Chapter 5: The Bakery Counter Confession
The bakery smelled like a hug.
Caramel and vanilla hung thick in the air, layered over the sharper bite of dark chocolate cooling on the marble counter. Amber stood behind the register with her back to the door, a piping bag in one hand and a half-frosted red velvet cake spinning slowly on a turntable. She was humming something off-key—a song from the radio that had been stuck in her head since Tuesday—and she didn't hear the bell chime over the door.
Didn't hear the footsteps crossing the worn hardwood.
Didn't realize she wasn't alone until a familiar voice said, "That's crooked."
She spun around, piping bag still raised like a weapon.
Kash stood on the other side of the counter in a charcoal Henley and dark jeans, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. The late afternoon sun caught the gold undertones in his brown skin, made his eyes look warmer than they had any right to.
"You're not supposed to be here," she said.
"I know."
"I have a schedule."
"I know."
"So you just—" She gestured vaguely with the piping bag, a blob of cream cheese frosting splattering onto the floor. "You just show up?"
"I was in the neighborhood."
"You own a club in the Warehouse District. This is not the neighborhood."
He shrugged, unbothered. "I was in the neighborhood of wanting to see you."
Amber stared at him for a long moment. Then she set down the piping bag, wiped her hands on her apron, and walked around the counter.
"You can't just appear at my job, Kash."
"I just did."
"That's not—" She stopped, frustrated. "I have a life. A routine. Things that don't revolve around you."
"I know." He reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "I wanted to see what it looked like."
She swatted his hand away. "What what looked like?"
"Your life."
The words hung between them, simple and disarming. Amber felt something shift in her chest—a crack in the wall she'd been so carefully maintaining for the past two weeks.
Two weeks of late nights at his penthouse. Two weeks of tangled sheets and early morning escapes. Two weeks of never leaving a toothbrush, never unpacking a bag, never letting herself believe that any of it was real.
Because it wasn't.
Couldn't be.
"I'm working," she said, stepping back. "You should go."
"I have a better idea."
"I'm not interested."
"You don't even know what it is."
"Don't care."
He smiled—that slow, knowing smile that made her want to punch him and kiss him in equal measure—and walked past her toward the small table by the window.
The stained glass cast amber and rose patterns across the marble, fractured light making everything look like a painting. He pulled out a chair and sat down, stretching his legs out like he belonged there.
"I'll wait," he said.
"You'll wait for what?"
"For you to finish."
Amber crossed her arms. "You can't just sit here."
"I'm a paying customer."
"You haven't ordered anything."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a black Amex, and set it on the table. "Surprise me."
She hated that she wanted to laugh. Hated that the corners of her mouth twitched when she looked at him sitting there in his expensive clothes, surrounded by pastel walls and flour-dusted counters.
"You're impossible," she muttered.
"I've been told."
She went back to the cake. Tried to ignore him. Tried to focus on the swirl of the piping bag, the perfect rosettes she'd been practicing for months.
But she could feel his eyes on her.
Warm. Steady. Unhurried.
When she glanced up, he was watching with an expression she couldn't name. Something soft and hungry at the same time. Like she was a puzzle he was taking his time solving.
"What?" she snapped.
"Nothing."
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like—" She gestured vaguely. "Like that."
He just smiled and leaned back in his chair.
The afternoon ticked by in slow increments. A couple wandered in and ordered lattes and a slice of carrot cake. A regular named Mrs. Patterson came in to pick up a birthday order, her grandkids trailing behind her like ducklings. Amber rang them up, made small talk, tried to pretend like there wasn't a millionaire sitting in the corner watching her like she was the only thing in the room.
When the bakery finally emptied, she wiped down the counter and walked over to his table.
"You going to order or what?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
She rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"
"You."
"That's not on the menu."
He reached out and caught her wrist, tugging her closer. "It should be."
Amber's heart stuttered. She pulled her hand back, but didn't step away.
"You can't say stuff like that."
"Why not?"
"Because—" She shook her head. "Because it's not real."
"What's not real?"
"This." She gestured between them. "Whatever this is. It's just—it's just sex, Kash. Really good sex. But that's all it is."
He stood up slowly. The movement was unhurried, controlled, but there was something in his eyes that made her want to back up.
She didn't.
"You think I came here for sex?" he asked.
"I think you came here because you were bored."
"Wrong."
"I think you came here because you're used to getting what you want."
"Also wrong."
"I think—"
"You think too much." He stepped closer, and she felt the heat of him, the solid weight of his presence. "You've been staying at my place for two weeks, Amber. Two weeks of waking up next to me. Two weeks of falling asleep in my bed. And every morning, you slip out before I open my eyes."
