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The rain always made the days at the bakery slow, no matter what time it was. It was like clockwork when the news alerted the city of rain. You didn’t mind it—it was more comforting to be in the bakery by yourself for once.

You had your regulars come in before the storm rolled in and a few stragglers after the crazy breakfast frenzy. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon was in all corners of the warm bakery.

The television playing where customers sat replayed highlights of a sporting event that happened last night. You briefly glance at the replay of two men in a boxing ring throwing jabs before returning to your work. It was all background noise. That’s all it was. Whoever came in there last had changed it to the sports channel and didn’t bother changing it to something else.

The noise around you didn’t bother you, it was something you blocked out from time to time especially on slow days.

But you were so caught up kneading the dough on the granite countertop, you didn’t even catch the noise of someone greeting you. Much less the ring from the entrance door to alert you of a customer.

“Excuse me?”

You furrow your brows in concentration as you separate the sourdough into sections for the custom order of loaves someone had requested.

“Excuse me?” The voice said a little louder this time, clearing their throat and ringing the service bell on the glass display case. They even went as far as squeaking the rubber duck that sat next to the bell.

“Yeah!” You say in a startled response, body jolting forward, your legs hitting the bottom cabinets.

You immediately sidestep to the sink, washing your hands and drying them quickly. You flatten out your apron and turn around. “I’m sorry. I was lost in concentration.”

The man stood across the counter, worse for wear. You try your best not to look at the way his left eye was slightly swollen, with a good bandage above his brow. You quickly avert your gaze, your fingers tapping against the ordering counter.

The blond-haired man grins, the cut on his lip reopening again. “It’s fine. I’m just needing to order two cups of coffee and two croissants.” He studies you, starting with the way your hair is parted all the way down to the way your lips twitch upward into a small half smile.

“Just black or cream and sugar?” You start to go through the motion that has become muscle memory for you.

He watches you with a small smile, leaning against the counter careful not to wince at the swelling pain coming from his ribs. “One with cream and two sugars. As for the other one, just regular,” he slips a hand into his jacket, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. “So, has this place always been here?”

The question made your head spin. The bakery was passed down from generation to generation. You had won awards for your decorations in the baking community along with the insane amount of customers that were loyal to your craft. Everyone within a 30-mile radius has heard of your bakery.

“It’s a generational bakery. We’ve always been here,” You replied with a smile, putting lids on the coffee cups. “Are you local?”

You don’t bother watching him and his cocky smirk quirks up. If he were local you definitely hadn’t seen him around. You didn’t just sell bread but you knew not everyone had a taste for sweets. You prep his two croissants and watch him.

“I’m as local as they come. I actually attend the boxing club—“

“Oh! Corvus’s joint? I think every kid growing up around here used to sign up for lessons. Maybe we took classes together when we were kids.” You cut him off excitedly, wrapping the freshly warm bread into a nice package for him.

He chuckles, taking the coffee. “I would have remembered you unless you were in the older kids division.”

You shake your head, taking the money he placed on the counter and getting the correct change to give him. “No.”

The male nods, taking the tightly packaged croissants into his big hand. You take notice of the tattoos that played peek-a-boo with you, but you didn’t miss the chance to catch a glimpse of the nasty bruised, and busted knuckles. The man must’ve had a match and by the looks of it, your brain is telling you to ask him if the other guy is still living.

You knew Corvus was a retired boxing champion himself, retiring early due to an injury and opening up a club just two doors down. It was made for the kids around the block, to come hang out, practice, do homework, or just to be away from home. And if you were really serious about joining boxing you’d get a discount starting rate and it always worked in Corvus’s favor.

Sometimes you miss the days when you’d spend your time at the club but on other days you knew it wasn’t where you belonged. You were thankful for the opportunities and still have some of the techniques in case you ever need them.

“Late bloomer?” He jokes, laughing at his own joke as he cracks yet another smile. You notice the dimples on his cheeks. He has to be the biggest flirt known to man but you weren’t that easy.

