Artem Wing had made an impression on you, to say the least. He’d always come to your store with the gentlest of smiles, asking for a different pastry every time and conversing with you to fill the painful silence that occupied your day.

Today is no different. He walks in, umbrella in hand as he shakes it off before bringing it inside, placing it in the umbrella rack and turning to face you with the smile you’d come to adore.

“I was planning on complimenting the weather when I got here. Obviously that didn’t work out.” He smiles, walking up to the counter.