Her throat tightened. "That's not—"
"It is." He tilted his head, studying her. "You never leave anything behind. No toothbrush, no clothes, no phone charger. You show up, you stay the night, you disappear. Like you're afraid that if you leave something behind, I'll think you want to stay."
She swallowed hard. "I don't want to stay."
"You're lying."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He reached up and cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I've been watching you, Amber. I see the way you look at me when you think I'm asleep. I see the way you hesitate at the door before you leave. You want to stay. You're just too scared to admit it."
Her eyes burned. She hated that he was right. Hated that he could see through her so easily.
"So what?" she said, her voice rough. "So what if I do? That doesn't mean anything."
"It means everything."
"No, it doesn't." She pulled away, putting distance between them. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to show up at my job and act like this is more than it is."
"What is it, then?"
"It's—it's fun. It's casual. It's two people enjoying each other's company."
"Bullshit."
She flinched. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "You're using that word—casual—like it's a shield. Like if you say it enough times, it'll protect you from getting hurt."
"That's not what I'm doing."
"Then what are you doing?"
"I'm being realistic!" She threw her hands up, frustrated. "Guys like you don't settle down. Guys like you don't do relationships. You have a different woman in your bed every week—"
"Had."
"—and you expect me to believe that I'm special? That I'm the one who changes everything?"
"You are."
"Don't." Her voice cracked. "Don't say that."
"It's the truth."
"You don't know me."
"I know you better than you think." He stepped toward her, and she backed up until her hips hit the counter. "I know you wake up at five every morning, even when you don't have to. I know you sing in the shower when you think I can't hear you. I know you're allergic to strawberries and you hate the smell of lavender. I know you've been taking care of yourself since you were sixteen, and you don't know how to let anyone else do it."
Her breath caught. "How—"
"I pay attention."
"That's not the same as knowing me."
"It's a start." He braced his hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in. "You want to know what I know? I know you're scared. I know you've been hurt before, and you've decided that being alone is safer than being vulnerable. I know you think that if you keep one foot out the door, it won't hurt as much when it ends."
Her eyes stung. "You don't—"
"I know you're wrong." His voice dropped, low and fierce. "Because I'm not going anywhere. I've never asked anyone to stay before, Amber. Not once. But I'm asking you."
The words landed like a punch to the chest. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at him and try not to fall apart.
"You're confusing sex with something else," she whispered.
"No."
"You are. You're—you're just caught up in the moment. In the novelty. I'm new, I'm different, I'm—"
"You're everything."
She shook her head. "Stop."
"I'm not going to stop."
"Kash—"
"I want you to move in with me."
The world tilted. Amber felt the floor drop out from under her, felt the air leave her lungs in a rush.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"You're insane."
"Maybe."
"We've known each other for two weeks."
"Three, actually. If you count the night we met."
"That doesn't count."
"It counts." He leaned in, his forehead nearly touching hers. "I've been waiting for someone like you my whole life, Amber. Someone who doesn't care about my money. Someone who tells me the truth even when I don't want to hear it. Someone who makes me want to be better."
She closed her eyes. "You don't mean that."
"I do."
"You're just—you're just saying that because you want—"
"I want you." His voice was rough, urgent. "Not just your body. Not just the nights. I want your mornings. I want your bad days and your good days and everything in between. I want to wake up next to you and know that you're not going to disappear."
Her chest heaved. She felt like she was drowning.
"I can't," she said.
"You can."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know how!" The words tore out of her, raw and jagged. "I don't know how to stay. I don't know how to trust someone not to leave. I don't know how to let myself want something that might get taken away."
Kash went still. His hands tightened on the counter.
"Who hurt you?" he asked.
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
She opened her eyes, and the tears she'd been holding back spilled over. "Everyone. Everyone I've ever loved. My dad left when I was six. My mom died when I was sixteen. Every boyfriend I've ever had found someone better, someone easier, someone who didn't come with so much baggage."
"I'm not them."
"I know." She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "That's what makes it worse."
He frowned. "What?"
"Because if I let myself believe that you're different—if I let myself hope—and then you leave anyway—" She shook her head. "I won't survive it."
"You will."
"No, I won't."
"Yes, you will." He reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Because I'm not going to leave."
"You can't promise that."
"Yes, I can."
"You don't know—"
"I know myself." He cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. "I've spent my whole life building walls, Amber. Protecting myself from people who wanted to use me, hurt me, take what I had and leave me with nothing. I know what it's like to be afraid."
She stared at him. "You're not afraid of anything."
"Wrong." He smiled—a sad, crooked smile that made her heart ache. "I'm afraid of everything. I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of being alone. I'm afraid of letting someone in and having them destroy me."
