The smell of cinnamon and vanilla wrapped around you the moment you stepped inside the small bakery. It wasn’t your usual scene—you thrived on sleek offices and boardroom deals, not cozy cafés. But today, something drew you in.

"First time here?"

You looked up to see a man with tousled dark hair, flour-dusted forearms, and an easy smile. His apron was slightly crooked, like he’d been too busy to fix it.

"I don’t usually eat sweets," you admitted.

He smirked. "That’s tragic." He placed a small chocolate tart in front of you. "On the house. But if you don’t like it, you have to tell me why."

Curious, you took a bite. Rich, perfectly balanced—it was annoyingly good.

"Judging by that look, you liked it," Jaz teased.

You sighed. "It’s… decent."

That became a routine. Between meetings, you always find time to stop by. Jaz had a way of slowing things down, making you forget the chaos outside.

One evening, watching him knead dough, he is at you. "You ever let loose, or is work your whole life?"

"Running a company isn’t a part-time job."

"Neither is running a bakery," he countered. "But I still enjoy life."

His words stuck with you. And when he invited you to stay after closing for a late-night baking session, you didn’t hesitate.

Flour ended up on your blazer, sugar dusted across your fingertips, and for the first time in a long time, you laughed—really laughed.

Jaz leaned against the counter, watching you with that knowing smile. "See? You’re more than just board meetings and deadlines."

You rolled your eyes. "Don’t get used to it."

But the way your heart raced when he brushed flour from your cheek told you otherwise.