The morning rush had only begun when Elin Bluebell Chen wiped her hands on her apron and brushed a stubborn lock of hair behind her ear. Her bakery was alive with its customary music: the hiss of the espresso machine warming milk, the scrape of chairs as customers settled into their preferred seats, and the happy neighbours sharing morning greetings. The wonderful warmth of butter and sugar lingered in the air, wrapping around everyone who stepped inside like a familiar embrace.
Elin had just set a tray of pineapple tarts on the counter when the bell above the door jingled again. She turned automatically, her practiced smile already ready.
And froze.
The tall stranger from last night had returned.
He didn't look quite so lost this time, though his height still made him stand out awkwardly among the bakery's low beams and cozy shelves.
Dressed in a plain white T-shirt and jeans, he looked almost too ordinary, yet not in the way the men in the financial district did with their stiff suits and polished shoes.
No, there was something unpolished about him, something that didn't quite fit the neat rhythm of her shop.
Elin's chest tightened. She remembered their strange encounter on the quiet street, his lost expression, the way she had silently led him to his hotel. She had gone home replaying every step, embarrassed at her silence, at how her mind had tangled itself in knots. She had thought that would be the end of it. Just a stranger passing through.
His green eyes caught hers, bright even under the warm glow of the bakery lights. He offered her a faint smile, then reached into his pocket.
"I believe this belongs to you."
He set something on the counter with careful precision.
Elin blinked down at it. Her wallet.
Her fingers flew to pick it up, flipping it open in disbelief. Everything was still inside. Cards. Coins. Even the faded little photo tucked in one corner. She hadn't even realized she'd lost it.
"Oh my— I didn't even..." She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "I didn't notice it was gone."
"You dropped it," he said simply, his voice carrying a note of warmth under its calmness. "Last night. After you... walked me to the hotel. I figured I'd better return it before someone else found it."
"Thank you," she murmured, clutching the wallet against her chest as if he had just returned a piece of her dignity with it.
He gave a small nod, then looked around the bakery. His eyes traveled slowly, taking in the chalkboard menu written in looping pastel chalk, the jars of mismatched daisies and lavender on the tables, the neat rows of pastries catching the sunlight like golden treasures.
"You have a nice place," he said, and though the words were plain, there was nothing casual about the way his gaze lingered.
Elin cleared her throat and reached for the professional tone she relied on. "Would you like something?"
He hesitated, as if weighing the question too seriously for a bakery order. Finally, he nodded. "The croissant from last night. If you still have more."
A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. "I always have croissants."
She reached for the still-warm batch behind her and tucked one into a small paper bag. As she did, she couldn't help but notice that he stayed close to the counter, instead of stepping aside the way most customers did. His fingers rested lightly on the edge of the counter, long and restless, tapping a rhythm against the wood.
She slid the bag toward him. "Here you go."
He accepted it but didn't leave. His gaze caught on the jars of flowers again, then on the flour still clinging faintly to her apron. He almost looked like he was cataloguing everything, like this little bakery was something worth remembering.
"So," she said lightly, trying to break the strange tension, "not lost again?"
He chuckled, and the sound rolled through the air, warm and a little self-deprecating. "Not this time. But honestly? If I had to get lost somewhere, this wouldn't be a bad choice."
Elin blinked. She wasn't sure if he meant the bakery, the street, or... her. Either way, her face betrayed her with another flush.
"Enjoy the croissant," she muttered, suddenly busying herself with rearranging the tray of pineapple tarts.
"Thank you, Miss..." He trailed off deliberately, tilting his head slightly, waiting.
"Elin," she said quickly, before he could push further. "Elin Chen."
"Elin," he repeated, letting the name linger on his tongue as if he wanted to test how it fit. His lips curved faintly. "Axton."
And just like that, he turned and left, the bell chiming behind him as the morning air followed him out.
Elin stood frozen for a long moment, the hum of the bakery resuming around her like nothing had happened. She pressed her wallet tighter against her chest, her heart beating a rhythm she hadn't felt in years.
Now, the tall stranger had a name. Axton. And something in her gut told her this wouldn't be the last time he walked through her door.
