The bell above the door chimed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.
Isla barely glanced up from the tray she was sliding into the glass case. Another pair of customers strolled in, whispering excitedly to each other as they eyed the pastries.
"Miss Reed!" the older of the two said, cheeks flushed as though she'd just stepped out of a gossip circle. "We saw you in the papers again. That dress... goodness, my daughter said you looked like you belonged in a movie."
Isla smiled, polite but practiced. "Glad the papers had something interesting for once," she said lightly, handing over their order.
By now, the comments were background noise. Yesterday had been chaos—cameras crowding the sidewalks, people craning their necks through the shop windows. Today, the storm had settled into a steady hum of attention, a new normal she hadn't quite gotten used to.
She brushed a few crumbs from the counter and let the rhythm of the bakery soothe her. Morning light pooled through the windows, painting the tile floor in warm rectangles. For a few blessed minutes, there was only the distant whir of the mixer and the soft, yeasty smell of cooling bread.
The lunch rush passed in a blur of orders and polite smiles. By midday, the bakery was quiet. Isla hummed under her breath as she wiped the counter clean, stealing a moment to herself.
The bell over the door chimed again.
She didn't look up at first, thinking it was another customer wandering in late. But the footsteps were measured, unhurried, and when she glanced toward the door, the rag in her hand stilled.
"Thought I might find you here," said a familiar voice.
Cael stood in the doorway, sunlight catching on his dark hair. He wore a simple jacket over a crisp shirt—no extravagant embroidery, no flashy crests—just a man who knew how to carry himself without needing the room to notice. But notice it did.
"You disappeared before I could even say goodbye that night," he said, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth as he crossed the room.
Isla blinked, a startled laugh slipping free. "You're one to talk. You vanished before dessert."
"Ah, but I left a mystery," Cael said, leaning against the counter as though he'd done it a hundred times before.
She set down the rag, unable to keep from smiling. "And what brings you to my scandalous little corner of the world?"
"Curiosity," he said easily. "And a craving for something sweet. You're still the best thing to happen to their court drama, you know."
Isla raised a brow. "Good to know I'm still a scandal worth discussing."
Cael laughed—a real laugh, warm and unrestrained. "Oh, they're terrified. You should see them when your name comes up. Half of them start whispering, and the other half pretend they don't care."
"Sounds exhausting," Isla said. "For them, I mean."
He propped his chin on one hand, watching her with open amusement. There was no judgment in his gaze, no calculation—just that easy charm that had surprised her the night of the ball.
They talked. About nothing and everything.
Cael took the stool nearest the counter, long legs stretched out, fingers drumming a soft rhythm as he spun tales of court life in the most ridiculous way possible. He mimed the frantic waving of a duchess trying to catch someone's attention; he imitated a baron so stiff he nearly fell off his chair mid-toast.
Isla found herself laughing more than she had in days. "You're going to get yourself banned from these things," she teased.
"Wouldn't be the first time," he admitted with a mock sigh. "I once set fire to my cousin's birthday cake and blamed the dog."
She pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter.
"And the dog never forgave me."Cael said solemnly.
Their laughter faded into a comfortable quiet, the kind of lull that only happens when conversation doesn't have to be forced. Isla caught herself studying him—how his grin softened when he was amused, how he didn't try to fill every silence.
Cael tapped the counter lightly, as though testing the moment. "There's something I wanted to ask you," he said. His tone stayed light, but there was a sincerity threaded through it.
Isla tilted her head, curious.
"I've got a gathering coming up," Cael went on. "Smaller than that ball. Quieter. But I don't really want to go alone."
Her brows lifted slightly as his meaning clicked.
He leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter, his voice dipping in playful, conspiratorial tone. "Come with me. As my date. I promise—no bread jokes, no politics... just good company. I sent the invite already—you've probably seen it."
Isla blinked in recognition. "You mean the charity invite? I thought it was from the palace again for a second."
"Tempting to let you think that," Cael said with a grin, "but no—this one's all mine."
Isla froze for a beat, caught off guard by the ease of the offer. A dozen thoughts flashed through her head—headlines, whispers, the way her life had shifted after the last royal event.
"I... don't know," she said softly.
Cael smiled, as if he'd expected that. "Think about it. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you'd make it fun."
His words were simple, but something in them gave her pause—an unfamiliar kind of attention she wasn't used to, though she wasn't sure what to make of it yet.
As their conversation continued, a pair of customers passed by on their way out, murmuring to each other just beyond the door.
"Isn't that—?" one whispered, the words trailing off into the street.
Cael didn't flinch, didn't so much as glance after them. He was too busy telling Isla about a disastrous toast he'd given at another ball.
"I thought I was being clever," he confessed, grinning. "Turns out, I was quoting the wrong poet. My aunt hasn't let me live it down."
Isla shook her head, laughing softly. "And here I thought you were one of the smooth ones."
"Never," Cael said with mock solemnity. "I'm a menace with good intentions."
The warmth between them settled deeper, easy and unforced. Isla was startled by how natural it felt, how little she minded him staying.
The late afternoon sun angled through the front windows, stretching across the bakery floor in soft gold. Cael glanced toward the street, then back at her with that same unassuming smile.
"Let me drop you home," he said suddenly, as though the thought had just come to him. "I'll wait until you close."
Isla blinked. "You don't have to—"
"I know," Cael said, sliding off the stool and straightening his jacket. "But think of it as me making you just indebted enough to consider that invitation."
Her lips twitched, caught between a protest and a smile. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," he said, eyes crinkling. "But I'm also stubborn."
He waited, unhurried, giving her space to decide. Isla found herself caught in that moment—torn between the comfort of her usual routines and the unexpected turn her day had taken.
She opened her mouth, closed it again, and for the first time in days, didn't know what to say.
The offer lingered in the warm air between them, like the scent of sugar and bread that wrapped around the bakery itself. And Isla just stood there, wondering if maybe—just maybe—she wanted to say yes.