton had stopped pretending his visits were business-related a long time ago. Elin had stopped pretending she didn't look forward to them.
He leaned back, resting one elbow on the counter. "You've been working late again," he said, glancing at the trays cooling behind her.
"So have you," she countered.
"Fair," he murmured. "But at least I have someone feeding me pastries at ten in the evening."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, the faintest pink blooming across her cheeks. "That's because you show up right before closing."
"It's called perfect timing."
"Or manipulation," she said, but her tone was light. She wiped her hands on her apron, pretending to focus on a nearby tray, though her heart wasn't as calm as she made it seem.
The clock ticked softly above them. The air between them seemed to hum, the kind of silence that felt less like an absence of sound and more like an awareness that neither wanted to break.
Finally, he reached out, his fingers brushing hers. The contact was brief, accidental perhaps, but enough to send a spark through her chest. His hand was warm, grounding, his touch gentle in a way that didn't match the man she thought she knew.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She looked at him, puzzled. "For what?"
"For this. For letting me stay when I probably should've gone home hours ago."