***
The metropolitan skyline stretched before Axton like a puzzle he'd been putting together for years, with the final parts just being slotted in. The skeletal frame of his company's new headquarters shone in the morning sun, its steel beams catching the light like sharpened edges. Workers wearing hard hats shouted orders, machinery rumbled in the background, and the air smelled vaguely of dust, new paint, and concrete.
Axton stood a little apart, his hands tucked into his pockets as he observed the scene. He was used to this chaos, used to watching something rise from the ground because of his vision, his insistence, his money. It should have filled him with pride. It usually did.
But today, his attention wandered. His green eyes followed the lines of the building, then drifted past them, toward the bustling streets below.
"You're unusually quiet, boss," one of the site managers commented, approaching with a clipboard. "Everything's on schedule. Foundations are solid, glasswork starts next week. Nothing to worry about."
Axton nodded. "Good."
The man rattled off a few more details, but Axton only half-listened. His stomach gave a low grumble, interrupting the noise of drilling and hammering. He could eat at the sleek restaurant down the block, or have his driver bring him something. He had endless choices, none of which required effort.
But his mind betrayed him. It replayed the crisp, buttery crack of a croissant from yesterday. The faint sweetness of the layers. The way Elin Chen's eyes lit up when she handed it to him, like she had offered him something far more precious than bread.
His lips curved faintly before he could stop them. He hadn't smiled at food in years.
"Mr. Creighton?" the manager asked, puzzled.
Axton blinked, pulling his focus back. "Nothing. Just hungry."
The man gestured toward a row of food stalls lining the street. "Plenty of options nearby. Want me to grab something for you?"
Axton's gaze flicked in the opposite direction, where he knew the small bakery sat tucked between taller buildings, with its little chalkboard sign and the smell of fresh bread drifting out the door.
"No," he said after a pause. "I'll take care of it myself."
The manager raised an eyebrow but wisely didn't press further.
As Axton turned away from the site, weaving through the noise and steel, he realized with a strange certainty that it wasn't just hunger pulling him there. It was the thought of that warm little shop. Of the girl behind the counter who had walked him to his hotel without a word, who had clutched her wallet like it was armour when he returned it, who had looked at him as though she didn't quite know what to make of him.
It wasn't just the croissant he wanted. It was the feeling of stepping into a place that didn't already know his name.
And so, despite the dozen restaurants he could have gone to, Axton found his long strides carrying him back down the familiar street, back toward flour-dusted counters and mismatched flower jars, back toward the one bakery he couldn't quite stop thinking about.
The construction site still rang in his ears when he left. The clang of metal, the bark of foremen, the hollow thud of boots on concrete. He should have gone straight back to his suite, ordered room service, eaten something ridiculous like steak tartare just to prove he could. That was what men like him did.
But instead, Axton found himself walking streets he had no business walking, toward a place that had been haunting him all morning.
Bluebell Bakes.
He slowed long before he reached it, his long strides cutting down into reluctant steps. When the painted wooden sign came into view, his chest tightened like he had been caught doing something shameful. He stopped across the street, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders squared as if he were facing down a boardroom.
Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
Through the wide glass front, he saw the little shop alive with movement. Warm light bathed shelves lined with golden loaves and glossy pastries. People filed in and out with paper bags clutched to their chests, their faces lit up like they were walking away with treasure.
Axton stayed where he was, jaw clenched, watching as if he were gathering intelligence instead of... lingering.
A child stood at the counter, bouncing on his toes, pointing at something with both hands. His mother laughed, and the baker leaned down to listen, her own laugh bubbling up, quick and unguarded. Axton's chest gave a strange pull. He pushed it away.
The baker. Elin.
Even from this distance, he recognized the messy strand of hair that refused to stay tied back, the flour dusting her apron, the way her smile seemed effortless. She moved behind the counter with the kind of ease that only came from years of repetition, sliding trays, wrapping packages, exchanging coins. Everything about her belonged here.
And he—he was standing outside like a fool.
His stomach growled, sharp and accusing.
