The ever-so killjoy, the death of the party, the human iceberg himself—made me change out of my lovely outfit!
Hmph!
I pushed open the door of the changing room, only to find him standing in the corner with his arms crossed like some strict supervisor. His gaze—deadly, sharp—was the kind that made me feel like I'd just insulted the very air in the shop.
For your information, Auntie approved my outfit. I just… didn't tell him. Because honestly, there's no winning with this emotionless genius in human form.
So, there I stood, sulking with my arms folded, pouting, rolling my eyes all the way to the ends of the earth, waiting for his judgment.
He looked me up and down, from my shoes to my face, like one of those terrifying judges at an audition. And then, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he said:
"On second thought—" deep inhale "—I think you're the problem."
And shook his head.
My jaw hit the floor.
Excuse me?
What do you mean I am the problem?
I haven't even done anything yet! Sure, I'm a disaster in the kitchen sometimes, but how am I the problem just by standing here?
Not even the harshest auditions had ever called me the problem.
I stood there like a fish out of water, my lips opening and closing without sound. Yes, I looked stupid, but what else was I supposed to do? He convinced me to change, then declared I was the issue? Of what?
And that look—was that… disgust?!
Okay, calm down. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
Sweet fairy of the shop, help me before I do something regrettable to Ice.
I forced my most professional smile, chanting in my head: This is work. Be professional. This is work.
"Should I change again?" I muttered, looking down at my outfit.
I still wore the same heels and a fitted black A-line skirt that clung a little too much. Over it, a dark brown half-apron tied neatly at the front. I tugged it to smooth the creases. My top was a black, short-sleeved polo shirt buttoned up to the collar, lined with the same dark brown as the apron. Honestly? Still pretty cute.
Two pairs of boots suddenly dropped onto the floor in front of me. I looked up –Ice.
His expression was unreadable this time, my advanced radar failing miserably.
Slowly, he raised his hand. I froze, hands clasped nervously at my stomach.
Then his cold fingers touched my cheek. I flinched—not only from the chill of his skin, but the strange electric jolt that shot through me.
"Will that be fine?" he asked softly, his finger brushing my left cheek, his eyes suddenly filled with worry.
It was a completely different side of him. But that wasn't the problem. The real problem was… he saw it.
"The… what will be fine?" I asked quickly, trying to dodge. I turned my face away, hiding the side he'd touched.
"Aish." His hiss was low. Two quiet steps brought him closer, and his hand returned—this time gripping my chin firmly, tilting my face back. Not rough, not gentle either, just… unyielding. Annoyed.
"Don't move." His voice was flat, but carried an authority that rooted me to the spot.
So I stayed still, my hands awkwardly pressed together behind my back as he studied me. Then came a careful swipe across my cheek.
"Hey! My makeup!" I protested, pulling back and glaring at him.
But I already knew what he'd seen.
The faint scars from that incident.
I'd hidden them with makeup this morning, hoping to avoid this exact moment. Avoid… that look in his eyes.
I leaned back against the wall, glaring at him. But Ice didn't glare back. He wasn't scolding me, or being cold. He wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were cast down, his expression unreadable—but his shoulders, his silence, felt… guilty.
My chest tightened. I rushed closer, panicking. "Hey! I'm fine."
He didn't answer. He just stood there, silent, like his thoughts had dragged him somewhere dark.
"Ice!" A call from the store snapped him back. Thankfully.
He blinked, then turned back to me. His face… strange. Not irritated. Not cold. Not even grumpy like usual. Just unreadable.
"Be careful with hot trays. Don't carry anything too heavy. Go to the floor." His voice was calm but distant.
Then he shut the door with a loud thud.
My heart sank. Why did I feel guilty when he looked guilty? He hadn't done anything wrong. Neither had I.
I stared down at my boots, sighing. Life choices. What even are they?
Deep breath. This is my decision.
Working at the pastry shop wasn't hard. The tools were small, light. But the number of customers that flowed in? That was insane. It showed just how loyal they all were. Not surprising, though—the pastries here were famous.
I hadn't tried them all yet, but now I was determined to.
Meanwhile… Ice stayed on Ice Mode the entire day. Annoying.
Some highlights?
The smell of fresh coffee filled the air as I balanced a tray stacked high with saucers and mugs from the conference room. It was heavy, but I managed. The problem: the door was closed, and my hands were full. Do I put the tray down? Do I somehow kick it open? Pride wouldn't let me backtrack.
The door swung open. Ice stood there, pristine in his white chef uniform, looking like an angel carved from marble—expressionless as always.
Without a word, he took the tray from my hands. Didn't say thank you. Didn't scold me. Just… silently did it.
Another time, I tried lifting a tray with too many drinks at once. Before I could, Ice's hand pressed the tray down, holding it steady. Without a word, he removed half the load, then looked at me like I was an idiot. Efficient? Yes. Embarrassing? Absolutely.
By the time evening came, I was watching the customers, making sure no one needed anything, when he called out:
"It's six. You can go."
I turned to him behind the counter, where he was arranging another cake on the display shelf. They'd been baking nonstop all day, yet he didn't even look tired. How?
"That looks so good!" I leaned over to admire the cake, then glanced up at him for a reaction.
"I'll be closing the shop. Around seven." His reply was flat, as usual.
"Can I wait for you?" I asked brightly, flashing my best smile.
He didn't even flinch. His expression didn't change.
But… something in my chest ached.
"No need." He turned back to the kitchen, not even glancing at me.
And just like that, he was gone.
Next:
I can't believe I'm saying this, but… angry Ice is better than this version of Ice.
Also, Oriel was acting weird, and she is not telling me the truth!