Loki meticulously wiped down counters and tabletops, arranged containers of flour and sugar with precision, and organized ingredients for the apple pie he planned to bake in the morning. Ingrid's, his little shop was a labor of love and Loki took great pride in his creations as well as keeping the place spotless. He didn't need to take over his father's firm to provide a meaningful contribution to the city.

Trying not to glance out the big glass windows towards the neon lights of the tattoo shop across the street, nor at the clock that read 5:57, he sighed, setting the cup back into its proper place and tossing the rag to the side. Letting out a long breath and running a hand through his pushed back hair. He had to get rid of some of this nervous energy. What were the chances of her actually coming by tonight, anyway? She'd said maybe. And what chance did a guy like him have with a woman like that? For all he knew, she could be married, or only into people covered in as much ink as she was.

"Fuck it," he sighed to himself, reaching for one of his cupcake pans and pulling sugar and butter out onto the counter. He did the one thing he knew would take his mind off things, which was baking. It didn't take long for Loki to get lost in the act of creating, losing himself in the familiar actions of whipping, sifting, stirring.

Forty-nine minutes later he was gently whisking a thick, creamy caramel sauce in its pan, several mini cheesecakes cooling on his work counter, and his mind was totally blank and blissful.

The jingling of his bell startled the whisk right out of his hand, clattering against the counter and drowning out Loki's surprised cursing.

"Oh my god it smells amazing in here." The woman, Sif, walked towards the counter, inhaling deeply. "I'm so glad you're still open, I'm starving." She glanced around the empty bakery before furrowing her brow. "You are still open right? I can come back in the morning."

"No!" Loki's voice was louder than he expected. "I mean, yes. Yes, we're still open. No you don't have to go." He tried to regain his composure, the sense of calm he felt just moments before. "Can I get you something to eat?"

Sif walked around to the counter seats in front of where the mini cheesecakes were cooling, shedding her coat and sliding onto a stool.

"Is cheesecake Scandinavian?"

"I believe it originated in Greece, actually." He pulled out two small plates and set a cake on each, drizzling the caramel sauce on the top with a flourish. "But I think it's rather universal at this point. And one of my favorites."

He slid one plate across to her and picked up his own fork, trying not to smile at how eagerly she plunged her utensil into his creation. The caramel sauce was another of his specialties. There was something about the treat that was a bit naughty; rich and sticky, almost seductive.

"Mine too. And oh god," she exhaled.

Loki tried not to let his knees buckle at the sound of her blissed-out groan, his heart fluttering madly at the sight of her letting the dessert melt on her tongue, her eyes closed. He hardly touched his own dessert, too caught up in watching her devour the rest of the cake with slow savor. He tried not to stare when she ran her tattooed finger along his emerald plate, catching every last drop of the sauce to suck off her finger.

The heat that exploded inside of him was deep and yearning. The past year, from the day he'd first opened the door to the bakery, Loki had been caught in the late night/early morning cycle of caring for his business. He ran nearly every aspect, leaving little time for much else, partly because he was too much of a stickler to give up that control to anyone else. When was the last time he'd went on a date? Been kissed? Gotten laid? He couldn't recall, but he knew that he was now desperate to break that dry spell.

"That was delicious. Thank you," she caught him staring and grinned, pulling a napkin out of the holder to quickly sweep across her mouth. He swallowed hard and pushed up the sleeves of his long shirt towards his elbows and reached for her empty plate.

She caught his wrist.

"Holy shit," she yanked his arm towards her, pulling Loki forward across the counter.

"What?!"

"Your skin is amazing," Sif peered down at his exposed inner forearm with admiration. Loki's heart jumped. Still holding onto his wrist with one hand, she brought her other hand up, dragging the tips of her fingers ever so lightly across the smooth expanse of his skin, circling from his wrist to the crook of his elbow and back again. All of his breath caught in his throat, Loki shivered under her delicate touch.

"Do you have any ink?" She looked up into his eyes, not releasing his wrist nor stopping the agonizingly delicious trail of her fingers. "Any tattoos?" His voice still caught, he tried not to stare at her lips leaning so close to her now, he could only manage to shake his head.

"You're a tattoo artist's dream. I would kill to work with a canvas like this."

"Thank you," he said rather weakly. Was she flirting with him? Did he even know how to flirt anymore?

She released his wrist and he tried not to show his disappointment at the loss of contact. "I should probably head out, it's been a busy day."

"No rest for the wicked," Loki quipped and then mentally kicked himself for being so flippant. He was going to gorge himself on the rest of these cheesecakes as punishment tonight, what if she thought him rude? But Sif just grinned and fished a thick black Sharpie marker from her pocket and waved it at him.

"You would know. It seems like it's only been you in here all day, slaving away behind this counter."

He laughed at her perceptive comment. "Just me most of the time, yes. Owner and head baker. There is a kid who helps me out every once in awhile when I get a big event order."

"So who's Ingrid?" she dropped her gaze to her napkin, uncapping the Sharpie and pulling her marker across the thin paper in long strokes. "Your wife?"

"What? Oh um no. I'm not - "

"Girlfriend then? Maybe your middle name? Loki Ingrid..."

"No!" he blurted. The heat was rising up his cheeks again. He cleared his throat. "The bakery is named after my mother's cat."

Sif stopped her doodling and raised her eyebrows at him. "A cat?"

Loki shrugged. "That cat was fat and happy. Loved to share cream every morning with my mother. Seemed fitting."

