The first week of university passed by in a blur. Every day of classes was a whirlwind of note-taking and questions, jotting down deadlines and drafting essays. The only calm part of the day was the half-hour he and Madeline spent in various cafes around the city, before he returned to Wang's to cook until it was nearly ten at night.

Yao decided to add steamed red date pudding to the menu, and the sticky-sweet layered dessert quickly became just as popular as the egg tarts and custard buns. Wang's still wasn't as busy or well-known as the restaurants in the city center, but they already had a few regular customers who ordered the same things every visit.

One afternoon, Madeline wasn't at the school gates after class. She wasn't at the bus stop, either, nor was she at The Cove. Vicente crossed the street from the cafe to the Boulangerie and opened the door. He was greeted, as usual, with the smell of butter and cinnamon.

Nobody was at the counter. On display in the case beneath it was a pure-white chiffon cake, topped with shredded coconut and powdered sugar like snow, and next to it stood a bold orange cake covered in fondant maple leaves. There was another mille crêpe, too, its glossy amber glaze glinting in the light.

"Er, excuse me?"

He looked up. A boy was standing at the counter. There was a smudge of flour on his round glasses, and his apron was half-covered in streaks of bread dough. He looked at Vicente, continuing softly, "may I help you?"

The boy looked like a male version of Madeline; he had to be her twin brother. "Matthieu?"

Bright blue eyes widened; Matthieu asked, "how do you know my name?"

"I'm friends with Madeline, she told me about you."

"Ah, then you must be Vicente." Matthieu relaxed. "Madeline talks about you a lot."

"I hope she doesn't say anything bad."

"Nothing terrible. She says you're a great baker, even better than our older brother, and she's been happier since the two of you became friends." He brushed his hands clean, taking off his apron and folding it. "If you're looking for her, by the way, she's gone out. You can wait until she's back."

While Vicente sat down at one of the tables, a few more customers arrived at the Boulangerie. Some of them bought delicate boxes of croquant cookies, some left with a long ficelle loaf. Matthieu was manning the counter and smiled at the customers; a few regulars showered him with compliments and questions about his daily life.

Madeline arrived twenty minutes after Vicente showed up, sweeping through the door holding a number of bags. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, making her features look so piercing they could cut through steel. The dark-plum strap of a leotard seemed to be poking out from under her shirt. "I'll take over, Matthieu," she said, "just let me get changed."

Matthieu nodded absently while flipping through a notebook. "Do it quickly. You don't want to keep your friend here waiting."

She glanced briefly at Vicente, who waved stiffly, and set down one of her bags behind the counter. Then she left the Boulangerie again, her bun bobbing behind her.

"Our apartment is right above here," Matthieu said, as though he'd read his mind. He busied himself with tidying the counter, wiping it clean of breadcrumbs, and stepped out from behind the counter to push in one of the chairs. "Knowing Madeline, she'll come back down in over half an hour after drifting off, so you can leave if she takes too long."

Vicente tapped his fingers against the cold surface of the table. "I don't mind waiting."

It turned out Matthieu was right — Madeline only returned to the Boulangerie thirty minutes later, her hair back in its regular braid and her dark-red cardigan neatly buttoned. There was a spring in her step now, clearly something had happened while she was away that had lifted her spirits. She shooed Matthieu back into the kitchen and settled down at the counter, humming a tune.

"Where did you go?"

She looked up. "Pardon?"

"Where did you go after classes?" Vicente repeated. "You weren't at the school gates, and I couldn't find you at The Cove." Madeline's taken-aback expression nearly made him flinch. "Y-You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, no, it's all right. I wasn't doing anything serious." She twisted one of the buttons on her cardigan. "I was at the city hall holding dance lessons."

"You dance?"

"I don't have a teaching licence, so I don't get paid for it," Madeline said. "Really, the city hall only keeps me around because there isn't anyone else here who wants to teach." Her fingertips turned white as she twisted the button harder. "I don't dance professionally, though. I could be, and I wanted to, but I don't."

"Why — "

"It's none of your business," she snapped.

"Oh." Vicente's voice came out quieter than before. "I'm sorry."

