Author's Note: Uploading this Valentine's Day fluff here, finally. This is a gift for my funny little valentine Sarah (GhostofBambi), even though I spoiled this whole story for her forty-five seconds after I had this idea, and even though I make her stay up way too late all the time, and even though I have not yet booked my flight to visit Flamingoland. You are a star and a wonder and my heart explodes at your friendship and also that you laugh at my jokes. Kissseshugs&etc
When one is co-owner of bakery, it's an integral thing not to overindulge in treats.
Usually, Lily is quite good at this sort of thing. Even when said sweets are some of the best England has to offer (in Lily's own humble opinion). Even when she's come up with something fantastic and new, and has spent hours upon hours perfecting it, and its eventual shiny, delicious presentation begs bite after bite. Even when it's been a grueling shift, she's been elbow-deep in flour and buttercream since four, and collapsing atop a giant mound of shortbread seems just the thing.
And even on days like today—Valentine's Day—when the bakery door seems to be on endless revolve, welcoming in a steady stream of cloyingly sweet lovers, breezily nonchalant boyfriends who poke at the first red confection they see in the display case and beam with pride as if they've done something mighty, and the occasional single saunterer who—like Lily herself, no matter how content they are with their current relationship status—may need the bolster of a beautiful little bon-bon to make all the rest seem a bit more bearable.
Yes, Lily is quite good at tempering her consumption of sweets…except when the treat comes in the form of one tall, sumptuous, messy-haired patron.
Then, quite frankly, she immediately goes to slosh.
"Li-ly," Mary sings, poking her dark head in through the swinging kitchen door. Lily is just finishing sprinkling a dash of edible confetti atop a fresh two dozen heart-shaped cupcakes. "Can you pop out here quick?"
"What?" Lily replies distractedly, frowning down at the single cupcake whose frosting teeters off to the left. She tries to nudge it with her piping bag, then gives up and moves that one to the back of the tray. She turns. "Mary—"
But her partner is already gone, vanished to the front of the shop once more.
Lily sighs, grabbing the fresh tray with both hands and stepping forward until she's pushing out the swinging kitchen doors—which hits her arse with a sturdy smack as she skitters to a halt at the sight of James Potter leaning against the bakery counter.
"Hi," he says, giving her that swoon-worthy, lopsided grin of his, the tiniest of dimples creasing in his warm brown skin.
Yum.
Lily stands up straighter, telling her thrumming heart to cool it, and gives a jaunty smile of her own.
"Hi there." She steps forward on her comfy trainers, suddenly inordinately grateful that she'd thrown on a cute top and some perky red lipstick earlier to fit with the holiday spirit. She bends, sliding the tray into the cupcake display, ignoring Mary's amused smirk from the other end of the counter. Lily takes her time before facing him again. "This is new," she says, and checks her watch. "I've never seen you in here past nine."
"Glad to see me?"
"That pretty face of yours? It'll do. Abruptly keen on a four p.m. latte and scone, then?"
"Close," James says, leaning his luscious forearms—revealed by the artlessly ruched up sleeves of his white button-down—against the counter. "As it happens, I am in dire dessert straits."
"Oh?" The bright, happy thing that has been spiraling inside Lily's chest at his unexpected arrival abruptly pops and throbs. "Let me guess—girlfriend isn't pleased with her Valentine's Day gift, and you're hoping to buy a dessert to compensate?"
In the approximately two months since James Potter had first dropped into the bakery one harried winter morning for a latte and breakfast pastry—and during his subsequent numerous visits, at least twice a week since then—Lily has managed to glean a healthy dose of information about him. More than just that he likes his lattes strong and his pastry fruity (though he does), she also knows he works up the road in the big posh building made of full glass doing marketing for his family's company. He likes dry humour comedies and the theatrical wonder of professional wrestling. He has a brother named Sirius, a cat called Algernon, and a phone filled with pictures of both, which he shows off generously. His birthday is in March, his favourite colour is green, and in all this time—all this time—that he has been coming into Lily's bakery and flirting shamelessly with her, he has never once mentioned a girlfriend.
Lily's not-so-small crush has thus flourished with great gusto, gentle winds of affection feeding the flames with each tempting interaction, only to be brought up short here, now, with one single afternoon's visit and the possibility that this may not be what she'd thought.
James tilts his head, giving her an accessing look. "Is that the sort of bloke you get in here today?"
Lily gives a jerky shrug. Answer the question. "One of the sort."
