Zeyon’s POV
The next night, I wore my lucky socks.
They were grey with little bread loaves on them. Don’t ask why. I believe in bread luck. I even gave Leo a pair once but he used them to clean the floor. So rude.
Anyway. It was 11:03 p.m. The oven was still warm. The bread smell was floating in the air like a soft hug.
I kept glancing at the door like a little puppy.
“She’s not coming back,” Leo said, biting into a chocolate chip cookie I told him not to touch.
“She might,” I said, wiping the counter for the third time. “Maybe she just—forgot something. Like… her soul.”
Leo looked at me like I had three heads. “Bro. You met her for two hours. That’s like... less than a movie.”
“Still better than most movies,” I mumbled.
The bell rang.
DING.
My neck almost broke from turning too fast.
She was back.
Same mismatched socks. This time red and green. She’s collecting colors like Thanos.
“Hi,” she said, walking in like she lived here.
I played it cool. “Oh, you again.”
“Didn’t miss me, did you?” she smirked.
I squinted. “Not even a little.”
Lies.
She went to the same table by the window like last night. Her hands were in her jacket pockets, and her hair looked like it argued with her brush and won.
“You want the usual?” I asked.
“Do I look like someone who’s consistent?” she raised her eyebrow.
“No,” I said. “You look like you eat cold pizza for breakfast.”
She laughed. It was kinda sudden, but it made me smile inside.
“Okay fine. Black coffee again. And maybe… something new today.”
I nodded. “Got it. One heart-exploding coffee and a secret pastry from the bakery of questionable choices.”
She crossed her arms on the table and watched me walk back.
Leo whispered, “Is that her?”
I nodded. “Don’t stare.”
He immediately stared harder.
I made her a coffee, and this time, I picked the chocolate hazelnut croissant. I added whipped cream on top. Because why not. Go big or go bakery-home.
When I placed the plate in front of her, she tilted her head. “What’s this? It looks like it’s smiling at me.”
“That’s the cream. It’s happy to meet you.”
She stabbed it with a fork. “Well, now it’s dead.”
“You’re scary.”
“You gave me caffeine. This is your fault.”
We sat across from each other this time. I didn’t plan to. My legs just… moved. Leo was watching from the counter with the face of a nosy auntie.
“So,” she said between bites, “do you always talk to strangers and feed them bread at midnight?”
“Only the mysterious ones who smell like trouble and wear chaotic socks.”
She looked at her socks. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”
I nodded like I didn’t believe her.
She sipped her coffee and leaned back. “I had a crap day.”
“Oh? Wanna tell the bakery therapist?”
“You charging?”
“Only in emotional damage.”
She paused. “Okay. I went to the library to return a book… and ended up crying in the nonfiction section.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“I don’t even know. I saw a book about the universe and suddenly remembered my ex said I was ‘too much space.’ Whatever that means.”
I stared. “That’s the worst insult ever.”
“I KNOW, RIGHT?” she threw her hands up. “Like, sir, maybe you’re just too small-minded to handle galaxies.”
I laughed so loud Leo dropped a spoon in the back.
“He really told you that?” I asked.
“Yep. And he left me for someone who does TikTok dances and owns a ring light.”
I leaned forward. “Okay. But can she appreciate croissants like this?”
She stabbed another bite. “Definitely not.”
We both laughed again.
It wasn’t even about anything funny. It was the kind of laugh that feels like your chest opens up a little and the world becomes less annoying.
She leaned her chin on her hand and looked out the window. “This bakery’s weird.”
I looked around. “Gee. Thanks.”
“No, I mean like… it feels warm here. Not just the bread. Like…” she paused. “It feels like when you watch an old cartoon at 2 a.m. and forget your problems for a while.”
My heart did a weird backflip. I pretended to sip water.
“You come here often?” I teased.
“This is my second time. Don’t make it sound like we’re dating.”
I coughed. “Who said anything about dating? I barely know your last name.”
“It’s Gon,” she said.
“Gone?”
“No. Gon. Like dragonball. But less cool.”
I smiled. “I’m Wiston. Like… you know, Winston, but with one less letter because my parents like being difficult.”
She nodded. “Nice. So, Gon and Wiston. Sounds like a law firm.”
“Or a detective duo.”
