A/N: This one is based on a prompt from fraueninflammen on Tumblr. In this one I want to celebrate the profession and the passion we share with this reader: cooking and baking!

It is perfect for Wren, isn't it? ;) The idea was so adorable: cheesy, baking puns based pick-up lines that are more ridiculous than sexy! :D

A/N: Just a reminder I'm on Tumblr (kkolmakov-thorin-ff), on Pinterest and Deviantart as kkolmakov. Some of the stuff I post there is from here, but also there are doodles and drabbles, so have a peek if you feel like it :D

Wren was having an amazing day, to think of it the whole week had been ace. Firstly, she was promoted to the chief baker, which meant a higher salary, which was nice, but she mostly cared for the ability to choose her shifts now, as opposed to ever so often coming first to open the shop and leaving last to close it. Now she could have an extra hour of sleep in the morning, and though she was a morning person, it was wicked. And then her recipe of the cinnamon buns was published in the Flavour Up! magazine, and that was big! She bought an issue and sent to her Nana. There was even her photo there! She didn't look so good in it, way too pale, but who cared! And then just like a cherry on a pie, sorry for the pun, there was this whole discussion of them opening another shop in the city, and maybe, only maybe Wren would be the one in charge there. She honestly wouldn't be too cheesed off it didn't happen, but she liked the thought.

So, when she came in the morning, and put on her new uniform, and was laughing with her colleagues over cuppa, Wren was, simply put, beaming. And that was when he came in.

Well, she sort of expected that, because it was 7.14, and he always came in at 7.14. Gods, Wren had the hots for the bloke. She could count on the fingers on both hands how many times they actually spoke, and those to be honest couldn't properly be called conversations. The scenario had always been the same, he'd push the door with his shoulder, the bell would softly jingle, in one hand he held his mobile pressed to his ear, he would hum, or talk, or sometimes almost growl into it, and his voice would tickle some nerves in her nape. It was low, and velvet, and treacle, and sticky toffee, or that first forkful of Queen of Puddings just out of the oven… He would never stop talking actually, his other hand would be balancing a tower of papers and folders, and then he'd press the mobile to his shoulder with his ear, and without looking at her or the other employee serving him, he'd ask for a large coffee, black, no sugar, and a scone or a croissant, she doubted he even cared what it was, because the moment he pulled the money out of his very stylish wallet, he'd focus on his mobile again. Then he'd grab the change, tip generously, keep on talking, or listening and humming, and then he'd pick up his coffee with one hand, the pastry would be between his teeth, and he'd nod, hum to the server and leave.

Every morning, the same thing. He was gorgeous by the way. In the best possible way. Tall, probably six five or even more, or maybe it seemed so because he was so wide and hench, long dark hair, in a ponytail, which she didn't really enjoy in men, but which suit him perfectly. There was grey in the mane, and it only made him more fit, just streaks above his forehead and the temples. Bright blue eyes, wonderful even white teeth, he was all made of some warm, very masculine details, from the fluffy black lashes, striking eyebrows, and very thick black beard, to the elegant jumpers he wore, dark navy denim, and the leather bracelets.

This morning everything went the usual way, Wren hid her mug behind the coffee maker, and still smiling to her colleague who was finishing a funny story about her sprog, Wren placed his coffee in front of him, a chocolate croissant was in the bag already, and she was waiting for the till to click and open the drawer for his change, when suddenly he picked up his mobile from his ear, straightened up, and she realised that for the first time in five months he'd come every weekday morning, his eyes were focused on her.

"Excuse me, Miss, but if a bloke told you you seemed like the sweetest crumpet he'd seen in his life, would you go out with him?"

Wren felt her jaw slack. A. He delivered the line with the grumpiest expression she'd seen on a bloke's face during a pull. As if he really wasn't trying to chat her up. B. What in the name of Jam Roly-Poly was this line? It was so bad that it passed the stage of being so bad that it was good and was just bad! And C. Why would he ask her?!

Wren was a feminist. She truly believed looks didn't matter. Hers were of that sort though that didn't make most men ask her out when they'd see her for the first time. She was skinny, angular, and a ginger, though he couldn't know for sure, there was a hairnet and a bandana on her hair, but the freckles were probably rather telling. She had her share of relationships, but her long time ones would actually start after several conversations or through mutual friends.

He was studying her face, and she blushed furiously. Mostly because she'd been, maybe, a little fantasizing about him asking her out, because, let's face it, he was mind-blowingly fit and seemed pretty intelligent and not a prick. But this horrible line!

On the other hand, she had had a very good week, and in general she was a pretty chuffed person. Also, he was looking at her with this very focused expression, that she had her usual reaction to absurd situations like that. She really loved Monty Python after all. Wren burst into laughter.