"Your art is wasted on them," he declares, and says it with such firm earnestness, Lily is certain a scarlet flush begins to creep up her neck. He does not seem to notice as he reaches an arm around to pull his phone from his back pocket. "Alas, this is woman trouble, but my specific lack of a girlfriend seems to be a key part of the issue. See?"
Lack of a girlfriend, Lily hears with something akin to relieved euphoria, and she takes the phone when James passes it over to her, glancing down at the lit-up screen.
It's pulled up to a text conversation. At the top, the contact is in big, bold letters.
M U M
"A-ha," Lily says, heart beginning to bubble again, though that in itself is exasperating. This is meant to be a light, easy little crush—she should not be this relieved. "That sort of woman trouble."
James nods solemnly and motions for her to read.
At precisely 14:39, he had sent the following:
happy v day mum
Lily's lips quirk. How predictably James to toss out the offhand sentiment, and how greedy Lily would be for even that much...though lord knows he isn't going to be winning awards for his artful texting prose or brilliant grammar any time soon.
At precisely 14:41, he'd received back:
No day is a happy day when I am squandering my best grandmothering years because my feckless children have denied me the greatest joy a person can know. You are too handsome to be this cruel.
Then there are three emojis: a weeping face, an angry face, an aubergine.
An aubergine.
Lily snorts loudly.
"Ah—ah." She covers the sound with a cough, burying it in a daintily curved knuckle. "That's...quite a guilt trip you've got there. Your mum has a way with words."
"And emojis," James mutters, taking the phone back as Lily laughs in earnest. "So now you see what I'm up against."
"At least she's called you handsome."
"She takes full credit for that, too. Something about the privilege of procuring her prime genes and how grateful I ought to be that she only dropped me on my face as an infant the once." He slips the phone back into his pocket, gives her a cheeky head tilt and a twinkle of warm brown eyes from behind thick-framed specs. "So this is where you come in."
"To agree that she dropped you on your face the appropriate amount of times?"
"To provide me with something that might make her momentarily forget that I haven't yet replicated that face in the form of a human spawn," James corrects, but then he pauses, leaning forward. "Though, by all means, that first one too."
Lily's chest squirms happily. She gives his undoubtedly handsome cheek a playful little pat, but spins on her heel and keeps her red-stained lips shut. She grabs a take away box from the shelf behind her, then turns back to James, whose smiling face is lit up by the dessert display case.
"So"—she prods open the cardboard box, pushing in the tabs—"exactly how many desserts do you reckon make up for your severe lack of procreation?"
James plays at pondering this.
"Well." He taps at his chin. "See, I reckon this is more a 'quality' than a 'quantity' issue, actually."
"Is it? Well, then you have come to the right place." Lily grandly waves a hand over the case. "I am very talented, see."
James smiles. "I'm aware." Then he claps his hands together. "So. One of everything, please."
"One of—" Lily snorts. "Hilarious. What happened to 'quality not quantity'?"
"That's what I'm doing," James returns, and Lily squints in amused confusion at how straight he keeps his face while continuing the joke. "As we've already affirmed, you're very talented. So how am I meant to discover which desserts are the best of the best if I don't try each and every one and choose from there?" He reaches into his pocket again, this time pulling out his wallet. He plucks a jaunty blue credit card out and thrusts it towards her. "One of everything, please."
Lily pushes away his card, rolling her eyes. "Ha-ha. Very funny. What's she keen on? Maybe a tart? Chocolate—"
"One"—jab, jab goes the card again—"of each. Please."
"James."
"I'm good for it. I swear. Go on, swipe through. I'll sit right over there"—he pokes the card briefly towards one of the few tiny tables in the corner of the shop—"and try each and every one."
Lily drops her hands to her hips. He's still not breaking. The stupid handsome face is watching hers in expectant pause. But he can't be serious.
"You're going to sit right there"—she cocks her head towards the table—"and eat thirty different desserts?"
"Sample thirty different desserts," James amends, and pats his slim tummy. "Must be mindful of what will fit, naturally. But it's a scientific thing. Very methodical. Has to be done proper. One by one, each and every one." He lifts an eyebrow at her. "For my mother. To stop the aubergines. I have to stop the aubergines, Lily."
"That's—" She lets out a laugh. Shakes her head. But still—still—he remains unmoved. She lifts the cardboard box again. "I'm packing you four desserts. A perfectly reasonable, high quality sampling—"
"Mary," James calls, eyes never leaving Lily's. He lifts his credit card higher. "Your partner is refusing to sell me thirty desserts."
"You—"
"I'll take that!" Mary cries, swooping in from the other end of the counter, bumping Lily aside so she can pluck James's card straight from his fingertips. She turns to Lily with a gimlet-eyed stare. "Are you out your mind? Serve the man!"
