A/N: Thank you all for reading! This one if more from Toni's pov. Let me know what you think.
Chapter 2:Flores de Hojaldre
She doesn't actually expect him to return. Not after she spectacularly made a fool of herself and dropped a container of powdered sugar on his head. She hadn't expected him in the first place but life had a way of throwing surprises her way and she tried to take it with grace. Or maybe less actual grace and more following them as they came.
It's about two weeks after he first vaulted himself over her counter that she sees him again. The place is busy. It's lunchtime and there is a small line to her door. Some of the customers are regulars and others are new. It's the new ones that tend to try to argue with her over the way she does things. People are always hesitant to let her choose what they need. At least until they taste it.
She's in the middle of trying to convince a customer to just pick either the big box or the small one when he walks in. He looks a little surprised, but he bypasses the line and heads for the counter. She's about to ask him to wait in line when he puts a pot of flowers on the counter. He nods to her, a simple acknowledgement, and leaves.
She stares after him, confused at the action before the customer draws her attention back. She already knows what this one needs. They just have to let her give it to them.
He returns when she's in the middle of closing.
She looks up from her sweeping to call out that they're closed but stops as soon as it registers that it's him. She doesn't even know his name, but she's not worried. Not from what she can tell about him.
"Well, you look better," she winces as soon as it's out of her mouth. What is wrong with her?
"No sugar this time," he replies.
"Yet," she says automatically. He seems amused though so she counts it as a win. Sort of. "I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to talk earlier. Though, you didn't need to bring me the gladiolus….why did you bring me flowers?" She leans on the broom as she looks at him. She wasn't lying. He does look better. Though, that could be because he wasn't looking for sanctuary this time. He looks more rested. And clean.
"It's a thank you," he says. "For the last time."
"That's not necessary," she's about to argue it but realizes it's not needed. He's doing it to be kind, she thinks. "Thank you. They're beautiful." She looks around for a moment. She doesn't really have anything to offer back since she's sold out of the desserts. "Can I make you coffee? Or do you have to take off again?"
He pauses for a moment, glancing around before he looks at her. It's almost as if he can see right through her. Or maybe it's because he's tall. Really, it's probably because the man is gorgeous though serious.
"Sure," he finally says.
She smiles back. "Great. Let me just finish closing up."
All she needed to do was finish sweeping and lock the door. As alarming as it could be to lock herself in her shop with a stranger, because he is a stranger, she's not worried. He's a good person, she thinks. Or he has a good heart. She can tell.
He leans against the counter, on the customer side this time, positioned in a way that she can tell lets him keep an eye on both entrances. She doesn't comment on it. It's no harm to make sure he's comfortable. Instead, she makes the coffee. It's easier when it's a pot for two. She can finesse it and make the charms a bit more specific. She thinks about what they both might need before deciding on just enhancing the taste of it. A quick wave of her fingers over the pot and it should stay warm longer.
She pours them each a cup and hands it to him. The beauty of her creations is that they can provide what people need. Even a simple cup of coffee can be comfort. "I'm Antonia, by the way," she offers. "Toni to my friends." He nods in response but doesn't offer his name."Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Sugar. Under infinitely better circumstances." She registers what she said and instantly felt her face heat. "Oh my god. I'm sorry! I just didn't know your name and it's not like I could call you Mysterious Stranger that hopped my counter. It was just easier to go by Sugar in my head because I just kept thinking of dropping the icing sugar on you and how embarrassing that was because honestly, how often does that happen? About as often as someone barging it being followed, actually, that's not as uncommon as you think but-"
"It's John," he cuts her off.
"Oh," she turns the coffee cup in her hands, pulling at the warmth of it. "Well, nice to meet you, John." She takes a sip of her coffee, anything to distract her from the fact she can't seem to stop herself from talking and from the way he's looking at her. She's pretty sure he doesn't mean it but the man's gaze is intense.
"You too, Antonia."
"Please, call me Toni."
"Toni." He takes a sip of the coffee and his eyes almost shut as he hums a bit.
She's pretty sure he doesn't realize he's doing it. It doesn't stop the pleased warmth that blooms in her chest at the sight of it. She likes seeing people appreciate her creations.