There was no denying he was cute. Easy on the eyes and his smile made a tiny piece of your heart swell. Even with the bruises on his face, he seemed like a genuine guy and it was hard to come across someone like him from time to time.

“Not going to say, stranger,” you hand him his change, fingers brushing against his warm skin. “I hope you enjoy your order. If you see Corvus tell him I said hi!” You turn off to the side, cleaning up any crumbs in your sight with the rag that was on your shoulder.

“He’s the one who sent me here. He has always talked about the girl with the big bakery but I didn’t think it was within walking distance.” He said loud enough for you to hear as he walked to the exit. He makes sure to spare a double take over at you and your figure, and the small smile that adorned your face in response to his comment.

————

Enjin entered the boxing club with a sloppy grin, coffee in his hands and the croissants perfectly balanced on the cup lids. He maneuvered through the large crowd of reporters and photographers with their large bulky cameras. To many, it was an ordinary day but to him, it felt like Christmas—a Christmas where he always got what he wanted no matter what.

He sat behind the table, the prop of his picture that showcased his winnings along with the five belts to his name as the backdrop.

Corvus swipes the coffee and the two croissants before Enjin could talk about the baker he had just recently met.

The reporters were nearly ready to interview the winner of last night's fight. Enjin was mentally preparing himself for the string of questions that would piss off his haters but he always made sure to make eye contact with the cameras—his female fans went crazy for it. He enjoyed the interviews, the press, but he didn’t enjoy answering questions with double meanings.

And so he sat there, sipping his coffee with cream and sugar, waiting for the press conference to start. Enjin was ready to relax before he went over what he had to work on with Corvus. It was a cycle he got down but still took his off days seriously.

Flashing cameras and having tapes rolling at every different angle to capture shots. Enjin really wished he had grabbed his sunglasses to avoid the flashing but he thanked the lovely baker in his head for the coffee to settle his hangover instead. His subtle nods to everything Corvus replied to were doing him a great deal. He didn’t want to talk, much less give them the attention they deserved.

The press was restless with questions. He knew there was always someone with a wicked tongue within the bunch, ready to wield their sword with sharp words.

And by the looks of it, the female who sat so patiently and quietly with her tiny notepad stuck out like a sore thumb. She was waiting for the right time to strike.

“Enjin, would you possibly do a rematch with your opponent? Rumor has it that you and he have bad blood because you slept with his girlfriend. Is this true?”

There it was. The million-dollar question. Everyone in the room froze. Cameras clicked and shuttered as he chuckled under his breath. He rolled his tongue over his teeth. His eyes landing on the reporter, her red coated nails hitting record on her device.

His manager, his team, and even Corvus sent glares in his direction. Many of them were telling him silently to ‘shut the fuck up.’

But it was Enjin, she cast the line and bait and he was dumb enough to take it.

He sat up in the chair, lowering the microphone to make sure everyone heard him address the situation. Taking a long tatted finger down his bruised nose in thought as he smiles, humming into the mic. “I did not have any sexual relations with that woman. How about we get to the real reason why you are all here today? I’m heavyweight world champion in today’s boxing society, ask me some good stuff.”

Everyone in front of him quickly scribbled his response down. Many nod and collectively roll over what next to say as the woman, who had addressed him, stared at him with a fiery look in her eyes. Enjin blew her a kiss and gave her a subtle but flirty wink before moving onto the next set of reporters.

————

Corvus stood outside of the private dressing room. Pacing back and forth as he sent away anyone that came in his direction. He knew Enjin had a tendency of getting with any woman he desired but he wasn’t thinking the man would fuck the reporter that nearly ruined his career today.

Before Corvus could knock on the door for what seemed like the hundredth time, it came swinging open. The tall brunette came out in a hazy manner, her cheeks tinted a peachy tint, as the traces of her heavy makeup was now patchy.

She strolls past him, quickly adjusting her skirt and smoothing out any possible wrinkles for anyone to notice.

“Seriously?”