"Yes," James agrees. "Serve the man."
Lily glares at them both, lunging for James's card. "He's not—he's being a loon, he doesn't want thirty desserts—"
"I do," James says again. "I really do."
Mary waves her hand about, determinedly keeping the card from Lily's searching grasp. "Do you hear that? He's confirmed his order. We are a fledgling business, Lily Evans. We do not turn away a good man's good money."
"Thank you," James pipes in again. "I am a good man. I have good money."
"Shut up," Lily returns, huffing in exasperation. "This is so—"
"I'll just pop over there, shall I?" James says, eyebrows raised at her. "To the table? I imagine you have some kind of tray for this sort of thing."
"As a matter of fact—"
"Go on, we'll bring everything right over!" Mary chimes in, looking positively delighted by all of this. "We're even running a Valentine's special: Buy thirty desserts, get one gorgeous, stubborn redhead free."
"Perfect," James says, and though Lily still cannot understand what kind of extravagant nonsense stick slapped him upside the head that afternoon to make him think this was even a remotely sensible idea, she feels her skin prickling with a rosy blush anyway. But James has already turned for the table, marching to the corner of the room with determined strides.
"What are you doing?" Lily hisses to Mary once he's out of earshot.
"What are you doing?" Mary hisses back, poking Lily in the side with James's card. "Your swoony treat of a man wants to buy our shop out of pastry, and you're saying no? I can't decide whether that's a worse business decision or a worse romantic decision!"
"It's not either! He's just...well, honestly, I haven't the faintest what he's doing, but it's not—" Lily waves her hands in irritation, taking a quick glance over her shoulder to see that James has indeed sat himself down at the table in the corner, folding his hands neatly upon the tabletop in a patient pose. He looks delicious and adorable and he's buying all her desserts which he thinks are art, and she wants to snog him more than she wants to breathe. "This is ridiculous. Give me that card."
"Not a chance," Mary shoots back, and whips her hand behind her back again. "For fuck's sake, Lily, I heard the word aubergine. So go get the man his desserts, and maybe you can finally enjoy yourself a bit of fruit!"
"Shhh—god, Mary—" But her partner has already flounced back over to the register, where Lily sees she is quick at work in charging James's card.
Thirty desserts.
He wants thirty desserts.
He's clearly gone mad.
But with Mary swiping a black hole onto his charge card, Lily can't very well refuse to serve him, even if she can't figure out his game. After a moment's huff of frustration, she grabs one of the empty baking trays from the kitchen and heads for the display case. The four-tiered unit is packed full with Lily's hard work from the morning—tartes and chocolates and confectionaries with elegant designs and perfectly coiffed decor (save the one clumsily frosted heart cupcake—James is getting that one, because she's spiteful). It's a lit up pedestal for her daily achievements, and she carefully picks out one of every dessert they currently have on display.
The collection makes up a rather dazzling tableau. With all of them standing together, Lily gets a little burst of pride. She is an artist at work, and it tickles her straight down to the heart that he's been impressed enough to notice it, to make the comment. All of this tickles at her in a way that she was not expecting to be tickled on a busy Valentine's Day afternoon with a dish of a man, his guilt-tripping mother, and an emoji aubergine.
But she's already given her protests. What else is a girl to do except roll with it?
James stands up to help her when he spots her coming over with the tray, but Lily deftly outmaneuvers him to drop the full platter atop the tiny tabletop herself. His long fingers casually fall to the small of her back as they stand beside each other and marvel at the table full of desserts. Lily turns her head to look up at him, only to find him looking at her too.
Their faces are close. So close.
She looks away first.
"Your good money has procured you good desserts, my good man," she says flatly, slipping an errant strand of red hair behind her ear.
James chuckles. "Excellent. Now if I only had someone to taste them with…"
Lily plucks a single plastic fork from her pocket, jabbing him lightly in the chest with its flimsy prongs. "Sorry, old chap. Science is a lonely game."
James lifts a hand to catch the fork—but catches a few of her fingers along with it.
Lily's whole arm immediately feels encased in pure, tingling warmth.
"What was this I heard about a free gorgeous redhead?" he inquires with faux innocence. "I think I ordered one of those, as well."
"Reckon that one's out of your budget, mate," Lily returns, though her fingers curl beneath his.
"I have incredibly high limits on my card," James says, but when she gives him a quelling look, he only lifts the hand that's not still—still—holding hers, and splays its fingers wide. "Five minutes," he requests, brown eyes pleading. "I need someone to explain what everything is. I'm hopeless. I'll just call every one a pudding and never get the right one."