"No, I wouldn't go out with a bloke who'd say something like that to me," she was still snorting uncontrollably, and added, "Sorry."

Then an even more mental thing happened. He nodded, picked up his croissant, once again pushed in between his teeth, grabbed his coffee and left, humming into his phone. As if nothing happened. Wren turned around and gave her colleagues a look that clearly asked 'Did you also see that or I have overdosed on quark?' Her colleagues were staring back at her, most faces reflecting the same puzzlement she was feeling. OK, so it did happen.

Wren assumed there was only one thing to do now. She shrugged and went to measure out Greek yogurt for pierogi dough. What else was one to do when the most deliciously looking man one had seen in their life just told one they were the sweetest crumpet? Exactly, make pierogi dough and pretend it didn't happen.

She had two days off, then there was Saturday, and he didn't come on Saturdays, then there was Sunday, and her colleagues were teasing her all day that Monday would come and she should totally be on the till to meet him with his usual black coffee, and she'd blush and hide behind the breadmakers, and then Monday came, and it was 7.14, the bell rang, and he came in.

She stood behind the till, her cheeks flaming, daft giggles from her colleagues heard behind her, and she would be properly kicking their arses after that, and he grabbed his coffee and his date bar and left. She turned around and gave them the 'I told you so' look. The incident could properly be considered a closed case.

On Tuesday he didn't pick up his coffee from the counter, moved the phone an inch away from his ear and asked, "How's this line to you? 'It's no Christmas, if I don't have you for pudding, love?'"

There was an outburst of choked coughing behind her, her colleagues were making noises that suspiciously sounded like suppressed sniggering, and all she managed was a squeaky 'Pardon?'

"As a pick up line, would 'It's no Christmas, if I don't have you for pudding'... Would it work?"

Wren felt she was going mad. He was completely nonchalant, he sounded like he was asking for her advice, and more so his phone was still mumbling near his ear! She felt like going to the fridge and sticking her head into a pail of sour cream to cool down. What in the name of Dundee cake was going on?!

"Um, no, definitely not a good line."

"Right, OK," he nodded again, and was already heading to the door with his coffee and the bar, when he turned to her and with an absent-minded half smile, completely polite but empty he threw, "Ta."

The bell rang again, Wren picked up her jaw from the floor, and left into the back to mix cheddar and asiago for cheese sticks. Seriously, at least the cheese kept it quiet.

Wednesday he only had a coffee and a Manchester tart, but on Thursday he came with 'You are as exquisite as the Waldorf pudding, will you go out with me?' Friday brought her 'You are as sweet as Eve's pudding, I'd like to meet you in Eve and Adam costumes.'

OK, in any other situation she'd already flip a bloke off and be done with it, but it properly didn't look like he was chatting her up. He'd ask what she thought of the line, receive her decisive 'nope,' nod and leave. That absolutely didn't look like a pull!

He obviously didn't show up on the weekend, and she had a day off on Monday, and then she came back on Tuesday and heard the most astonishing news. He did come the day before and asked the chick who worked instead of her whether she'd go out with a bloke who'd' say 'You can't spell Sussex Pond Pudding without 'sex.' Would you like a slice?' After she told him off he apparently stared at her for a few seconds, said 'Oh, you are not her,' apologised and left.

By 7.14 there was a pool in an icing sugar jar in the back room, everyone except Wren took wagers, she stood behind the till, feeling the eyes of her colleagues on her back, peeking through a crack in the door to the back, and he came in.

She already had his coffee on the counter, might as well, she thought, and he stared at it. There was some loud dischuffed voice in his phone, and he was humming and nodding, and then pointed at one of the vegetable and cheddar scones behind the glass with his long finger. He had absolutely gorgeous hands, long fingers, very masculine, and the most beautiful wrists. Wren put the scone in a paper bag, he grabbed it, nodded and left. She wondered if she should have put some money in the icing sugar jar as well.

She won the money the next day when he picked up his coffee, and then his phone started yelling hysterically, and he took a sip and suddenly froze in front of her.

"No… No… You can't do it, Grey! Remove the last page and let's start anew. It just wouldn't work!.." The phone kept on mumbling, and he interrupted the mysterious Grey, "I cannot guarantee the ratings, no will I be responsible for the audience reaction." He was still standing in front of her, the phone was arguing with him, and he put coffee back on the counter, "OK, wait a mo..." He lifted his bright blue eyes at her and asked, "Miss, would you enjoy such line..."

He didn't get a chance to finish as he was interrupted by… a ginger snap!

"No, no more of that!" Wren's tone was firm, and he froze with his mouth half open. "That is ridiculous! It's not funny, and seriously this is harassment. You have to stop with the hideous pick up lines!"

