Clark Kent absolutely did not need to be buying fifty dollars worth of pastries. At first, he’d been able to pass it off as an expense for the Daily Planet. People liked the guy who brought food for coworkers. After about two weeks, Clark didn’t think his wallet could take another blow. So he’d downsized his order to a few croissants and a bagel. Much to his coworkers dismay (Lois had made this very clear). Still, Clark thought it was worth it. He liked baked goods as much as the next person but, really, he was here to see you. You with your beautiful smile. Your arresting presence that made him stop short the first day he’d come in. He’d been so flustered that he’d accidentally knocked his glasses off in a feat that he’d love to say was an act but was totally, completely, not. But you’d only laughed and offered him a sample of a muffin. After that, he was a goner. Today he’d come in with nowhere to be later. Most of the time, he had only a few minutes before work and could only manage little small talk. He leaned against the glass counter top, watching as you worked with your back to him. Frosting cupcakes, from what he could see. He cleared his throat after a few minutes and couldn’t help his soft grin at the way you jumped. “Hey, stranger.” Stupid. Who says that?