Enjin glances over his shoulder, fixing the belt of his pants, the shirt he had on earlier draped over his bare shoulder. “She wanted a private interview.”

Corvus didn’t even step inside the room, one glance is all it took for him to puzzle the pieces that Enjin used every fucking surface he could get his hands on. “Did she at least sign the NDA?”

Enjin nods, pointing at the paper stack that was on the floor. If it had eyes it would be glancing over at Corvus in a silent plea to save it. Without a word, he put on his last article of clothing. A tired sigh leaves his lips as he bends down to grab the stack of papers.

“Don’t lecture me on women, Corvus.” Enjin mumbles, handing the man the stack before he walks away.

Corvus watches him take the short cut out of the gym, sighing to himself. He knew something was troubling Enjin but it wasn’t going to be easy for him to confess.

Enjin found himself crossing the streets, a freshly lit cigarette hanging low from his mouth as the cool breeze of the night made its way across the city. The city was quiet tonight, not a soul in sight, but he didn’t mind it. Sure, his face was well known but they didn’t know him. They only knew the history of how he became and where he used to spend his time.

He craved normalcy but normalcy wasn’t something easy for him to receive. A small price to pay for the privilege he has been able to afford.

So, why not find normalcy in the comfort of someone else. He knew sleeping with women would get him in trouble. A few pregnancy scares here and there. A few pep talks with Corvus and his team for him to keep it in his pants. One thing Enjin hasn’t craved in a long time is a conversation.

A simple mundane conversation with someone that didn’t know who he was and what he did in front of thousands of people watching.

He looks up at the sign hanging above the glass doors of the bakery he had stepped foot in hours ago. The lights inside were still on and he could hear music blasting past the large windows. He wasn’t sure why his feet led him back to this place.

Perhaps it was a sign for him to get to know the girl that ran the bakery. The girl that knew Corvus but didn’t know Enjin officially. He knew in the back of his mind that’s not what intrigued him. It was the way she was doing mundane things. She didn’t have a camera following her or people throwing themselves at her. She was just herself.

So Enjin did what he did best. He walked inside the bakery with a goofy smile on his face.

You peek your head out from behind the wall that separated the kitchen and display cases. Eyes narrowing in on the tall stranger that stood awkwardly at the entrance. The same tall stranger you easily recognized from this morning. Surely, he didn’t need anything, you were currently baking the largest order before fall started.

“No smoking.” You shake your head, blinking at the dying out cigarette hanging from his lips.

You watch the man panic, scrambling to put out the cigarette by hanging halfway out of the building, taking one of his boots to stomp out the cherry.

Sorry about that,” he recollects himself with a sigh, stepping inside of the bakery finally. He takes a glance over at you and the way you were covered in flour from head to toe. The bakery smelled like pumpkin and cinnamon this time. It made his heart swell with warmth. “So…do you mind if I chill here for a second?”

You look at the clock hanging above your kitchen door entrance. “Just for a few unless you want to help me.”

He raised a brow. “H-help you?”

“Yeah. It’s past my opening hours. You're here willingly. You either sit and twiddle your thumbs or help me. It’s simple and I pay in treats.” You explained, placing a hand on your apron covered hip.

Enjin couldn’t help but smirk. Thinking about the consequences but he also didn’t know you—you didn’t know him. He was practically another man in your eyes. He takes off his jacket, setting it down on a barstool. “Where do you want me?”

You nearly froze at the sight of him. The tattoos and how well they were intricately inked along his skin. You let out a shaky sigh, averting your gaze and grabbing the rolling equipment from off of the counter. “Follow me.”

He ducks his head, making sure not to hit the beam of the kitchen entrance. The smell of cinnamon was even stronger, the music louder, and he didn’t have time to skim the large kitchen when he was suddenly surrounded by older women.

Two older women came prancing over, wide eyed and smiling. “Oh! Our lovely dove brought us some help!” One of them squealed, grabbing Enjin by his thick bicep.

You snorted, letting out a little sigh of satisfaction. Placing the kitchenware on your marble counter top, you turn back around to watch the women crowd him. All of them talking at once, many of them were old enough to be his grandmother but that doesn’t stop them from being flirty.

