Sleep hadn't come easily. The memory of last night clung to her like the scent of burnt sugar — bitter and impossible to shake. Every time she blinked, she saw Sebastian's face too close, his words dripping into her ears, his kiss stealing what little strength she had left.
She had scrubbed her lips raw that morning.
Now, she focused on the only thing she could control: her work.
Elin balanced a tray of golden croissants in one hand while taking orders from a line of customers that seemed to stretch past the counter. Her hair had escaped its usual bun, strands sticking to her forehead from the heat. Sweat prickled at her temples, but she didn't dare pause.
"Two lattes, one cappuccino, and a chocolate tart!" she called, her voice firm over the ambient noise.
Just as she was reaching for the next tray, her phone vibrated in her apron pocket. She pulled it out, squinting at the screen. Axton. Her chest tightened. She hesitated. There were five customers waiting, one of them impatiently tapping the counter.
He hadn't called since the day before — since he'd left her standing in that sea of strangers at Universal Studios, his retreat echoing louder than the laughter around her. She swallowed, throat tightening.
"Go ahead, I got this!" said a fresh, slightly nervous voice. She glanced over to see the new assistant she'd hired just days ago — a university student studying baking, wide-eyed and eager. He was already juggling an espresso order and a tray of cookies like he'd been doing it for years.
The voice snapped her back to reality. Alex, her new assistant, flashed a quick grin from behind the espresso machine. The young man was still learning, but he was quick, eager, and had the energy she needed right now.
"You sure?" she asked, already reaching for her phone.
He nodded. "Go. It's your mystery caller."
"Thanks, Alex," Elin said, forcing a smile. She swiped to answer the call.
Elin took a small step back from the counter, wiping her palms against her apron before answering. "Axton?"
There was a pause — then his voice, low and uncertain. "Hey."
Just that word, and something in her chest softened, betraying her.
"Hi," she said quietly, glancing around the bakery. Every table was full, sunlight spilling across smiling faces and plates dusted with powdered sugar. It should have made her happy. But instead, her voice came out tired. "It's... a busy morning."
"I know," he said immediately, his tone low and earnest. "I didn't mean to call at the worst time. But I couldn't wait any longer." His tone faltered, then steadied. "I needed to hear your voice."
Her brow furrowed, her fingers moving on instinct as she handed a latte to a waiting customer. "What's this about?"
"I want to apologize, Elin," he said, his voice carrying that rare, soft edge she hadn't heard in weeks. "About yesterday. About everything."
Elin froze mid-step, a croissant slipping slightly in her grip. She quickly steadied it, not wanting to drop it in front of the customer.
"Axton..." she said carefully, trying to keep her voice steady over the bustle.
The sound of his apology made her chest ache. She leaned against the wall near the pastry rack, trying to keep her voice even. "You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do," he said softly. "I shouldn't have left like that. I shouldn't have let her pull me away. You looked at me like I was... gone already." His voice cracked just slightly. "And I hated that."
Elin blinked hard, keeping her tone light even as her heart squeezed. "You were busy. I get it."
"No," he said, firmer now. "You shouldn't have to get it. I make time for everything else. I should've made time for you."
Her throat grew tight. "Axton, I don't want to fight right now. Please."
"I'm not trying to fight." he interrupted gently, and she caught the tremor in his words. "Let me finish. I know saying sorry isn't enough. I know I made you feel like you weren't a priority. I want to make it up to you, Elin. I really do."
Her chest tightened. There was sincerity in his voice, a vulnerability she hadn't expected. Behind the counter, the sound of chattering customers and clinking cups seemed to fade for a moment. She could feel him, even over the line, standing somewhere in the city and waiting for her to respond.
"I..." she started, then a bell above the door rang, a customer needed attention, and she had to split her focus. She glanced at Alex, who gave her a small nod, silently telling her to take the call. She exhaled and leaned against the counter, lowering her voice slightly. "I... appreciate that, Axton. I really do."
"Can I see you?" he asked, quiet but insistent. "Even if it's just for a little while. I want to... I want to fix it."
She bit her lip. "You don't have to come all the way here."
"I do," he said quietly. "Because if I don't, I'll lose you. And I can't let that happen."
The words caught her off guard. Her heart stuttered, breaking through the numbness she'd built overnight. He sounded different — not the calm, composed CEO, but the man who once stood behind her kitchen counter at midnight, covered in flour, laughing as he helped her decorate cupcakes.
She looked toward Alex, who was handling the rush with surprising grace.
Elin lowered her voice. "Alright. But it's crazy right now. You'll have to wait until the rush slows down."
