#sugarcrafting

Indy smiled to himself, happy that for once a plan was coming together nicely, nothing going wrong. Sawyer had the cake for the retirement party ready on time, and Indy asked if he would be willing to help by bringing it, so he didn’t accidentally ruin all the hard work he’d put in. Especially after they’d gone over the details and just from the rough sketch it looked like it was something Indy didn’t even want to breath near for fear of ruining the creation.

 He thought it might be a good opportunity for the baker. He could make some new business connections that might need a bakery for something. Plus his tentative friend had said he did know of the museum and expressed an interest when Indy said he would show him around at some point. A perfect opportunity at the very least to get around to talking to the other man more, anyway. He was already honest with himself in the fact that he kind of liked Sawyer, he couldn’t very well keep stalking the poor guy at his business to get to know him.

No matter how good his baking was.

     Natasha likes being affectionate with Sawyer, tugging him into her lap unexpectedly to kiss him breathless, and the like. They’ve been dating for a while now, which is a strange concept to her, given the ridiculousness that her life has been up to her move to Canada, and have done a pretty good job of it. They tease each other a lot, and she generally thinks that her boyfriend is the softest, sweetest human being on the planet.

     Sometimes she just wants to devour him.

     He’s got a new batch of something out of the oven at last, and finally has time to sit down, so she grabs him and pulls him close, kissing him thoroughly. He tastes, unsurprisingly, like baking chocolate. 

He thought he was sleep deprived that much, that he was imagining things. But no, Steve could see just fine and he wasn’t wrong, right? The small blond blinked a few times, making sure that he had seen that right.

That there was a person just came out from a store, and somehow had a large splat of red liquid as if he was bleeding from his side, but he looked way too chill to begin with.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” he asked, sounding and probably looking horrified with that much ‘blood’ the man lost. He almost offered to bring the man to the nearest hospital, but the man just seemed...chill. Even smiling. If the stranger didn’t give anymore explanation, Steve probably would think that he just encountered a serial killer or something. But no, of course not. This wasn’t a suspense novel, and the man was totally fine.

Alejandro took a step closer and tilted his head back to look up at the tree. “Nice tree. That your cat?” He asked gesturing at the feline meowing insistently while clinging onto a thick branch with all and claws.

continued from here x

the  UNEXPECTED  voice  causes  the  baker  to  flinch;  but  thankfully  not  lose  his  balance  upon  the  smooth  surface  of  the  counter,  one  arm  stretched  up  above  his  head.    “    you  almost  gave  me  a  heart  attack  !!   or  a  neck  injury.    ”   he  turns  back  to  the  task  at  hand,  reaching  up  and  making  a  whine  of  frustration.   how  has  he  managed  to  lose  his  stepladder ??   “    the  light’s  not  working.    i’m  trying  to  change  the  bulb.    ”   

It was his job to get the cake for the retiring professor. A job he wasn’t exactly good for, but he was one of the lower men on the proverbial totem pole at the Museum of Classical Antiquities at the moment. One would think knowing a good chunk of the languages that MADE up the cultures in the collection would earn him points, and yet, of course, he was mistaken. Indy would live. It wasn’t like Canada was short on opportunities. Or nice people. So, after the inquiries were made for a few recommendations on a good place to get a cake, he’d spent an afternoon finding he either didn’t like the place or they were busy.

     Natasha had basically hidden in the animal shelter when she got to Ottawa. It was strange, being somewhere she wasn’t recognized, wasn’t hunted, though the threat of that wasn’t gone yet. She wouldn’t put it past the KGB to send more of their recruits after her once they found her, but for now, she was comfortably anonymous and could start over.

     She began by securing a job for herself at an auto shop. She’d practically dissected hovercrafts and tanks when she was in Russia, so going through car schematics and learning how to fix them up was a breeze. It paid well enough to sustain her, and in her tank top and jeans, and frequently dirty face, she looked a world away from the assassin who had been sent to the US to gather intel.

     Any time she wasn’t there, she was either in the library reading or at the animal shelter. She had just started volunteering there, helping with the cats that needed rehabilitation and socializing, and offered to put up the fliers advertising the adoption event that weekend. Slowly, she worked her way through town, meekly asking different shops if she could put some papers up on their bulletin board. Last on her list of places was the bakery down the street from where she worked.