He blinked and then suddenly smiled to her. Jaffa cakes, the smile was brill! He excused himself to the Grey character, and then, and she could not believe it, he hung up and actually looked at her.

"I'm sorry, I have only just realised… I didn't tell you, did I?" The smile was soft, crow's feet in the corners of his eyes, and she immediately cooled down after her outburst. "I always forget whom I spoke to and whom I didn't..." It felt really odd, to have him properly concentrated on her. Odd, but not unpleasant.

"I'm sorry what?" She was feeling the red to creep on her cheeks, he was looking down at her, still smiling.

"I work on Mates and Dates, the show on the telly, yeah? And we always test out lines on people around, and most people really love it, it's just sometimes I forget whom I asked permission from..." His tone was apologetic, and she exhaled with relief. Honestly, the lines were so horrible that she was now so happy he wasn't actually trying to chat her up with them! Given it meant he wasn't interested in her but it was definitely better, him not being interested in her as opposed to him turning out to be a daft prick. And the show was ace! One of her favourites! It was funny, and absurd, and the lines were definitely perfect for it!

She smiled to him, "Phew, that explains it." She mimicked wiping her forehead in relief, "And no, you didn't ask, but keep on going, now that I know what that is, it sounds like fun." He chuckled, studying her face, and she chewed on her bottom lip.

"There was this other girl here couple days ago, and I realised she didn't know what I was asking, and I now think I seemed very rude to her, could you please apologise to her for me?"

"Sure," Wren nodded, "But you can obviously do it yourself." He shifted his eyes and quickly pulled his coffee to his lips. "Oh, you don't remember what she looked like, do you?" He looked at her over the rim of his cup, and Wren suppressed a sigh. Goodness, he was fit. The blue eyes were of that marvelous bright colour, they were smiling to her over the cup, and she couldn't tear her eyes off his lips. And not a prick. Which was good news of course, less reasons to be disappointed in this world, but… So scrumptious. "I'll tell her." He nodded gratefully and opened his mouth to say something when his mobile started hollering in his pocket. He quickly excused himself, picked up the coffee and his scone, and was gone.

For the next few days he would make his usual morning visit, no pick up lines, then she had two days off, and another morning came, and it was 7.14, and… nothing. He didn't come, the bell didn't ring, and she suddenly felt gutted. Of course he had every right to change his routine, after all their shop was just the source of coffee and pastry for him, and maybe he didn't feel like it anymore…

Then she started to worry a bit, maybe he was sick, or something happened… She shooed the thoughts away, that was daft. Maybe he just wanted something different for brekkie. She turned around and went into the depth of the shop to check on the rhubarb for the pie, when the bell rang, it was 7.42, and she turned around and saw him come in. The papers and folders were there, but no mobile. He marched to the till, and she smiled to him.

"Morning," she honestly tried not to sound so happy to see him, but she was definitely failing, "Large black coffee as usual?" He was frowning slightly and nodded, and she rushed to the pot. While she was pouring, she was discreetly watching him in the glossy surface of the coffee maker. He looked tense, and she saw him rub the back of his neck. She put the cup in front of him and grabbed the tongs.

"What can I get you? I suggest blackberry and apple crumble," she sounded very cheery, and once he nodded she hid behind the box for his slice. She really should have scaled it down a bit, but the day was sunny, and he came, and wasn't somewhere in a hospital after an unfortunate accident involving lights falling on his head. Wren had vivid imagination, she had already envisioned his bandaged head and a fit nurse that he'd fall for while in the hospital, and then she'd come to give him a sponge bath, and…

"I'm John," his voice sounded strange, and she lifted her eyes at him.

"I'm Wren," it sounded a wee bit as if she was asking, but she honestly was starting to get jitters. He looked very spun out. She suddenly grinned, because she had something to cheer him up. "I've been thinking about your lines, and your show is so absurd, and really, really good by the way, so what do you think of 'If you and I have a roll, it won't be Arctic?'" His eyebrows jumped up, and she giggled, "Or 'Let me be your bombe glacee and explode in your arms, babe.'" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and then he exhaled sharply and spoke.

"Yes."

"Yes what?" Wren closed the box and handed it to him. He wasn't taking it, and it was now daftly suspended between the two of them.

"Yes to all these ridiculous things. If you used any of these lines on me, I'd say yes. So yes, do explode in my arms." The box fell out of her hands with an unsatisfying plop onto the counter, and he cringed, "That was horrible. Can we start again?" She was staring at him like a toddler at a bowl of Eton mess. "Hi, I'm John! Can I ask you out for coffee?" Wren blinked and suppressed a happy squeak.

"Yes, if you promise not to mention a single kind of pudding through the whole date." He guffawed and nodded.

"Agreed."