Sif laughed and seemed buoyed as she recapped her marker, rising from her seat. "That's cute. So how much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it," Loki waved her off.

"Two free treats in one day? You're gonna give a girl the wrong impression."

Loki tried not to smile. Of course he more than wanted to give her that exact impression, the impression of interest, but he'd already made a fool of himself multiple times today and was eager to get back his normally cool demeanor.

"Honestly, you did me a favor. I haven't had cheesecake on the menu in ages, I needed an unbiased taste-tester."

"Is that an open position, because I'd love to apply if it means I get to be opinionated and get paid in your desserts."

"I'm serious if you are, I could really use the help. Do you get off this time most Thursdays?"

"Yep, and Tuesdays too. Sign me up!"

"Consider it a date, er, deal," Loki corrected, dreaming of drowning himself in caramel sauce.

"I look forward to it, Loki. Have a good night."

"Good night, Sif," Loki called as the door shut behind her, picking up the napkin she'd been doodling on and examining the sketch of his own profile, sharp nose and a lank of dark hair falling across his forehead, feeling his heart skip a beat.


And so began a new ritual. Every Tuesday and Thursday Sif came into his shop after she was done with her tattoo appointments for the day and sampled Loki's newest creations. These after-hours visits were also joined by Loki giving Sif lessons in baking techniques and Norwegian pronunciations. In return, Sif gave Loki her feedback on treats that really hit and ones that fell flat, leaving behind her doodle on napkins. Loki now had a growing collection of her napkin art, pinned to the corkboard in his back office; sketches of his desserts, his utensils and bakeware, portraits of his regular customers, doodles of his trusty apron, his own long hands, his furrowed brow.

Several times a week, Sif came in for a steeped coffee in the morning, always gently teasing his battered kettle and meticulous brewing before heading across the street. Sometimes she'd put in an order for sweets for her shop, or he'd box up a cake and walk it across the street when she asked for a birthday surprise for one of the tattoo artists.

Sif shared the challenges that came with running and owning Valkyrie, one of only a few all-female employed tattoo shop in the nation. Loki learned all the tattoo artists' names and baked good preferences. In turn, they all referred to him with good-natured teasing as Bread Boy and greeted him cheerfully into their shop.

Brunnhilde, Sif's business partner and co-owner of the shop, was notorious for practically attacking him, running up and snatching the mint green pastry box stamped with Ingrid's label from his hands whenever he entered, leaving it up to Sif to give Loki a proper greeting and payment for his goods.

Loki had never felt more alive since their meetings, totally invigorated to get up each morning, and motivated to push himself further in his craft than he ever had before. One night, when he was trying out the baked meringue dessert pikekyss, or "girl's kiss", Sif asked if she could try her hand at his piping bag.

Loki enthusiastically invited her behind the counter, offering an apron to protect her black skinny jeans and plaid button-up but she waved him off, rolling up her sleeves in preparation and showing off the numerous tattoos that adorned her arms. Without stopping to consider his actions, Loki reached out and gently took her wrists, raising them towards his face. He'd admired her work over the past weeks, sometimes seeing full pieces proudly displayed by backless shirts, other times noticing designs that just barely crept out of her sleeves and collars of shirts. It all felt so grand and bold of a statement to have so much imagery on exhibit for the public to see, and yet so deeply intimate to be granted sight to items that resonated enough with her to be given permanent residence on her body. Sacred.

She stood stock-still, allowing him to examine her skin, following the intricate patterns of her sleeve art, a mix of imagery both powerful and delicate. He released one wrist and brought his fingertips to her skin, tracing the outline of a sprawling World Tree, elaborate knots, a long sword, entangled in graceful flowers and wheat stalks.

Noticing several small patches of skin that were void of any markings, Loki circled his fingers a slow loop around the blank space. "What goes here?"

He flicked his eyes up from his reverent tracings to hers, catching her shiver under his wandering touch.

"I'm saving it for something inspiring, something special." Her voice was low, and there was something about her tone, honest and revered, that made his pulse quicken and his stomach flip. They held each other's gaze for a long moment before Loki finally released his grip with an unabashed smile and handed the piping bag to her, a strange sense of longing pulling at his heart.


They continued their routine deep into the autumn, until the air began to take on a more bitter chill. Sif's presence in his little bakery shop had become an integral part of his day, so when she didn't show up in the morning for a few days, Loki was disappointed, but tried not to dwell on the absence, assuming the growing notoriety of her tattoo shop was keeping her busier than usual.

However, when a few days turned into nearly a week, and she skipped their twice-weekly late-night meetings, Loki was less able to keep his mind from turning to darker thoughts. He tried to fill his days to the brim, baking bread loaf after loaf, anything to keep himself from falling into despair. His little place had never been cleaner, no counter top safe from his compulsive scrubbing. Never too, had he felt more dismayed.

Maybe he was silly, he thought on the 7th night that he locked up his door without seeing her face. Part of him had truly begun to believe that something was growing between them. But now, he realized how wrong he had been.

How easy was it for her to drop him as if nothing had been. He saw her nearly every day, sometimes multiple times a day. How had they never exchanged numbers?

Loki pulled the key from Ingrid's locked door and took a deep breath of the cool night air. He crossed the street, heading towards the neon-lighted sidewalk beneath Valkyrie's signage. He wouldn't let his cowardice get the best of him. Why was she avoiding him? He'd confront her, and get her answer, and move on.