"Then why—"
"Because you make me want to try." He leaned in, his lips brushing her forehead. "You make me want to take the risk."
Amber shut her eyes. She could feel his breath on her skin, warm and steady. Could feel the weight of his words pressing down on her, demanding a response she didn't know how to give.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered.
"I know."
"I don't know how to be someone's—someone's girlfriend. Or partner. Or whatever the hell you want me to be."
"I know."
"I'm going to mess up. I'm going to push you away. I'm going to do everything I can to prove that you should leave."
"I know." His thumb traced her jaw. "And I'm going to stay anyway."
She opened her eyes. He was looking at her with an expression so tender it made her chest hurt.
"Why?" she asked. "Why me?"
"Because you're the first person in years who's made me feel like I'm not just a bank account. You're the first person who's looked at me and seen something worth keeping."
"That's not true."
"It is." He smiled. "You didn't want me for my money. You didn't want me for my connections. You just wanted me."
"I wanted to fuck you."
He laughed—a real, genuine laugh that lit up his whole face. "Yeah. That too."
She couldn't help it. She laughed too, the sound cracked and watery but real.
"I'm a mess," she said.
"I know."
"I have trust issues."
"I know."
"I'm probably going to drive you crazy."
"Probably." He shrugged. "But I'm willing to risk it."
She looked at him for a long moment. Looked at the stubborn set of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes, the way he was holding her like she was something precious.
And she felt something crack open inside her. Something she'd been holding shut for years.
"I can't move in with you," she said.
His face fell. "Amber—"
"But I'll leave a toothbrush."
He blinked. "What?"
"A toothbrush." She swallowed hard. "And maybe a change of clothes. And—" She took a shaky breath. "And I'll stop sneaking out in the morning."
Kash stared at her. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—wide and genuine and bright enough to light up the whole bakery.
"That's a start," he said.
"It's not a promise."
"I know."
"It's just—it's just a start."
"I know." He leaned in and kissed her—soft and slow, like they had all the time in the world. "But it's enough."
When he pulled back, Amber was crying again. But this time, she was smiling too.
"You're getting frosting on your shirt," she said.
He looked down. There was a smear of cream cheese frosting across his chest, transferred from her apron.
"I don't care," he said.
"You should. That shirt probably costs more than my rent."
"Probably." He shrugged. "I'll buy another one."
"Must be nice."
"It is." He kissed her again. "And it could be nice for you too, if you let it."
She shook her head. "I'm not with you for your money."
"I know."
"I'm not with you for your connections."
"I know."
"I'm not even sure I'm with you at all."
He laughed. "I know."
She punched his chest lightly. "Stop saying that."
"Stop being so stubborn."
"I'm not stubborn. I'm cautious."
"Same thing."
They stood there for a while, wrapped up in each other, the afternoon light fading into gold. Amber could feel his heartbeat against her chest, steady and strong. Could feel the warmth of his hands on her back.
She didn't know if she was making the right choice. Didn't know if she was setting herself up for heartbreak. Didn't know if she'd wake up in six months and realize she'd made a terrible mistake.
But for the first time in a long time, she didn't want to run.
She wanted to try.
"Kash," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He pulled back to look at her. "For what?"
"For not giving up on me." She smiled—small and tentative, but real. "For showing up."
He kissed her forehead. "I'll always show up."
She believed him.
And that, more than anything else, terrified her.
The terror didn't fade when he kissed her goodbye and walked out the door. It followed her through the rest of her shift, sat on her shoulder while she boxed up the leftover pastries, whispered in her ear as she locked up the bakery at nine. She drove home to her cramped studio apartment with its leaky faucet and its secondhand furniture, and she stood in the doorway for a long time, staring at the space that had been hers and only hers for three years.
Her phone buzzed.
You home?
She typed back: Yeah.
Good. I'm not there. But I wanted to know.
She smiled despite herself. That's weirdly sweet.
I'm a weirdly sweet guy.
Debatable.
You're at the bakery tomorrow at six?
Five. I have a wedding order.
Five? That's inhumane.
Some of us work for a living.
Some of us want to bring you coffee at five.
She stared at the screen. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
You don't have to do that.
I know I don't have to. I want to.
Kash.
Amber.
It's too early.
I'll be there at 4:45.
You're ridiculous.
I'm persistent. There's a difference.
She set the phone down and didn't respond. But she also didn't tell him not to come.
---
The knock came at 4:47 the next morning.
Amber was elbow-deep in fondant, her hair tied up in a silk scarf, her apron already dusted with powdered sugar. She wiped her hands on a towel and opened the back door to find Kash standing in the alley, holding two cups of coffee and a paper bag.
"You're late," she said.
