The sun had barely crested the horizon, sending a soft golden glow across the Troll Village. Most trolls were still snuggled in their hammocks or leaf-beds, dreaming of glitter and melodies—but not Branch.
His eyes blinked open as a warm, buttery scent wafted through the air, making his nose twitch. Cookies?
Branch shuffled out of bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and padded quietly into the kitchen. There, bathed in the early morning light, stood Poppy. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, apron dusted in flour, and she was humming a cheerful tune while expertly rolling out cookie dough.
Branch leaned on the doorframe, watching her for a second. She hadn't noticed him yet, her focus entirely on her baking. There was something about the way she swayed to her own little melody that made his heart do a quiet flip.
"Morning," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Poppy looked up, surprised but grinning. "Branch! You're up early!"
"I could say the same for you," he said, stepping inside. "What's the occasion?"
"No occasion!" she beamed, placing a tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven. "I just woke up thinking about how nice it'd be to make cookies for everyone. Thought I'd get a head start before the village wakes."
Branch didn't question it further. He simply nodded and grabbed an extra apron hanging on the hook. "Alright. What can I do?"
Poppy's smile widened, eyes twinkling. "You? Volunteering to bake? Is this the real Branch?"
He rolled his eyes. "Don't push it, cupcake."
They fell into a rhythm—Branch mixing while Poppy cut shapes, flour dusting the countertops and their hair. Laughter bubbled up as Branch accidentally splattered batter on her cheek, and she retaliated with a playful flick of flour to his nose.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, the kitchen smelled like a dream. Piles of cookies sat cooling on the table, and both of them were a mess of sugar and smiles.
Branch leaned against the counter, taking a bite of a warm cookie. "These are actually really good."
"Of course they are," Poppy said with mock offense, hands on her hips. "I had the best helper."
He looked at her, her pink cheeks dusted with flour, her hair escaping its bun, and something settled in his chest—something warm and soft.
"You're not so bad yourself," he said, quieter this time.
She looked up, a little surprised by the gentleness in his voice, but her smile didn't waver. "Thanks, Branch."
They stood there for a moment longer, just them, the scent of cookies filling the air and the sound of their easy silence like the sweetest harmony.
And for once, in the quiet of a cookie-scented kitchen, Branch felt like everything was exactly as it should be.