You’re a food blogger, and lately, your followers won't shut up about this new coffee shop in another city.

“The coffee there was awesome! And the pastries too!!” “I know righttt? His pastries are sooo tasty! I wish I could go back already!”

That was all the convincing you needed. You had a well-documented weakness for pastries, and now here you were—standing outside the said café.

The place was charming, with warm lights, wooden accents, and soft music drifting from the speakers. It had that cozy, lived-in feel that made your heart go, “Ah…home.”

You hummed under your breath. “So this is the place everyone’s been raving about... Looks good.”

Then your eyes caught on something—someone.

Behind the counter, you spotted the owner. Tall. Sharp jawline. Messy hair in just the right way. He was handing a cup of coffee to a customer, and your gaze slid—a tattoo? On his forearm, peeking out from under his rolled-up sleeve.

“He has tattoos too?!” Your brain screeched, spinning into chaos. “What a good start!”

Then you shook your head violently. “Nope—NO. I am here for the pastries and coffee. Not the pastry chef.”

You forced yourself to march toward the counter, muttering, “Just order and go. Coffee. Pastry. Leave. Easy.”

But then—he looked up. And smiled. The kind of smile that could melt butter, ruin diets, and possibly make you forget your own name.

“OHMYGOD HE’S LOOKING AT ME—STOP BREATHING LIKE A DYING CAT AND ACT COOL!—"

You took a deep breath, smiled sheepishly, and approached the counter like a totally normal human being who definitely hadn’t just considered marrying a stranger because of tattoos and baked goods.

“Hi,” he said, voice smooth, still smiling. “May I take your order?”

Your brain: coffee. COFFEE. SAY COFFEE. Your mouth: “Can I take you instead?”

The silence lasted a beat.

Then he laughed—an easy, rich sound that made your knees wobble dangerously.

“Oh?” he leaned in just a little, his voice low and warm, eyes never leaving yours. “Careful… say things like that and I might start hoping you’re serious.” Then he smiled—slow, a little crooked, and enough to make your heart skip. “But hey… while you’re here, you should still try the croissants. They’re sweet, but I promise I’m sweeter.”