"I'll wait," he said immediately, with the kind of quiet certainty that sent a flutter through her chest.
She smiled faintly, even though he couldn't see it. "You always were stubborn."
"I learned from the best," he replied, a warmth threading through his voice now. "See you soon, Elin."
When the call ended, she stood there for a moment, phone still in hand. The noise of the bakery rushed back — clinking cups, the hiss of steam, laughter. She blinked quickly, tucking her phone away and straightening her apron.
Her heart shouldn't have felt this light. But it did. And for the first time that morning, the smile that touched her lips wasn't for the customers.
It was for him.
The late lunch rush at Bluebell Bakes was its usual blur of clinking cups, laughter, and the low hum of conversation. The smell of caramelized butter hung thick in the air, blending with espresso and sugar. Elin moved automatically, offering smiles she didn't quite feel, her apron dusted with flour and powdered sugar.
Her new assistant, Alex, worked quietly beside her, handing out pastries and managing the register with the kind of eager precision only new employees had. She was grateful for him. Without his help, she might have fallen apart under the weight of everything pressing on her chest.
When the bell above the door chimed, she didn't look up at first. But then a familiar voice drifted over the counter, smooth and low, and her breath caught.
"Elin."
Axton.
She froze for a second before forcing herself to glance up. He was standing near the door, a few steps inside, the sunlight outlining his figure. His tie was loose around his neck, his hair slightly dishevelled from the wind, and his expression—careful, searching—made something in her chest twist painfully.
He walked toward her slowly, his presence drawing quiet attention from a few customers. It was impossible not to notice him; he carried himself like a man who commanded rooms, even when dressed in casual slacks and rolled-up sleeves.
Elin's heart pounded hard enough that she had to steady herself on the counter.
"Axton," she managed, her voice barely above the noise of the café. "You really came."
"I told you I would."
His tone was gentle, afraid to scare her.
His eyes searched hers, and she felt exposed, as if he could see through the careful calm she had pieced together since morning.
Alex offered a polite nod to Axton before slipping into the kitchen, sensing this was something private.
"You look tired," Axton said quietly, resting his hands on the glass display. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Not really," she admitted, fiddling with a stack of napkins. "I was... thinking."
"About me?"
The question was soft, almost teasing, but it carried weight. She hesitated, her lips parting without sound. He took that silence as his answer.
"I'm sorry, Elin." His words came slow and careful, each one deliberate. "I shouldn't have let work come between us again. You wanted one day—just one day—and I couldn't even give you that."
Her chest tightened. "You don't have to apologize," she said, though her voice trembled. "I know your job means a lot to you."
He frowned slightly, leaning a little closer. "You mean a lot to me too."
"Really, Axton, it's fine."
"It's not," he insisted gently. "You don't sound fine."
She opened her mouth, then shut it. He was right. She wasn't fine. She hadn't been since yesterday.
He studied her face, his brow furrowing slightly. "Did something happen?"
Elin's gaze flicked down, focusing on a faint flour smudge on her apron. Her heart ached at his words, but underneath that ache was something darker. Guilt.
She could still feel Sebastian's breath against her cheek. The way he had looked at her, spoken to her, cornered her with words until she couldn't tell where sympathy ended and manipulation began. She had been too broken to resist, too fragile to stop him. And now she stood here, looking into the eyes of the man she truly loved, wishing she could undo it all.
Axton's voice broke through her thoughts. "Hey," he said softly, reaching across the counter to brush a strand of hair from her face. His fingertips lingered a second longer than necessary.
"You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"
The warmth of his hand made her ache. Her heart twisted under the weight of guilt — because she couldn't tell him. Not yet. Not when she didn't even know how to explain what she was feeling.
She turned away, blinking hard. "Do you want coffee? I just roasted a new blend."
"Elin." His voice was quiet but firm.
She froze.
"I'm not here for coffee."
"Then what are you here for?"
"To make things right," he said simply. "To make it up to you. However long it takes."
Her breath hitched. The sincerity in his tone broke her composure more than any apology could.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." He stepped closer. "I don't want to keep being the man who lets you down."
Her throat closed. She wanted to tell him everything, to confess what had happened, but the words died in her chest. The fear of losing him — of watching that warmth in his eyes turn to disgust — was too much.
She forced a smile, soft and trembling. "You're already making it up to me. Just being here."
Axton studied her for a long moment, searching her expression as if he sensed something unspoken beneath her words. But instead of pressing, he nodded slowly, his hand brushing hers across the counter. "Then I'll stay awhile. Keep you company."
"Okay," she whispered.