“Or two idiots who met because one of them messed up their socks and the other one served emotional coffee.”
We both laughed again.
Time kinda slowed after that.
We talked about dumb things.
Like how she once tried to bake cookies and they turned into stones. How I once fell asleep inside the oven area and woke up with flour in my mouth. How we both hate elevators but for different reasons.
I told her about my grandma. She told me about her old cat named Juicebox who ran away with the neighbor’s cat named Banana.
By the time the clock hit 1:30 a.m., she looked sleepy but peaceful.
She stood up and stretched. “Alright, bakery boy. I better go before I melt into your chair.”
I followed her to the door.
She paused, holding the handle. “Thanks for tonight.”
“No charge,” I said.
She looked at me, kind of soft. “You’re weird. But like, the good kind.”
“I try,” I said.
And just like that, she left again.
Same soft ding. Same foggy glass. Same weird warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the oven.
Leo walked out and bumped my shoulder. “So… when’s the wedding?”
I threw a croissant at him.
I went back inside, still smiling like a weirdo. The kind that makes your cheeks hurt but you don’t care.
Leo was wiping the counter like he was suddenly a responsible adult. Liar.
“She got a name?” he asked.
I opened the fridge just to have an excuse to look busy. “Allison Gon.”
He laughed. “Gone where?”
“No, that’s her name.”
“Ohh,” Leo said, nodding slowly like he just unlocked a brain puzzle. “You gonna marry her or what?”
“Bro, I met her twice.”
“And you already changed your socks for her. That’s serious.”
I threw a baguette at him. He dodged and yelled like I threw a knife. Drama king.
But yeah. Maybe I did change my socks because I kinda hoped she’d come back.
Not that I’d say that out loud.
The next night?
She didn’t come.
I tried not to care. I cleaned the tables. I re-did the menu sign. I burned a tray of mini muffins by accident.
Leo looked at me with a raised brow. “You’re not sad. You’re just muffin-depressed.”
I ignored him and drank too much espresso.
But the night after that?
DING.
My heart went “HELLO???”
She walked in with a pizza box.
I blinked. “Are you lost? This is a bakery.”
She held it up proudly. “I brought peace offerings.”
“You brought pizza to a bakery?”
“It’s friendship pizza. You don’t say no to that.”
I let her in.
“Why didn’t you come last night?” I asked casually, even though my heart was moonwalking in my chest.
She flopped down in her usual seat. “I was sad.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged. “Some guy in class called me ‘weird’ because I said I liked the smell of rain on sidewalks.”
I paused. “That’s not weird. That’s... kinda poetic.”
She blinked. “You think so?”
“Yeah. That’s like, main character vibes.”
Her lips curled up. “Okay, bakery boy. You’re getting good at this.”
I sat down. She opened the pizza box like it was a treasure chest.
“Half mushroom, half pineapple. I didn’t know what you liked so I made a bad decision.”
“Mushroom’s good,” I said. “Pineapple is a sin.”
She gasped. “You’re one of those people?”
“I have rules.”
“Well I have zero rules and a full pizza. So eat.”
We ate from the box together like two gremlins.
She talked about how she once adopted a snail for two days and named it “Sir Speedy.”
I told her how I used to be scared of cake frosting because I thought it was alive.
She laughed so hard she almost choked.
“I don’t get you,” she said, wiping tears. “You run a bakery, and you're scared of frosting?”
“Not anymore,” I defended myself. “I made peace with it at age 12.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re the one who brought pizza to a bread shop.”
We kept talking about everything and nothing.
Like how she thinks clouds are probably squishy but we’ll never know.
How I used to pretend my oven was a spaceship.
How she once shaved one eyebrow off by accident.
“I was trying to be Lana Del Rey,” she said, covering her face.
“You ended up being Bald Del Cry.”
She threw a crust at me.
Time passed like it was on fast-forward.
It was 2 a.m. when she stood up again.
I walked her to the door like always.
“Hey,” I said, before she left. “You can come even when you’re sad. Or when you’re happy. Or when you just wanna throw pizza crusts at me.”
She looked at me with the softest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“You sure you can handle that?”
“Bring it on.”
She smiled.
“I’ll come tomorrow.”
My whole chest turned into butter.
And then she was gone.
Again.