Apart from the jazz music playing in the background, everything was silent. Then Madeline spoke up, pulling uncomfortably on her cardigan sleeves. "I have to go in to help Francis with the dishes," she said tonelessly.

"I have to go too." Vicente stood up, avoiding her gaze. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye."

Guilt gnawing away at his heart, he pushed through the Boulangerie's door and walked towards the bus station.

…

"You IDIOT!"

It turned out that Ling had surprisingly good aim when she was annoyed. Vicente dodged another stuffed animal and ducked before a pencilcase (printed with the logo of Ling's favourite band) could knock him out.

Apparently, Leon had noticed him sulking around the kitchen, moping so badly that his concentration had paid the price. Thankfully, Yao managed to keep him from pouring half a glass of soda onto his shoes, and had interrogated him after work until he told them what happened.

Then Ling decided to lay waste to her and Yao's room as punishment for his stupidity.

"Her tone made it very clear that she didn't want to talk about it, but oh no, you had to touch on a subject that was super sensitive! Have you no shame, Brother? Have you no common sense?" She bounced a pastel-orange stress ball off his chest. "That's not how you talk to girls!"

"What does talking to girls have to do with this?"

Ling threw a frilly white headband at him next. "Okay, let me rephrase my statement. That's not how you talk to my future sister-in-law! I want to be the flower girl at your wedding, and I'm not letting your inability to differentiate between subjects that should and shouldn't be talked about stop that!"

"I didn't know you knew that many words," Leon crabbed.

The next headband hit Leon squarely in the face.

Vicente closed his eyes. "Why are all of you assuming that Madeline and I are going to be an item?"

"Because you're totally smitten with her." Ling stopped throwing for a moment to check her nails. "You're texting her all the time, you go to school together and have hot dates after classes nearly every day, and on Sunday you wake up early so you can talk to her some more! I'm surprised I'm not an aunt yet."

"I'm not smitten with her, we've known each other for literally a month."

Leon crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Love is immune to the boundaries of time and space."

"So deep," Ling said sarcastically.

Yao, who'd been lying facedown in bed for the past few minutes, suddenly lurched up. He stared at the mess for a moment, then at Vicente. "Jia Lin ah, even if you're not intensely attracted to Madeline, you shouldn't have pressed her for an explanation. Like Yue Ling said, it was clearly a touchy subject."

"I think she was being unfair, though," Leon piped up. "I mean, how was Vic to know that she didn't want to talk about it?"

"He said so himself that she sounded guarded. That alone should have tipped him off that he shouldn't press further." Yao got up from bed to swat Vicente's arm. "But you did, sei chun, and you just mumbled an apology and left!"

"Exactly." Ling threw a T-shirt at him. "Go text her an apology now, and make sure it's sincere. Then tomorrow morning you two can kiss and make up."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it on, clicking into Madeline's contact. "We're not going to kiss."

"For now."

"Shush." Vicente typed his answer and sent it.

I'm sorry for making you upset this afternoon. I crossed some of your boundaries, and I won't make that mistake again. (Sent 21:34)

"She's typing, she's typing!" Ling said excitedly.

Madeline
No, I'm sorry for losing my temper at you. That was uncalled for. (Sent 21:34)

Fully aware that his siblings were watching behind his back, Vicente replied.

It's fine. I just hope I didn't go too far. (Sent 21:35)

Madeline
Of course not, I just overreacted. (Sent 21:36)
 Should we meet up at our usual spot? (Sent 21:36)

Behind him, Leon was snickering and making kissy faces. He yelped as a teddy bear was kicked at his stomach.

I'll see you there (Sent 21:36)

Madeline
I have to go now (Sent 21:36)
 I'll see you tomorrow morning (Sent 21:37)
 Bye! (Sent 21:37)

With that, she went offline.

Vicente turned around to face his siblings. "There we go, problem solved. No kissing had to be involved."

Leon stretched, cracking the bones in his neck as he said, "well done. I thought for a moment she'd call just to yell at you and we'd have to listen."

He ignored his younger brother and left for his own bedroom, hoping to finish part of an essay and go to sleep early. It'd been a long day.

...

Notes:

Sei chun (死蠢): Cantonese slang for "idiot".