She turned to the espresso machine, letting the steam hiss drown out her racing thoughts. He was here, smiling again, leaning against the counter like he used to. It should have felt perfect — but all she could feel was the shadow of last night, curling like smoke at the edges of her mind.
As she handed him the coffee, her fingers trembled slightly. He didn't notice.
Axton took a sip, then smiled. "Still the best coffee in the city."
She tried to return it. "You're just saying that."
"No," he said softly, "I mean it."
The sign on the bakery door flipped to Closed, the faint click echoing through the small shop.
The night outside hummed softly, streetlights glowing through the glass, spilling faint halos of gold onto the tiled floor.
Inside, the world had quieted. The hum of the fridge, the faint tap of Axton's shoes against the counter, the whisper of cloth as Elin wiped down the last table — it all felt strangely intimate, like the day had shrunk to fit just the two of them.
Elin exhaled, pressing her forearm against her forehead. "I swear the lunch crowd gets busier every week."
"Could be your croissants," Axton said, picking up a rag to help her. "Or your charm."
She threw him a look, half amused, half tired. "Charm doesn't pay the rent."
He grinned and started stacking the trays beside her, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed. She tried not to notice how easily he fit into her space, like he belonged behind her counter. Every now and then, his arm brushed hers when they reached for the same tray, a fleeting touch that sent a ripple through her chest.
When the last of the chairs was flipped and the tables gleamed faintly under the soft lights, she leaned against the counter and let out a breath. "Thank you for staying."
He shrugged, wiping his hands on a towel. "I'm just trying to make it up to you."
"You didn't have to."
"I wanted to." His tone softened, carrying weight behind the words.
Her eyes flickered toward him, catching the faint shadow of guilt behind his expression. Since that day at the theme park, things between them had been... fragile.
He broke the silence first. "I wanted to apologize again," he said quietly. "For walking away. For... everything. I wasn't fair to you, Elin."
Her throat tightened, the guilt gnawing at her.
"When I saw you with Sebastian..." He stopped, the name catching like glass in his throat. "I thought I'd lost you. I didn't like how that felt."
Elin froze, eyes widening slightly.
"I was scared," Axton admitted. "Scared that he could give you something I couldn't. That maybe you'd realize you didn't need me anymore."
The honesty in his voice hit her like a slow wave. She should stayed angry at him but that aching sincerity in his words made it hard to.
Her lips parted, but the words tangled in her throat. All she could think about was how she had let Sebastian touch her. How she'd let it happen because she was hurt, because she'd wanted to stop missing Axton for one night.
The guilt rose, thick and suffocating.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words trembling out before she could stop them.
Axton frowned. "For what?"
"For..." She shook her head, staring at the counter. "I don't know. For being a mess. For making things complicated."
He stepped closer, slow and cautious, like he was approaching something fragile. "You don't have to apologize for feeling things, Elin."
Her breath hitched as he reached out, brushing his fingers against her sleeve. The gesture was small, but it sent her heartbeat spiralling.
She looked up, meeting his gaze and in his eyes, she saw something she hadn't seen before. Vulnerability and longing.
And she wanted to fall into it.
Before she could tell herself to stop, she reached for him. Her fingers brushed his jaw, tracing the rough edge of stubble there. He went still, watching her like he wasn't sure what she would do next.
Then she kissed him.
The world seemed to tilt.
At first, the kiss was tentative, soft and uncertain like a fragile thread woven from apology and need.
Axton didn't move for a heartbeat, he was stunned. Then he realized she kissed him so his hand came up to her face, cupping her cheek like she might disappear.
He kissed her back slowly, carefully, like he was afraid to break her.
Elin pressed closer, her fingers curling into his shirt. Every taste of him, every soft breath between them, felt like a plea she couldn't voice. She didn't want to think. Didn't want to remember Sebastian. She just wanted this — wanted Axton's hands, his warmth, the steady rhythm of his breath grounding her.
Something snapped in Axton. His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer until her body pressed against his. The counter dug into her hip, but she barely noticed.
The kiss turned hungry and messy.
Axton's fingers threaded through her hair, and she gasped against his mouth. He groaned softly, pulling her in again, his lips tracing down to her jaw.
It was dizzying — the heat of it, the noise of her pulse in her ears, the way her body betrayed her, wanting more when she knew she shouldn't.
Somewhere in the blur, she whispered his name, a sound half-drowned in breath.
Her hands trembled on his chest. She didn't know if she wanted him to stop or not.
He pulled back just enough to see her face, his thumb brushing over her lower lip, swollen from his kiss. "Are you sure?"
She nodded before she could think, a silent plea for him to stay, to make her forget.
His lips were on hers again, this time rougher and more hungrier.