The quiet before the dawn was Harper's favorite part of the day. The city hadn't yet found its voice, and the soft glow of the street lights cast long, golden shadows across the floor of Sugar & Sage. She unlocked the bakery, exhaled slowly, and stepped inside.
With a flick of the light, and the soft hum of the ovens warming up, her world began to come alive.
She rolled up the sleeves of her oatmeal colored sweater, tied her apron tight, and turned on the jazz station she always kept at low volume. Billie Holiday's voice drifted through the room, smooth and bittersweet.
Baking had been her sanctuary ever since the divorce. Three years ago, she left behind a quiet suburban house, an unhappy marriage, and the version of herself that always tried to be small enough to fit someone else's life. Now she made her own rhythm—flour, sugar, and fire.
She moved gracefully through her kitchen, measuring with precision, kneading with care. Each pastry was made like a love letter she never got to send.
At 7:00 a.m., the "open" sign flicked on, and soon her regulars began to trickle in. There was a rhythm to their small talk—familiar faces, familiar jokes. It kept her grounded.
She was pouring oat milk into a cappuccino when her phone lit up with a text from her mother:
"Have you thought about seeing someone again? It's been long enough, Harper."
She stared at the message, a slow exhale slipping from her lips.
Harper hadn't sworn off love—not entirely. But she wasn't ready to invite someone into this life she built from scratch. Not yet. And certainly not on anyone else's timeline.
Just as she set the drink down, the bell above the door chimed again. A woman in a smart beige trench coat stepped inside, eyes lighting up at the smell of vanilla and fresh bread.
"First time?" Harper asked with a warm smile.
The woman nodded. "It smells like heaven."
Harper chuckled. "Welcome to it."
She didn't know what her future held. She wasn't sure if love would walk back into her life or if she even needed it to. But here, surrounded by sugar and music and the quiet joy of doing what she loved, Harper was finally okay.
And that, she thought, was more than enough for now.
*. *. *.
The rain had started sometime after lunch, turning the afternoon silver and slow. Outside, puddles reflected the dull gray sky. Inside Sugar & Sage, it was warm, smelling of cloves and cardamom, the soft thrum of jazz humming through the speakers. A few regulars lingered at tables with half-finished pastries and soggy umbrellas propped by their feet.
Harper stood behind the counter, wiping down trays in a lull between customers. She liked this time of day—the calm after the morning rush, the steady rhythm of the bakery settling into itself. Predictable. Safe.
The door opened with a gust of wind and the sharp scent of rain. She glanced up—and nearly sighed out loud.
Tall. Good-looking in the way that made women forgive things they shouldn't. Wet hair pushed back carelessly. A leather jacket dripping rain on the floor. And that smile—lazy, practiced, perfectly aimed like he'd spent a lifetime turning it on at the exact right moment.
Harper didn't blink. She'd met men like him. She'd married one.
He walked in like he knew he shouldn't be as charming as he was but leaned into it anyway. The type of man Harper used to fall for before she learned better.
He looked around the bakery like he was sizing it up, then at her—eyes locking on with just enough mischief to stir something low in her stomach, then walked straight to the counter and leaned in—just enough to be charming, not enough to be rude. "Tell me," he said, "was it the smell of heaven or fate that pulled me in here?"
Harper didn't even look up from the tray she was drying. "If that line worked on someone, please apologize to them for me."
He laughed—surprised. "Tough crowd."
Harper grabbed a cup and turned to the espresso machine. "You want a cappuccino or something with foam art to post on your Instagram?"
"Dealer's choice," he said, still watching her.
"High bar," she said, already turning toward the espresso machine. "Name?"
"Ethan," he said. "And yours?"
She hesitated for a beat. "Harper."
"Nice to meet you, Harper."
There it was again—that easy charm. She knew his type. The man who made you laugh too quickly, think too slowly, and regret it all the next morning. But something about the way he watched her hands as she worked, the way he didn't fill every silence with noise—it didn't feel rehearsed.
She set a cappuccino and a slice of honey-sage pound cake in front of him.
Miles eyed it, then her. "Trying to win me over?"
Harper's expression didn't change. "Trying to keep you quiet."
He laughed again, more genuinely this time. "Alright, alright. I see how it is. You've got my number."
"No," she said, taking his cash without flinching. "I've seen your type."
Harper walked away before he could say something else clever, but she could still feel the weight of his gaze following her across the room.