"You get many people being followed?"
She pauses as she tries to think about how to answer that. "Sometimes," she says. "I open early and stay late. People find the shop comforting, or at least the colours act like a beacon," she laughs. There's truth in that, just not what she knows he expects. The place is warded and it beckons those in trouble to find safety.
"And you help people?"
"If I can. I try, anyway. Sometimes people just want a safe space to sit and wait. Sometimes they need more. There's a shelter next door. The women who run it are good people. I'll call them if the situation warrants it."
"And the police?" he asks.
She can't help but smile at that. "I've never needed to call the cops." He doesn't understand, but then few people do. If she said that to her mother, she'd get a knowing smile. There's a moment of silence. It's not completely awkward but she almost feels like she should be doing something, keeping busy somehow. Maybe in an effort to keep from embarrassing herself further.
"How long have you been here?" he asks.
"Here in this bakery?" she thinks about it. How long has it been? "Few years now. I take it you're not new to New York."
"No," he almost seems to smile at that. "Not new." He glances around at her shop and she watches as he takes another sip of the coffee. "You go to school for this? Baking," he clarifies.
"No, actually. I mean, I took a few business courses but I went to school for urban planning." That gets his attention. He stares at her for a moment and she knows it's because she's just completely thrown him off track. It happens often.
"And now you bake."
"Now I bake," she agreed.
"Why?"
"I like it. I like...creating things for people and seeing them enjoy it." She smiles and leans forward slightly. "I'm not completely sold out today. Do you want to try something?"
He thinks about it for a moment and steps back, trying to peer into the case that holds most of the goods. "What do you have?"
"Do you trust me to pick something for you?" she asks. It's the biggest test for all of her customers. The trust. It's worth it though, at least to those who do. She waits for him to think about, to weigh the options and the little he knows about her.
Finally, he nods.
"Alright," she puts down her coffee cup and moves forwards. "Big or small?"
"Small."
She stares at his aura, trying to gauge what it's telling her. It takes a few moments of looking at what's left before she makes her choice. She places the pastry on a wax sheet. The small pastry looks like a flower. It's made up of puff pastry, thin slices of apple are folded in it, creating the floral look as they emerge. This one is made with honey and cinnamon. It's not too sweet but she created it thinking about comfort. She tries not to look at him as she carefully tops it with a bit of powdered sugar before she hands it to him.
"Flores de Hojaldre." He says it perfectly and she can honestly admit she's surprised. He didn't strike her as the pastry type.
"It is," she grins. "Have you had it before?"
"Once. In Spain."
"Well, try it and tell me how it compares!" She motions eagerly for him to take a bite. She's honestly curious to see what he thinks.
He puts the cup of coffee on the counter gently before taking a bite. She tries hard not to look at the dusting of sugar that sticks to his moustache and instead focuses on his eyes. He blinks in surprise, chewing slowly before his eyes actually close and he looks as though he is savouring it.
She inhales sharply because if he wasn't attractive before, him enjoying her baking is doing things for her. She tries to shove that thought down as far as she can. She's blushed enough, thank you.
When he opens his eyes, he stares at the pastry as if trying to figure it out before his gaze turns to her.
"Well?" she prompts.
"Ceylon cinnamon?" he asks.
Her mouth drops open. "How did you know?" She's never had someone guess where she got her ingredients from, at least not the imported ones. Not unless they were bakers themselves.
He takes another bite. "It's subtle," he says when he finishes it.
"That's why it's perfect for that! The honey keeps it sweet and if you use the right apple, you get that bit of tart but the cinnamon is what makes or breaks it. Having one with a subtler flavour enhances the rest of it."
He looks as though he almost regrets finishing it but takes a napkin and wipes his hands. "It could be award-winning if you wanted. The...presentation alone."
"Thank you!" She preens a little. She can't entirely help it. "By the way, I wanted to ask. Where did you get the gladiolus?" she points to the pot of flowers he left her earlier that day. "They're not exactly in season."
"They're not?" he asks, looking confused just enough that she almost believes him. If she didn't see the amusement around him. "I picked them for the colour. I was told you could plant them in the spring."
