Chapter 3
The sharp sound of metal hitting wood bounced off the walls, the customers out from stilling, peeking through the open kitchen door.
"Oh fudge," I breathed, wincing at the smears of apple filling and chocolate fudge currently coating the floor.
"Are you okay?" Riku whispered, hurrying from the front with the first sign of worry tightening her brow. Her eyes were wide, setting off the sharp, chemical color of her violet contacts. As I stooped down, another sharp jab of pain blasted up my arm, tingling through my fingertips. It had gotten worse these last couple of days.
Riku's gaze traveled over me, barely glancing up at Asami hurried over with a few wet towels before sprinting to handle the orders in the front. "It's your shoulder isn't it?"
"Just a little sore," I breezily explained, forcing myself to swipe up the mess quickly. "I've been doing a lot more of the baking since Chiyo had to cut back on her hours-"
The dirty rag was wrenched from my grip, Riku's eyes burning into me as she gave me a stern glare. "Take a break."
I blinked. "I don't think-"
"Take a break or I'm going to say that I need to cut out early for a family emergency."
My eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."
She shrugged.
Staring at the purple-haired girl, I wasn't entirely sure if I was willing to take the gamble. We were already short-staffed and I was already running 12 hour days. The murmur of customers just beyond the door drifted to me, making my skin prickle anxiously. Soon the noon rush would be here and the longer I took, the more time I would waste in prep.
"15 minutes," I breathed, already shuffling to the narrow steps at the back of the shop. A familiar heaviness settled on my shoulder, dragging me down like a stand with too many books to one side.
The smell of spices and baked goods drifted away as I stumbled up the cramped stairs, twisting to the chipped locked door of my tiny apartment just above the shop. Before my parents had died, they had thrown a fit about how unsafe the apartment was - how it wasn't big enough for a family. Now, as I unlocked the door and put in my pin, I thought that they were right.
Crammed into one corner was a small kitchen with a fish oven with small burners and a microwave stuffed just beneath it. I normally didn't have time or the energy to make anything after work so it didn't really bother me - the lack of groceries in the fridge and cupboards were evidence enough. The whole area was clean, spotless in a way that was more of a testament to my eating habits than cleaning tendencies.
Just on the other side was a small plum purple couch and wood coffee table scattered with cooking books and papers. In exchange for having a small bathroom and an even smaller kitchen, I was able to have an open living room and bedroom area, the balcony sliding glass door open to let in the sunny afternoon air. Plants littered the whole space, hanging idly from the ceiling and crawling along the walls, sitting precariously on book shelves and side-tables. It was the one thing that I had gotten from my mother - an odd obsession with green creatures. Glow lights and humidifiers ran, making the air look hazy, almost dream-like.
I sighed, pushing back my bangs and wilting onto my purple bedspread, a mustard yellow blanket tangled in the sheets. Atrocious was the word that my father had used to describe the navy blue walls and brick accents accompanied with my purple and yellow decor.
"What are you going to do when the landlord comes and tells you that you can't move out because of all these nick-nacks and babbles?! Huh?! I like looking like a circus performing? Sorry? Honestly, Mini."
I could still see the huffy set of his shoulders as he stood in the barely furnished space, his bottom lip pouting out as he squinted disapprovingly at the open bucket of paint. To say that they had never gotten completely on board with my dedication to the bakery was an understatement. It boggled their minds - completely sucker punched them.
I didn't blame them for the years of discouragement, the constant warnings. It was hard to blame anything on people who were no longer here. Especially ones who had still come and bought croissants every morning, who shushed me when debt collectors came to try and shake me down for late fees, a check already written out and in the thugs' hands before I could blink.
They had died months before I could completely pay them back.
My fingers riffled through the disorganized content of my bedside table, finally coming in contact with the half-used can of tiger balm. Was I really this old? I thought drearily, gritting my teeth against the uncomfortable sting and menthol tang of the salve as I laved it onto my aching shoulder. If my body was already this bad…
I shook my head trying to force away thoughts. Maybe I would take two days off this week… Maybe…
"Do you like casse-croute?"
I don't know why I said it.
That's a lie.
I knew why I spoke to him.
It was because I had started to feel when he came into my bakery. I could feel the way his eyes zeroed in on me when he stalked through my door, how they found me wherever I was. I could feel the way that they always seemed to narrow on how my left arm drooped, growing shakier by the day. I wanted him to talk to me. I wanted him to say whatever he always seemed to be debating over.
And maybe I was a little bit lonely. Usually, people like us can find each other rather easily.
He blinked, the strong column of his throat tensing as he stared down at me. I tried to keep my hands steady as I tucked his order into the familiar plastic wrapping.
"Huh?" That was never a good sign. Usually, a huh was reserved more for street thugs that accosted you on your way home from work. My stomach sank. This was going to be the part where he blew me off. I braced as those eyes ran over me. "They stopped selling it at my local convenience store."
Shocking.
The bell on the door rang softly as I fumbled for a response coming up with a lame, "It's much better than a convenience store's, isn't it?"
Apparently, he thought it was pathetic too. "Well, you are a bakery."
"Wow," I breathed, letting out an awkward whimper. "Harsh."
A few coins slid across the counter. "700 yen, right?"
I blinked, momentarily taken aback before jerking forward to take them, avoiding his eyes. Did I offend him? I felt like some kind of barrier had just been crossed or maybe...weakened? My brows furrowed, fingertips pushing the cass-croutte across the counter. That could also be my imagination. That seemed more plausible-
My eyes snapped up, shocks of pure electricity shooting up my arm and tingling out from the spot where rough hands are suddenly wrapped around them. It's an accident. A definite accident. He was expecting me to let go of the sandwich and instead I stood there staring at it like a mannequin. Heat burns across my face, horror quickly widening my eyes as he stares, unmoving. This should not be a big deal. This isn't a big deal.
I yank my hand away so quickly that my elbow rams into a cup of pens sending them scattering onto the floor so fantastically loudly that the whole shop is paying attention. Somewhere deep inside of my stomach, my heart is trying to dig its way out of my body so that it doesn't have to endure the humiliation that I feel. Which I shouldn't. Not at all.
The yakuza's eyes take in the situation with enough calm to make me want to sink into the floor. Something twinkles in their depths - maybe second-hand embarrassment, maybe something darker by the way that his gaze had turned as dark as a forest at nightfall. "Do you want me to help-"
"NO!" I can tell by the startled glances that I definitely just screamed that. I wince, clutching my hands protectively to my chest. The distance between us seems smaller than I had thought, sucking up most of the air still left in my lunges. I feel like I've given something away - something that I wasn't supposed to.
His eyes run the length of my body, stripping me down to my own base insecurities. Eyes like his did that to a person.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Miss Tanaka." I blinked, shock making my whole body go ramrod straight. For the first time, I saw a flicker of a smile start to curl his lips before he was nodding toward the tiny newspaper clipping of my bakeries opening I kept framed by the register. He had taken the time to read it?
He was walking away before I could do more than blink dumbly up at him, his gait sure and strong as he navigated his way through the shop, other customers moving aside automatically for him.
"You can stop waving now," Sora sang, wheeling a hot tray of pastries from the back. At my side like two helicopters trying desperately to take off, both of my hands swished back and forth. Was I a child?
A low groan slipped from my lips, making Sora burst into gleeful laughter.
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