"Traffic."
"It's 4:47 in the morning. There is no traffic."
He shrugged and handed her a cup. "I stopped for croissants."
"I own a bakery."
"Your bakery doesn't open for another hour."
She took the coffee—black, two sugars, and salted caramel creamer, exactly how she liked it—and tried not to read too much into the fact that he remembered.
"Come in," she said. "But don't touch anything."
He followed her inside, ducking slightly under the doorframe. The kitchen was small and hot, the ovens already running, the air thick with the smell of butter and yeast.
"This is nice," he said, looking around.
"It's a kitchen."
"It's yours."
She didn't have a response to that, so she went back to the cake. Kash settled onto a stool in the corner, sipping his coffee, watching her work.
"You don't have to stay," she said after a few minutes.
"I know."
"You could go home. Sleep."
"I could."
"You're not going to, are you?"
He smiled. "Nope."
She rolled her eyes and kept working. The wedding cake was three tiers, white fondant with hand-piped lace and fresh flowers. She'd been planning it for months, and it had to be perfect. The bride was a regular—sweet girl, terrible taste in men—and Amber wanted to give her something beautiful.
Kash watched in silence for a while. Then he said, "That's incredible."
"It's just cake."
"It's art."
She paused, glancing over her shoulder. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, genuinely focused on what she was doing.
"You really think so?"
"I really do."
She turned back to the cake, but she couldn't hide the smile on her face.
By the time the sun came up, she'd finished the piping and started on the sugar flowers. Kash had refilled her coffee twice and eaten half the croissants. He'd also somehow convinced her to let him roll out fondant, which he was terrible at, but she didn't have the heart to tell him.
"You're making a mess," she said.
"I'm learning."
"You're wasting ingredients."
"I'm investing in my education."
She laughed—a real, full laugh that surprised them both. Kash looked up at her with an expression she couldn't read.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing." He shook his head. "I just like hearing that."
"Hearing what?"
"You. Laughing." He went back to his mangled fondant. "You don't do it enough."
"I laugh."
"Not like that. Not without thinking about it first."
She didn't know what to say to that. So she didn't say anything at all.
---
The next week passed in a blur of late nights and early mornings.
Kash showed up at the bakery three more times. He brought coffee, pastries from a rival shop that he swore were better, and once, a bouquet of peonies that made Amber's heart do something complicated in her chest.
"You're going to ruin my reputation," she said, setting the flowers in a water glass behind the counter.
"How?"
"People will think I'm dating someone who buys flowers from a grocery store."
"Those are from a florist."
"Still. It's suspicious."
He grinned. "You're worried about your street cred?"
"I'm worried about my regulars asking questions."
"Tell them I'm your sugar daddy."
She threw a towel at his head. He caught it without looking up from his phone.
"You're insufferable," she said.
"You're blushing."
"I'm not."
"You are."
She was. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, and she hated it.
But she didn't hate him.
That was the problem.
---
At night, she still went to his penthouse.
She still slept in his bed, still woke up tangled in his sheets, still felt the weight of his arm around her waist. But now she left things behind—a toothbrush in the bathroom, a pair of jeans in his closet, a phone charger plugged into the wall by the bed.
He never mentioned it. Never pointed it out. But she caught him looking at her things sometimes, a small smile on his face.
One night, as they lay in the dark, she said, "You never asked why."
"Why what?"
"Why I agreed. To stay. To try." She turned her head to look at him. "You just accepted it."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I didn't want to push my luck."
"That's not like you."
"I know." He shifted, rolling onto his side to face her. "But I meant what I said, Amber. I want you to stay because you want to. Not because I forced you into it."
"And if I change my mind?"
"Then you change your mind." He reached out and traced the curve of her shoulder. "I'll be disappointed. But I won't hold you hostage."
She swallowed hard. "That's—"
"What?"
"Too good to be true."
He smiled. "I get that a lot."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
She didn't know how to respond. So she kissed him instead, slow and deep, and let her body say the things her words couldn't.
---
The trouble started on a Thursday.
Amber was closing up the bakery when her phone rang. She didn't recognize the number, but something made her answer anyway.
"Hello?"
"Is this Amber Dunn?" A woman's voice. Cool. Clipped.
"Who's asking?"
"My name is Lena. I'm—" A pause. "I'm an old friend of Kash's."
Amber's grip tightened on the phone. "What do you want?"
"Just to talk. Can you meet me?"
"I'm busy."
"It'll take ten minutes."
"I don't know you."
"No. But I know Kash." Another pause. "And I think you should know him too. The real him. Not the version he's showing you."
Amber's heart pounded. She should hang up. She knew she should hang up.
But she didn't.
"Where?"