“The little dove not only brought us help but she also brought us eye candy.”

You snickered, covering your mouth to hold in the laughter. You make brief eye contact with him, giving him a shrug before grabbing the order you were working on.

Enjin chuckles nervously, watching you for a second before turning his attention to the older women around him. They were handsy but he didn’t mind, they complimented his tattoos and grew worried about the bruises that were visible on his face. For a second, he forgot that he was helping the baker he had met this morning—not being cornered by a group of curious seniors.

“And what’s your name, young man? You have to be the same age as my great grandson!”

Enjin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Looking at the woman who had spoken to him, she was next to the baker, helping you prep a large amount of dough. The rest of the women pat his chest before making their way back to their stations. He watches them with a small smile of content. “Please call me Enjin.”

You look over your shoulder, “Like the car engine?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking off of the side as he shrugged. “Yeah and what’s yours?”

You study him, your hair parted down out from the braid you had in, causing parts of your hair to frame your hair perfectly. You adjust some of your hair with your shoulder, looking at him through your lashes. You tell him your name softly, a small shy smile following afterwards.

He walks over to where you stood, finally free from the curiosity that surrounded him. He lets you instruct him on washing his hands, not missing the way your eyes land on the small cuts over his knuckles. “They’re fresh. Will that be an issue?”

“We have gloves for you. You’ll just be scooping flour out for us. Some of the ladies can’t do it and I have to finish this order before tomorrow,” You toss him a pair of gloves, your free hand carefully draping an apron over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Enjin.” You watch him tie the apron around his waist, your eyes scanning his body before meeting his eyes.

“Yes?”

Your body sends a shiver down your spine, his voice making you nearly sway closer towards him. “You have lipstick on your neck.” You giggle, taking two of your own fingers and placing it on your own neck, mimicking the spot on his.

you haven’t worked up any courage to outright talk to your neighbor without plausible excuse, because you find him wildly attractive and also find you have zero confidence to make that the excuse to go over and talk to him.

you haven’t seen him up close yet, but you do know he’s tall, lean, bleach blonde hair with an sharp undercut, a relatively handsome face (from a distance) and some pretty impressive tattoos that are sometimes on display for your viewing pleasure.

and today is no exception. because you can see your physically gratifying neighbor now, across the street and elbows deep under the hood of his car, clad in a loose hanging tank top that shows off his collarbones and those darkly inked arms, and a pair of jeans that are worse for wear but probably intentionally ragged for the task at hand.

and it’s hot enough that you can see the heat dispersion off the roof of his car parked on the flat concrete. you think he’s nuts for being outside in this sort of weather, risking heat stroke.

but then you remember the pitcher of iced tea you made this morning.

an excuse.

the ice clinks in the cold glass in your hand, sweating just as much as you are as you walk across the street and onto his driveway. you think he makes the briefest of eye contact as he reaches for something in the corner of his garage, the smallest hint of a smirk on his face and you want to turn around, a flight response out of nervousness. but then, he’s already seen you so going back now would just look insane…

“thought you might like something cold to drink,” you chirp from a distance, shielding your eyes to see better inside the shaded garage. that’s when he makes full eye contact — golden irises peeking out from the dim shelter. they look like suns, a warmth cast over you unlike the one permeating the air.

“well, ain’t that nice.” his voice is sturdy, with a cheery lilt that almost instantly calms the rattling in your ribcage. your neighbor hits the driveway again, long strides with his worn leather boots, a towel covering his hands. “you offer drinks to all your neighbors?”

“just…” you pause without realizing it, because if you thought this man was tall from across the street, he’s a giant up close. you actually have to tilt your head to meet his gaze. “just the ones who torture themselves during the hottest weather ever recorded.”

he huffs a laugh, and you move to pass the glass to him. the clouded patterns on his arms become apparent, and even under the smear of oil and soot on his hands, you can tell he even has tattoos on his fingers along with painted black nails that seem oddly unfinished…

as he brings the chilled glass to his lips and tilts it back, you also notice that his neck and chest are decorated in the same black and red ink, connecting the intricacies of the patterns on his arms to his torso.