"You're not nearly as hopeless as that," Lily argues, but her protest sounds flimsily wain even to her own ears.
But, really, why shouldn't it? Of course she wants to cosy up with James at this table and watch as he samples all her delicious hard work, wants to see his eyes light up with each taste, wants to grin as he dives back in for second spoonfuls of his favourites, wants to listen to the cool, syrupy sound of his voice as he sorts through which treat he thinks his mum will fancy most.
She glances over her shoulder at Mary, who is presently ringing up one customer's purchase, with a second queuing patiently behind. There does seem to be a brief lull in the mad Valentine's rush. And those cupcakes were the last of Lily's afternoon baking shift. The display cases should remain decently stocked for at least another few hours. If a sudden onslaught of new customers arrives, she can always pop back over there.
She turns to James, who watches her with hopeful expectation. His face is still so close, she can nearly taste the little dimple. Could just lift up on her tiptoes, drop the smallest of kisses—
Christ, she's far gone for this one.
"Fine. Five minutes," she says, and feels the rush of heady affection as he grins widely, beaming at her. "But if it starts getting busy, I'll have to—"
"Hop to, absolutely." His fingers drop hers, but only so he can reach down and guide her from the back once more. He kicks out one of the chairs with his foot and calls, "Mary, Lily's taking her break!"
"Five minutes!" Lily corrects, and gives James a look as he seats her, then slides into the chair across. "Five minutes," she warns him again.
His only response is another grin.
Five minutes, she's said, but of course it's not five minutes. At five minutes, she's hardly gotten through naming even half of the desserts presented, gets caught up when James asks, "Where did you learn all this? You're a bloody marvel." And Lily explains about her grandmother, the one who had kept Lily in the kitchen at her knee for most of her childhood, and then the brief stint in culinary school after that, though when that same grandmother had passed and left Lily a healthy little inheritance, she and Mary had decided to take the plunge and open the shop.
So five minutes turns to ten, and ten to fifteen, and then time means something else because they're talking about James's mum and her laundry list of hilarious antics and the way James so clearly adores her straight down to his toes—adores his whole family, and the stories he has!—but then Lily has to pop over to help with a growing rush of customers and returns to the table to find that James has somehow recruited five adorable little girls and their jolly father chaperone into his scientific study, six new forks diving into numerous delicacies, and Lily is left preening as James announces that she is their creator and all six newcomers babble and bleat their lavish praise upon her. The little girls do not seem to notice or mind that the frosting on their heart-shaped cupcake is lopsided, and end up ordering half-dozen more before they depart the bakery with waves and frosting-coated smiles. Lily rings them up herself with her own giddy grin, and turns to find that Mary has foisted a rag and cleaner spray on James, who is diligently scrubbing little girl finger prints off the glass display case. Then they're back at the table, and how can they not start to discuss which Fyre Festival documentary is better? It's the only natural progression of the afternoon, and the perfect complement to casual fork dips into the red velvet cake. And the strawberry shortcake. And—
"A pudding!" James declares in delight.
"A pudding," Lily confirms, smiling fondly.
She's so very very fond of this man, and each five minutes by five minutes that passes does nothing to temper that. It's a mighty thing, this deepening crush of hers, and it's suddenly being augmented all the more by the growing suspicion that she's almost certain—really, nearly positively certain—that it's not an unrequited affection. She's considered it before, of course. All these weeks, all these mornings. But today...it's different. He doesn't say anything more flirty than usual, doesn't try anything cringeworthy like feeding her food off his fork or asking what desserts are best eaten directly from the skin. Lily has had a few of those sorts in her past, and James is neither. But he does lean into her across the table at every available opportunity. He does make nudging his fork against hers as they dig into a fruit tart seem like foreplay. He does…
He does fancy her.
It's....really, she's certain—
"All that talk about pudding, and you hardly even tasted it!" she cries now, because she can't bring herself to say, All this chemistry and flirting, and you've hardly even touched me!
James responds to neither spoken nor unspoken exclamation, instead scraping a spoon once again inside the effectively empty glass of caramel pretzel mousse, which has quickly surpassed all other desserts on the tray in his estimation.
"I want to be buried in this," he declares, lavishly closing his eyes as he licks the spoon for the last sparse remnants of mousse streaks. "Better yet, cremate me and mix me in with the batter. Please. It's the perfect way to go."
