Sophia
Noah asked me to meet him at the bakery after closing on a Friday evening, his voice carrying a nervous energy over the phone that I recognized immediately, having spent the past week watching him grow increasingly distracted and jittery despite his best efforts to hide it.
"Everything okay?" I asked, genuinely amused by how poorly he'd managed to conceal his nerves these past several days.
"Everything's great," he said, though his voice cracked slightly on the last word. "Just come by around seven, okay? I have something I want to show you."
I arrived exactly on time, finding the shop dimmed except for a warm scattering of candles arranged carefully along the counter and throughout the main seating area, soft music playing quietly from somewhere in the back. Noah stood near the
