“I hate both of you.”
“You absolutely do not,” Darlene says.
Kauss studies the glasses in his hand. “Should I not wear these?”
“No,” I say instantly. “You absolutely should.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You are blushing again.”
“You’re wearing tiny glasses while fixing bakery equipment.”
“That explanation lacks logic.”
“Too bad. It’s the truth.”
He puts the glasses back on slowly.
The traitor.
I have to turn away and focus very hard on arranging pastries while Darlene wheezes laughter into her cigarette.
Things like this keep happening.
Small moments.
Kauss learning exactly how much cinnamon to put in my coffee without asking. Me discovering he secretly likes terrible romance serials because he becomes deeply invested in whether emotionally constipated detectives kiss by episode twelve. Falling asleep against him on the couch upstairs while rain taps against the windows and waking up hours later still wrapped in his arms.
Nobody tells you love can arrive through repetition instead of lightning.
Or maybe they do and I never listened.
By lunchtime, Sweet Tooth is packed. The lunch crowd fills every table with wet coats, tired faces, steaming coffee cups, and overlapping conversations. Kauss moves through the bakery carrying trays and supply boxes with careful efficiency while pretending he does not notice how many people greet him by name now.
“Morning, Kauss.”
“Your dragon boy fixed my compad connector.”
“You still coming by the community center Tuesday?”
“Hey, big guy, tell Evie she undercharged me again.”
Kauss answers each comment with the same restrained seriousness, but I catch the subtle changes. The way his shoulders relax slightly around regulars. The way he automatically steadies Mrs. Pell’s chair before she sits. The way he hands hot cocoa to children at eye level instead of towering over them.
He belongs here.
The realization hits me all over again every time I see it.
Al Simmons wanders in around one wrapped in a patched coat and tunnel humidity. “I smell pie,” he announces.
“You smell like wet cardboard,” Darlene shoots back.
“Cruel. Accurate, but cruel.”
I slide a slice of apple pie onto a plate. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Al eyes Kauss carrying flour sacks near the kitchen. “You domesticated him yet?”
Kauss looks over immediately. “I can hear you.”