"Shut it," he muttered, low and irritable, drawing a sideways look from a passer-by.
It wasn't about the croissant. He told himself that firmly. He could get pastries flown in from Paris if he wanted. He could have his chef craft something ten times flakier, ten times richer. He didn't need her pastries.
So why couldn't he leave?
His hand hovered near his pocket as if to reach for his phone, to distract himself, to pretend he had business here. Instead, he shoved it back in. His throat felt dry. His feet stayed nailed to the pavement.
Another customer pushed open the door and walked out, and the scent rolled into the street like a wave. Buttery, warm, rich. It hit him square in the chest, and for a moment, his resolve buckled.
He could go in. Just walk in, order one croissant, and leave. It was food. Nothing more. No one would ever know.
But Axton Creighton, the man who negotiated nations into debt, stood frozen on the sidewalk, glaring at a bakery like it had personally offended him.
Because deep down, he knew it wasn't just the croissant pulling him in.
It was the memory of last night. Her startled scream in the alley, the way her hands had clutched his sleeve like he was something solid in the chaos. The heat of her pressed close before she bolted back, embarrassed. That image had been simmering at the back of his mind all morning, refusing to fade.
He exhaled sharply, annoyed with himself.
This was absurd.
Axton's eyes stayed glued to the bakery window, long after he told himself he would leave. He stood stiffly on the sidewalk, trying to look nonchalant, but his towering frame and the way he shifted from one foot to the other betrayed him completely.
Inside, Elin paused mid-wrap of a croissant. Something tugged at her attention, a sense that someone familiar was lingering just outside. Her brow furrowed, then lifted in recognition.
No way.
Axton.
The same tall, lost-looking stranger from last night, the one who had followed her guidance through alleyways and somehow made her think he wasn't entirely terrifying. He was still standing there, staring like a man deciding whether to commit a small, possibly life-altering crime.
Elin pushed back from the counter and stepped outside, the morning sun warm against her face. She kept her tone light, teasing. "You again? Did you get lost, or are you just stalking bakeries now?"
Axton blinked, caught off guard. His posture straightened, though the attempt to look composed failed spectacularly. "I am not stalking bakeries," he said with a hint of indignation, though it came out more like a question. "I... happened to walk by. Purely coincidental. I have no... intentions."
Elin raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Purely coincidental. You've been standing there for, what, ten minutes?"
He froze, then glanced down at his shoes, realizing she could probably see the slight scuff of anxiety on his polished loafers. "That... might be a slight exaggeration," he admitted. "Seven minutes. Maybe eight."
Elin smirked. "Seven or eight minutes of intense window-staring. Got it. That counts as loitering in most countries."
Axton's lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile. "Yes. Loitering. That's exactly what it was. Totally normal behaviour for someone of my... stature."
Elin laughed, shaking her head. "Your stature has nothing to do with loitering. And trust me, you stand out enough without trying." She leaned on the doorframe, watching him fidget. "So, why are you really here? Another croissant?"
His jaw tightened. He looked anywhere but at her, though the corner of his eyes betrayed him. "I might have... considered the possibility."
Elin tilted her head, amusement flickering across her face. "Might have? That's a very non-committal way to confess you want food. Or maybe you're just embarrassed."
Axton's stomach growled suddenly, loud and completely unignorable, cutting off his carefully prepared protest.
Elin froze, then burst out laughing, covering her mouth with one hand. "Oh my god, that was—really? Here? Publicly?"
He pressed a hand to his stomach, cheeks colouring. "I... I have no control over that," he mumbled, looking absurdly apologetic. "It's... physiological. Not a reflection of my willpower."
"Sure, sure," Elin said, still laughing. "I think we can all see the reflection of your willpower very clearly right now. And it's pointing straight at croissants."
He groaned, half in embarrassment, half in defeat. "Yes. Croissants. You caught me. I'll admit it. I am weak. I am human. Please, have mercy."
Elin grinned, leaning closer with a playful sparkle in her eyes. "Alright, Axton the Proud, I'll allow it. You may come in and get your precious croissant. But don't expect a full French patisserie today. You'll have to earn your next one."
