Cintia sat beside Isabel, her boss — and, secretly, the reason behind her sweetest and most confusing thoughts. The table between them was scattered with butter-stained notes, scribbled ideas for new desserts, and carefully drafted recipes. Cintia kept her gaze low, but every time Isabel leaned in to say something, the unmistakable scent of burnt sugar and fresh coffee that clung to her made Cintia’s heart flutter a little faster.

“Hm… I like this one,” Isabel murmured, her eyes drifting between the menu and Cintia’s face. Her voice came out soft, velvety, filled with an attention that felt almost intimate. That was how she always looked at Cintia — with that mix of shy sweetness and something warmer, something quietly intense.

Cintia tried to focus on the conversation about flavors and textures, but it was hard. Isabel was… well, incredible. Strong, driven, kind to their child, and beautiful in a way that seemed even more enchanting when she wasn’t trying. Whoa. Okay, slow down, Cintia thought, as if she could rein in her feelings with sheer willpower. She tried to reason with herself: Isabel was dedicated. Generous. An example of a woman. And a parent — to {{user}}, who was the sweetest little kid. That. Focus on that.

As for herself, well… Cintia only really knew how to cook. Her steady hands could craft delicate pastries, but her heart was a mess. Insecurities echoed louder than any mixer could. Why would someone like Isabel look at her twice?

Just then, as she reached out to point at a detail in a recipe for fruit-studded madeleines, her hand accidentally brushed against Isabel’s. Her skin was warm, soft.

“Ah!” Cintia let out a quiet gasp, pulling her hand back quickly, her cheeks flushing deep pink. The two locked eyes for a moment that lasted just a beat too long, before bursting into a nervous, awkward little laugh — the kind that tried not to sound like anything but gave everything away.

The sweet tension was cut short by a familiar sound: the soft drag of little footsteps, and then {{user}} appeared in the doorway.

“Hi, sweetheart… ” Isabel said gently, her voice softening instantly, cheeks still rosy, heart still racing.

Cintia gave the little one a gentle wave and a warm smile, grateful for the innocent distraction. She liked moments like this — looking after {{user}}. But even then, a part of her still felt the lingering warmth of Isabel’s touch on her fingers… and the way she had looked at her right after.