"That would most certainly affect the consistency," Lily mutters, but she's pleased—so very smug and proud and pleased—that he's so enamoured of something she's made. He's been rapturously complimentary about just about every dessert he's sampled, but he's clearly got a new favourite and it delights her.
"I want this for every meal," he says, and stares down at the mousse glass like he's strongly considering circling the rim with his finger so he can lick up whatever his spoon has failed to catch. "I want—"
"Another one?" Lily asks, laughing. "You're allowed to pick out one for yourself along with your mum's, you know. I'm sure there's plenty left—"
But as Lily swivels in her seat to view just how many caramel pretzel mousses are left for James to hoard all his own, it's to find a much emptier display case than when she'd last left it. In fact, the whole bakery is emptier. And it's darker. Much darker.
"Shit." She checks her watch—shit. "It's nearly closing. How did it get so late?"
"Hm?" James murmurs, but Lily rises to her feet, suddenly incredibly skittish.
She knew she'd wasted a bit of time this afternoon, tasting and laughing and chatting with James. She just hadn't realised how much time had gone.
She glances up to see that Mary is taking care of another customer at the till, and the one other woman they have running this shift is tidying in the kitchen. Neither seems bothered or overwhelmed by Lily's absence, but she still feels like a wretch. She makes it to the display case to find that a solid half of the stock has been thoroughly cleared out. There are no more creme brûlée biscuits. No more double chocolate mini cakes. No more—
No more caramel pretzel mousses.
"Shit," she says again, squinting in the glare of the display case's lights. She glances over her shoulder at James, who has risen to his feet too and is slowly following her towards the desserts. "We took too long. Look—half of the best stuff is already gone. You and the girls wanted to include the graham cracker shortcake. And there's only one of the praline pieces. And the mousse—"
"It is a shame, about the mousse," James says, and stops when he's standing next to her, gazing down at the empty tiers, as well. He pauses, and then there's the warm pressure of his fingers at her back again, soothingly stroking. "Don't worry about the rest."
She feels impossibly guilty. "What do you mean 'don't worry about the rest'? The whole plan—"
"There's been a change in the plans," James says, nodding firmly. "A big reveal, if you will."
"Big reveal? What does that—"
"I realised quite early on that it would require approximately six stone of desserts in order to have my poor mother forgetting about her lack of extended progeny for even the smallest productive period of time." He tips his chin at her in acknowledgment. "Even if they are the best desserts the world has ever seen."
She narrows her eyes, wondering where this is going now. "That's very flattering, but what then—"
"Euphemia Potter is a woman of action," James interrupts again, simply and crisply. "She likely could never be bribed with sweets or treats. Instead, I plan to earn back far greater favour by stopping round her house later, giving her a strong cuddle, and saying, 'Mother beloved, I am sorry I do not yet have a child for which you may dandle upon your knee, but I did just spend the entire afternoon finagling my way into a dessert-themed date with the woman I've fancied something fierce for the last two months—and I think it actually went really well—so I hope you'll take that as strides in the correct direction and strive to be content for now.'"
What had he just—
...finagling my way into a dessert-themed date...
...woman I've fancied something fierce…
...went really well…
Lily stares at him.
She stares at him, she blinks rapidly, feels her pulse racing...and then she tries not to smile.
Date.
Fancy.
Thank god.
"You sly little shit." She elbows him in the stomach, beginning to laugh as he laughs. "You tricked me."
"Only a smidge," he insists, and holds up his thumb and pointer finger, measuring out a minuscule centimeter. The other hand still drifts along her back. "And only because every time I come in, you seem so busy, so I chatted with Mary—"
"Mary was in on this?"
"—and I know Valentine's Day is the worst, but I wanted to see you, and I didn't know—that is, I wasn't sure if…" He trails off, wincing some, looking for the first time a bit bashful and apologetic for his elaborate machinations. Lily still can't believe she'd been so neatly shepherded into it like one of the blind herd. It's grating, being fooled this way. But also…
But also…
Woman I've fancied something fierce.
Lily turns toward him, stepping forward until the space is gone between them, until she can wrap her long arms around his middle and squeeze his torso in a tight, thrilling little hug...all while stomping very firmly on his left foot with hers.
"Next time, just ask, you prat," she grumbles, then snuggles her face against his chest.
She can feel his heart pounding against her ear. His body—so soft and warm—huddles around hers as both of James's arms wrap around her too. He squeezes her—strong, tight, delicious.
"There's a next time?" he asks hopefully.
Lily makes a vague little humming noise, burying her smile into his button-down.
There would be a next time. There would most certainly be a next time.
After all...someone still had to do something about those aubergines.