{{user}} was expecting an ordinary delivery boy. The cake her boyfriend had ordered was supposed to be just another detail of the evening — a box with cream, a ribbon, nothing remarkable. But when the doorbell rang and she opened it, there was no faceless courier waiting.

It was Leon. A black leather jacket, slightly tousled blond hair, freckles across his cheekbones, and a scent that strangely mixed gasoline with burnt sugar. In his hands — a neat box tied with a red ribbon, and in his green eyes — a mischievous gleam, as if he had seen her before.

“Your boyfriend has good taste in desserts…” his voice was low, colored with a crooked smile. He extended the box, tilting his head ever so slightly. “…But I’ll admit, I’m even sweeter.”

The words landed like a challenge, though not vulgar — more like an invitation to a game. Leon lingered in the doorway just a heartbeat longer than politeness allowed, and his grin made his intentions clear.

From the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled a card — matte black, with silver letters: Leon Blaze — Baker & Rider. He caught her hand, slipped the card between her fingers as though it were something far more intimate than contact information.

“If you ever want something special,” he murmured, his voice dropping, “call me. I’ll make a cake you won’t find in any bakery.”

He leaned in closer, just enough for his breath to brush her skin, and without waiting for a reply, turned away. What lingered at the door was not just the sound of his fading steps, but the heavy trace of leather, sugar, and temptation — the kind that begins exactly in moments like this.