"Oh." She doesn't mean to sound disappointed, but it comes out that way. "They're beautiful," she says, trying to recover. She had been surprised by them, mainly for the choice of flower and colour. And, if she admits it to herself, for the fact that he gave them in the first place. She rarely got flowers unless it was her birthday or the men she dated felt obligated to give them.
"The name comes from the Latin word gladius, meaning sword," he says. "They symbolize heroism, strength and integrity."
Her mouth falls open in surprise and she can feel her face flush again. "Oh my god," she mutters. He knows flowers. He knows the meaning of flowers. It's all she can think about suddenly and the fact that he brought her flowers to compliment her. "They do! I mean, it does and the yellow means cheerfulness and compassion but you had to have known that, I mean if you knew what they meant in general and this is the nicest thing! You really didn't have to do this! I told you I didn't need anything, that you didn't owe me and just…" she covers her face, trying to get herself to just stop talking. She tries to take a breath but she can feel him staring at her and she knows her face is red. God, her sister is never going to let her live this down if she finds out. She peeks out between her fingers at John, who's still standing across her counter. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," he says, no longer hiding his amusement.
"I'm sorry," she lowers her hands and tries to ignore the fact that she's still blushing. "I'm just not...I don't expect anything. I'm just happy to help people."
"It's just a thank you," he tells her. "For the coffee, if you'd like."
"That's an expensive cup of coffee," she mutters before she can stop herself.
"It was good coffee."
She snorts as she starts laughing and covers her mouth with one of her hands. "Sorry," she waves and tries to stop herself. It's just that she has an idea of what those flowers would cost and a cup of coffee is not close. She tries to think of something else to say. "Do you travel often?" She finally asks. "I just mean, you recognized the cinnamon….you don't have to answer."
"Not as much as I used to," he says.
"I like to travel." She picks up her coffee mug. It's still hot, thanks to the charm she has etched into the bottom of the cup. "There's a lot of places I want to go to still, and I will eventually but I miss it."
"Why not go now?"
She gives him a smile. "I'm the only one who works here right now and there are few I would trust to look after the place for me."
"You have no employees?"
Many people have asked her that since she opened. They assume with any increase in business that she would need help. She can't explain that having another in her kitchen is a delicate thing. "I work best alone," she says. "Besides, my customers know that I only keep a certain amount of stock a day. If I'm sold out, that's it."
"Unusual method."
"It works for me. Speaking of which, I should pack up. I donate the leftovers of the day."
"Where do you donate them?"
"Either next door or I'll give them over to the first homeless person I see. There's usually someone nearby who could use it." It's a little more complicated than that, but they don't know each other well enough to give details. She helps, in simplest terms.
"Ah." He doesn't ask her to elaborate but she didn't expect him to.
She sets down the coffee again and reaches for a box before pausing. "Want more coffee?" she asks. "It's just going down the drain if there's leftovers."
"Please."
She pours him more as he offers his cup before setting it back in place and going back to her task to package the leftovers. He doesn't say anything as she does so and she tries to ignore his presence. He is distracting, even though she senses that he doesn't mean to be. She's sure of it, the same way that she's growing more certain that he isn't aware of the blessing that's already been laid upon him. It's old but it's strong and while she can't read exactly what it was, it's something that has helped keep him alive. Fiona would know.
He waits while she finishes packing the leftovers and quickly cleaning the remnants and the coffee machine. She takes the coffee cup he offers and cleans both of them before she smiles. "You're welcome to join me in delivering these if you want."
"I should go. Thank you," he says. "For the coffee."
"You're welcome!" The ways glance at the door, and the outside, tells her enough. "You can leave through the back if you want," she offers. She can see him thinking about it. "I have to lock it anyway."
He nods. "Understood."
She gives him another smile and leads him through the kitchen before she opens the back door. "Thank you again for the flowers, John. Be sure to stop by soon! You never know what I'll cook up next!"
He leaves with another nod and bidding her goodnight before he leaves. He moves with ease in the dark, walking away without a glance back. It doesn't surprise her, not with the little she's learned about him. She can't help but smile though as she catches sight of the flowers. After a final sweep of the store and kitchen, she grabs the box, as well as her purse and heads out.