The warm smell of fresh-baked melonpan wafted through the air as the windows were comforted by the morning sun. Haruka stacked sweet rolls on a tray, her gaze wandering every now and then towards the kitchen door.
Kaito had just arrived, his hair still slightly damp from a rushed shower, a paper bag of ingredients in one hand. He greeted her with a smile that seemed to say, "Good morning, I'm still here," and something about it made Haruka's chest flutter in that annoyingly tender way.
They hadn't spoken much about the sticky note since then. Or what it meant. But something between them had changed—subtle, but real.
And it didn't escape anyone.
Especially not Grandma.
"Haruka-chan," the older woman cooed softly from the back as she popped her head around the curtain, eyes creasing with a teasing glint. "You look more cheerful of late. Must be the weather… or perhaps someone's smile?"
Haruka almost dropped the tongs in her hand.
"J-Just the weather," she grumbled, face flushing a little too pink for a person, "just enjoying the weather."
Kaito, who was already cutting strawberries for the afternoon cakes, stopped for a second, then smiled to himself. Grandma's teasing was relentless—and accurate.
"Oh?" Grandma chimed, now fully stepping into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Because I've been seeing a certain boy arriving here earlier and earlier each morning. Helping with deliveries, sweeping the porch, making extra coffee for a certain someone…"
Kaito pretended to focus very hard on his cutting.
Haruka desperately wished she could disappear into the flour bags.
"I'm just assisting," Kaito replied nonchalantly, but his ears flushed a little.
"Mm-hmm," said Grandma, clearly not believing him. "Assisting, sure. Your grandfather used to say the same thing when I was young—until I found out he was making anpan just to impress me."
Haruka shot Kaito a look. Kaito shot the floor a look. Both of them fought not to laugh.
"I'm not matchmaking or anything," Grandma added, even though she was. "I just think two young people who care for each other should know how lucky they are."
Haruka's heart skipped.
"Th-there's nothing like that," she managed, even as her fingers tightened around the counter.
Grandma just smiled. "Of course, of course. But if there were something… I'd be very happy for both of you."
With that, she winked and went off into the back, singing a tune that sounded eerily like a love song.
The bakery fell silent again, save for the faint clinking of metal and the muffled voices of the customers outside.
Haruka could only manage to peek up. Kaito was already looking at her.
"So…" he hesitated, "did she just…?"
"Yes," Haruka cut in, embarrassed.
Kaito chuckled, wiping his hands on a towel. "I guess we're being shipped."
Haruka groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Please never say that word again."
"Okay, okay," he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "But… was it really that embarrassing?"
Haruka peeked between her fingers. "Maybe not. Just… unexpected."
They stood there for a moment, looking at each other in the warm silence of the bakery, the air between them no longer thick, but charged with something… new.
"Well," Kaito said, his tone softer now. "For what it's worth, I think your grandma has good instincts."
Haruka blinked. "What are you talking about?"
He grinned at her with a teasing smile. "That I'm pretty great."
She rolled her eyes. "Delusional."
"But," he moved a step forward, "if she ever happened to be correct about something like that… I wouldn't mind."
The pause that followed was different. Not uncomfortable. Simply quietly alive.
Haruka acted as if adjusting the tray again, keeping his head down. "I wouldn't either. Mind, that is."
Kaito smiled—not the playful one he used to have, but something milder.
Outside, a wind chime rang in the breeze. The world kept moving. But in that moment, time felt just a little slower. A little gentler.
Grandma's voice floated in from the back. "You two better not be flirting near the dough!"
Haruka nearly dropped the tray again. Kaito burst out laughing.
"I'm telling you, she's doing this on purpose," Haruka hissed, her face hot.
"Definitely," Kaito laughed. "But maybe… she's not wrong to."
They worked together the remainder of the morning, glazing pastries with brushstrokes, bagging paper bags full, catching small glances and gentle smiles. The sort that said what words could not yet quite achieve.
Whatever they were now—whatever they were becoming-it was something precious.
And maybe, for now at least, that was enough.