The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the small town. It was peaceful, a stark contrast to the world Izaac Walker came from. He clenched the steering wheel, annoyed that his car had broken down in such a place—far from the city, far from where he belonged. Today was supposed to be routine: a meeting at the warehouse, then back to his penthouse. No distractions, no unnecessary stops.
But life rarely played by his rules.
He stepped out of the sleek black car, surveying the area. A small bakery caught his attention, its pastel-colored sign softly glowing in the fading light: Sweet Eats. His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t a man who indulged in pastries or anything sweet for that matter. But there was something about this place—something that made his stomach growl in a way it hadn’t in years. Without a second thought, he crossed the street, the heels of his polished shoes clicking against the pavement.
As he pushed open the door, a soft chime rang out, announcing his presence. The warm scent of sugar and vanilla washed over him, enveloping him in a strange sense of comfort. He shook it off. This wasn’t his world.
The shop was small, cozy even, with pastel walls and small tables adorned with flowers. Customers turned to look at him, curiosity quickly giving way to unease. Izaac was used to this reaction—his tall frame and dark, tailored suit often commanded attention. He radiated power, danger, the kind that made people either look away or get too curious for their own good.
He stepped up to the counter, his eyes scanning the rows of cakes and pastries on display. A ridiculous amount of sugar, all neatly packaged in colorful frosting. It wasn’t his thing, yet, something inside him stirred. Without thinking too much about it, he ordered an array of everything, like a man who had nothing but time.
“Can I help you, sir?” a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
Izaac’s gaze snapped to the young woman standing behind the counter. Her name tag read Arya, and in the moment he saw her, something unfamiliar flickered in his chest. She was small, with soft brown hair pulled back into a neat ponytail and eyes that shone with a kindness he hadn’t seen in years.
She looked up at him, her expression warm, though he could see a hint of nervousness in the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the display case. Izaac was used to people reacting to him with fear, but something about her made him pause.
“I’ll take one of everything,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
Arya blinked, a soft laugh escaping her lips before she could stop it. “One of everything? That’s… quite a lot.”
Izaac’s expression didn’t change. “Is there a problem with that?”
Her laughter died down, replaced by professionalism. “No, sir. It’s just unusual. But I’ll get started on it right away.”
She moved quickly, her hands steady as she packed his order, her movements graceful yet efficient. Izaac found himself watching her more than he cared to admit. There was something different about her, something that set her apart from the people he usually dealt with.
In his world, people wore masks—masks of loyalty, fear, greed—but Arya? She seemed... genuine. The simplicity of her life, her care for the customers, the way she smiled—unaware of the darkness lurking behind his eyes—created a strange sensation in Izaac’s chest, something close to guilt. He shook it off. He couldn’t afford to feel. Not now, not ever.
As Arya filled the bags with cakes, she glanced up at him, her eyes full of curiosity. “Are you from around here?” she asked, making small talk. “I haven’t seen you before.”
“No,” Izaac replied curtly, his gaze unwavering. “Just passing through.”
She nodded, biting her lip as if contemplating whether to say more. “Well, you’ve picked a good place to stop. Sweet Eats is famous around here.”
Izaac didn’t respond. He wasn’t here to chat. But there was something about her—something that made him want to know more, despite himself.
When Arya finally handed over the bags, their fingers brushed for the briefest moment. The contact was nothing more than a graze, but it sent a spark through Izaac, one he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was the kind of warmth that cut through the cold armor he’d built around himself. He cleared his throat, quickly taking the bags.
“Thank you,” Arya said, offering him a smile that was both sincere and kind. “Hope you enjoy.”
Izaac gave her a curt nod, turned on his heel, and left without another word. But as he walked away, the warmth of her smile lingered longer than it should have.
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