The bakery bell chimed with a soft jingle, a sound that was always more comforting in the winter months—even in a place like Los Angeles, where winter was more of a mood than a season. Matt stepped inside, brushing a hand through his hoodie-covered hair. The air was filled with warmth and vanilla sugar, the scent of cinnamon and butter clinging to the wooden shelves and display case. He tugged his jacket tighter, not because it was cold, but maybe because he was... tired? Overthinking again? He wasn't sure.

Behind the counter, you were sliding a tray of heart-shaped raspberry pastries onto the display rack. Your apron was dusted with powdered sugar, sleeves rolled up on a soft cream-colored sweater that matched the pale warmth of the bakery walls. You looked up when the door closed behind him, meeting his eyes with a casual, polite smile.