“you brewed this yourself, huh?” your neighbor moves the glass around, the sound of ice clinking more deliberately. “i can tell. it’s got love mixed in.”

you smile, feeling a little flushed. “it’s just iced tea, i promise.”

“yeah?” he looks in the glass with a quirked brow. “hm, coulda sworn i tasted something sweet in there.”

okay, so he has a sense of humor.

“can i ask what you’re doing?” your eyes linger over to the open hood of his car parked next to you. “i mean, you do know how hot it is today right?”

“not like i can control the sun.” he shrugs, raising an arm to sloppily wipe away some of the sweat along his brow that has some of his unruly golden hair sticking to it. “and the work ain’t gonna do itself.”

you concede with a nod and an acknowledging hum. it’s a simple answer, but also not lacking truth.

“i’ve had her for a long time,” he says after taking another cool sip from your gifted refreshment, gesturing to the car. “gotta take care of the stuff that’s important to you, ya know?”

you couldn’t agree more, actually.

he talks a little about motor mechanics, and you try to keep up, but unfortunately the topic and the heat and the looming distraction standing next to you quickly get in the way of your focus. fearing awkwardness, you wrap up the very short conversation.

“well then, i won’t keep you.” you give a wave as you begin to turn back toward your house. “just remember to take breaks, okay?”

“hey—”

you stop, turning back to see your neighbor holding up the glass you handed him and playfully clicking the ice around again with a smirk.

“do you offer free refills?”

“i’m sorry, but…” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think your cheeks got slightly sunburnt from the heat, but really you just feel a little embarrassed. “i… don’t think i ever got your name?”

“sheesh, no one talks about me around here?” he groans with dramatized dismay, letting you finish filling up the glass from your pitcher, hunched on the top stair of your porch. “how mildly disappointing.”

you laugh, and subsequently try not to let your eyes focus too hard on the darkened planes of his shoulders. you’ve noticed so much more now that you’re seeing him up close and not from across the street. he’s broader than you thought, lean muscle present where you can see it. if you think too hard about what you can’t see, you fear you might pass out. at least you could blame it on the sun exposure.

“enjin.”

you’re pouring iced tea into a second glass for yourself, looking back at him a little confused.

“engine? like… what’s in your car?”

he puts the glass down onto your porch, sighing as he leans a little closer to you.

“okay, i’m going to laugh like it’s the first time i’ve heard that one. you ready?”

and with that, enjin bellows out a convincing laugh, tossing his head back and flashing his teeth gleefully. it’s all you can do to blink at him, mouth slightly agape because you think he’s handsome even when he laughs, and even on purpose.

the short conversation standing at enjin’s driveway turns into a longer one sitting on your porch, revealing little things about each other than you never bothered to do before. and you wish you had done it sooner. because enjin is nice, more soft spoken than you imagined, but also bright and laid back and easy to talk to. and he’s been right across the street this whole time.

before you know it, dusk settles onto your street, the sun retiring for the day and yet it’s felt like barely any time has passed. perhaps that’s enjin’s doing.

“thanks for the iced tea,” he smiles as he offers the empty glass back to you, save for the ice cubes at the bottom that have now been fully melted.

“it was no trouble. i’m sorry to have wasted your day.” you offer an apologetic smile back to him, his forgotten car left only partially maintained back in his driveway.

“nah,” he quickly deflects, running his fingers through his hair to push out of his face before standing on one of the lower steps of your porch. it’s easier to see his eyes now, still burning molten gold back at you.

“it was a welcome distraction.”

you’re left clutching the two glasses in one hand and your now half empty pitcher of iced tea in the other, watching your neighbor — enjin — wave off and return to his property, just a few dozen feet away.

the sun has already fully set, but you can still feel the ever-present wave of summer heat beating at the back of your neck.