Rain tapped against the windows. bakery was warm. And Harper, despite herself, wondered if maybe—maybe—some men walked into your life not to take anything, but to stir something back to life.
Even if they wore leather jackets and trouble in their smile.
Ethan took a bite of the pound cake, leaned back in the chair like he was on a cooking show, and let out a low, appreciative groan.
"Okay, that's insane," he said, licking a crumb off his thumb. "Tell me you made this."
Harper glanced at him from behind the counter as she dropped a tray she came back with. "Who else would've made it? The croissant fairy?"
He laughed again—smooth, easy. The kind of laugh meant to make people lean in. She didn't. She couldn't.
Ethan tapped his cup with one finger. "So what's the story? Bakery owner by day, secret spy by night? Or maybe a runaway pastry heiress?"
"You've got a whole routine, don't you?" Harper said, not unkindly, but with a cool edge that clipped his charm mid-air. "Witty banter. Pretty eyes. A well-timed compliment. You've done this before."
That slowed him down. Not stopped—just slowed. "Ouch. And here I was, thinking we had a moment."
"You and half the women in this city, I'm sure."
Ethan tilted his head, amused. "You always this suspicious, or just with me?"
"Just with men who look like heartbreak and smell like expensive cologne," she said, sliding the cleaned tray onto the shelf behind her.
He let out a low whistle. "You've got sharp edges, Harper."
"I earned them," she replied simply.
That quieted him for a moment. Outside, the rain had softened to a gentle drizzle, turning the world to watercolor. The bakery hummed with the low purr of the espresso machine and the faint clatter of dishes in the back.
Ethan looked down at his plate, then back at her—less of a smirk now, more curiosity. "Alright. You win. I'll behave."
She arched a brow. "That'll be a first."
He chuckled, stood up, and set a few bills on the counter. "Keep the change."
She looked at the cash, then at him. "You tip like you're guilty."
He paused at the door, one hand on the handle, and grinned over his shoulder. "Maybe I am."
And just like that, he was gone—back into the rain, leather jacket and all. Harper watched the door swing shut behind him, then let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Charming. Predictable.
And yet… something about him didn't feel quite as shallow as she wanted it to.
But Harper knew better than to trust the first act of a playboy. She had her peace now—and she wasn't about to trade it for a pretty face with good one-liners.
Still, she couldn't help the small, reluctant smile as she turned back to the kitchen.
*. *. *.
The scent of warm cinnamon and melted chocolate wrapped around Ariana like a hug the moment she stepped into Sugar & Sage, her best friend's bakery tucked between a flower shop and a yoga studio in a quieter part of the city. She was finally done with the day's job and she was so tired she simply wanted to go home and rest.
"Tell me you brought gossip," Harper called out from behind the counter, her honey-blonde curls tied back in a loose bun and flour dusting her apron like a badge of honor.
Ariana laughed, finally letting the tension in her shoulders relax as she slid onto a stool at the bar. "I'm exhausted. And also… I think I may have fallen a little in love with my boss."
Harper's eyes widened. "What?"
Ariana held up both hands. "I know. I know. It's crazy. But he walked in this morning and—he's like something out of a movie, Harp. Tall, powerful, quietly brooding. But his eyes… they're tired. Like he's carrying something heavy."
Harper grabbed two mugs and filled them with coffee before joining her at the bar. "Okay, but let's not romanticize red flags. What's the catch? Married? Kids? Secretly a vampire?"
Ariana took a deep breath. "No ring. But there's a picture on his desk—two kids. And he mentioned school drop-offs this morning. So… yeah. Married. Or maybe widowed, I don't know. There's definitely pain there."
Harper slid a warm chocolate croissant across the counter. "So you're falling for the tall, damaged billionaire who's possibly married."
"I never said I was smart," Ariana muttered, breaking the croissant in half and taking a bite.
Harper smirked. "You're brilliant. You just have a thing for tortured souls. Classic you."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment as the bakery buzzed with soft music and murmured conversations from a few late customers. Outside, the sky had turned a deep gold.
"You need a distraction," Harper finally said, nudging her with a hip. "Let's go out Friday. Somewhere fun. No suits. No secrets. Just you, me, and the chance to flirt with someone whose life isn't a tragic novel."
Ariana smiled, but her mind drifted—back to Alexander Starling, to the flicker of sadness behind his eyes.
"Yeah," she said softly. "That sounds perfect."