Axton straightened, pretending dignity while following her into the bakery. "Earn it? I build companies that employ thousands of people, and I have to earn a croissant?"
Elin shot him a mischievous look. "Consider it... character building."
He chuckled, shaking his head, already feeling the strange warmth that seemed to follow her like sunlight, even in the crowded bakery.
And as she turned to fetch the croissant, the smell of fresh bread mingled with the morning air, and Axton felt something entirely unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Axton followed Elin inside, his towering frame ducking slightly as he passed the low beams and shelves lined with golden loaves. The warmth of the bakery hit him immediately, soft and enveloping, scented with butter, yeast, and just a hint of vanilla from the pastries cooling on the counters. It was a far cry from the sterile, air-conditioned offices he usually inhabited.
Elin handed him a small plate with a croissant, her smile teasing as she said, "Be careful. They're hot and flaky, like tiny edible lava fields."
Axton lifted it delicately, as if it were a rare artifact. "I am fully prepared," he said, puffing out his chest a little. "I have handled far more volatile situations than this."
She arched an eyebrow. "Really? More volatile than a freshly baked croissant?"
He gave a confident nod, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Yes. For instance, I once convinced an entire board to reverse a multi-million-dollar merger in a single afternoon."
Elin blinked at him, unimpressed. "And that somehow makes you qualified to eat a croissant without losing half of it on the floor?"
Axton tilted the pastry, examining it like an engineer inspecting a new prototype. "Obviously it requires precision."
He took a bite. Immediately, a corner of the croissant flaked off and fell onto the plate, then the table, then bounced once on the floor.
Elin's lips twitched. "Precision," she repeated softly, a laugh tugging at the edge of her tone.
Axton froze, staring at the mess like it had personally betrayed him. "That was... an anomaly," he said, his voice low and dignified. "A miscalculation. It will not happen again."
Elin shook her head, stifling a laugh. "You might want to start with smaller ambitions. Croissant mastery is usually a lifetime journey, you know."
He took another bite, trying to regain composure, only to have a tiny piece of flaky crust cling to the corner of his lip. He caught it with a napkin and glanced at her with mock indignation. "Clearly, it is attempting to mock me."
She laughed openly this time, and the sound made the bakery feel warmer somehow. "It's just a croissant, Axton. Nothing is mocking you. Except maybe your ego."
His green eyes met hers, playful but a little sheepish. "Ego fully operational, thank you. But I will admit... it is more humbled than usual."
Elin's smirk softened into a small smile. "Good. Humility is very important when eating flaky pastries."
Axton leaned back, pretending to consider this profound wisdom. "I shall take note. Humility. Croissants. Not letting my crust fall onto the floor. Very well."
She leaned slightly forward over the counter, teasing. "And maybe, while you're at it, learn to enjoy the moment instead of overthinking it."
He blinked at her, caught off guard. "Enjoy the moment?"
"Yes," she said, picking up another pastry to wrap for a customer. "Like you're doing now, standing here, eating, instead of trying to impress everyone all the time."
He took another bite, exaggeratedly slow this time, eyes narrowing in faux concentration. "I like to make an entrance. Or in this case, a consumption."
Elin's lips twitched as she glanced down at the counter, trying to hide her grin. "Well, Mr. Dramatic Croissant Connoisseur, I think that qualifies as the most entertaining pastry experience I've had in years."
He paused mid-bite, mock horror in his eyes. "Entertaining? Are you saying I am... a spectacle?"
"You are absolutely a spectacle," she said, laughing, "but a very distracting one."
Axton's green eyes met hers, and for a moment, the humour softened into something warmer, something quieter. He swallowed, placing the croissant down and letting the flakiness linger between them. "Distracting, you say? I might consider that... a compliment as well."
Elin shook her head, mock exasperated. "You really have no idea how ridiculous you are, do you?"
He grinned, eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and amusement. "I try my best."
And for the first time since he had wandered into this little corner of Singapore, Axton felt like he belonged somewhere that wasn't a boardroom. Somewhere small, warm, and far more complicated than a spreadsheet could ever be.