11:30

Is what my phone told me as I sat on the steps on the bakery. I was so nervous that I showed up early for no other reason that to continue to stew in my blight in public. I sighed at the sign hanging on the door: CLOSED COME SEE US AT THE FAIR!

What it should have said was: CLOSED FOR A DATE. I groaned at my dramatic mental picture. My stomach twisted, I took a deep breath to calm them. I pulled my eyes towards the sky and watched the clouds roll by as if all these feelings would come together.

Was I overthinking everything?

Of course, I was. Right?

“Oh you're already here, I thought I would beat you.”

I knew it was your song, but I still jumped a little as I was pulled back from the sky. I could barely handle how adorable you looked with your braided pigtails. The smile you wore made me fidget with my shirt.

“I didn't know the bakery was going to be closed today...”

“Yup, we have the place to ourselves today! Come on in, I'll show you where the magic happens.”

Your wink sent butterflies flying, rushing towards my face in a hot blush. You hummed softly as you opened the door, and I wondered what you would sound like if you sang. Your voice was already like a melody, would you sound like an orchestra? A siren who lures in sailors? At that moment, the sway of your hips was enough to me in.

What am I thinking?

I followed you behind the counter, trying to keep my eyes on everything but you. You opened the door and disappeared into a dark root but I made sure to stay close. I shielded my eyes from the sudden flood of light.

“Ta da!” You said enthusiastically.

When the light faded, it was replaced by brilliant silver. The kitchen was larger than the building gave it credit for and was filled with every piece of equipment imaginable. Pots and pans shined brightly, ovens and stovetops welcomed us, while flours and spices waited neatly on rows of shelves.

“Yeah, it's a lot to take in the first time.”

You were closer than I expected, the smell of flowers hung in the air. I realized it was the first time you didn't smell like baked goods. I took the bottle of water you offered me, careful to avoid coming into contact with your fingers. The water did little to cool the fiery butterflies fluttering inside of me but served a greater role in controlling my nerves as I twisted the cap on and off. You started gathering bowls and cupcake tins, your eager smile growing stronger with each item. I couldn't find a safe place for my eyes to stay, they constantly found your smile. I heard the crunch of plastic,the bottle was bent to one side.

When did I drink that much?

“C-can I help you with something?” I could have kicked myself for sounding so timid.

My voice pulled you out from your momentum, with a look as if you forgot something. You chuckled and shook your head. I heard another crunch of my water bottle.

“I'm grabbing all this stuff but I haven't decided what I'm going to make.”

You walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a very large binder, landing with a heavy thud on the counter. I walked over while you flipped through the book, stopping at a strangers distance. The binder was filled with recipes, most of which were scratched through and written over. Some of the pages were clearly very old, written in cursive that was barely readable. You stopped on one page and read of it intensely, your finger tapping on the counter. You let out a frustrated sigh and dragged the binder across the counter. Suddenly, you were standing very close to me, I had to force myself to breathe.

“The problem is finding something unique but not so over the top it turns off the judges.”

A few more pages swept by and I hung on your every word. I could feel your passion for each of these recipes as you spoke. How much you loved this recipe because of the powerful flavor combination, or that recipe because it was a classic and judges love twists on the classic. The more you talked, the more frustration took over your voice. I heart sunk as I watched your smile slip away. Another surge of courage took me over and I slid the binder in front of me. Without thinking, I laid my hand on yours.

“We'll make this work. I promise.”

I drew my hand back quicker than I meant to, the reality of what I did caught up to me. I swallowed hard as I  scanned the recipes. I felt your eyes on me, waiting for an answer to your doubt. My heart started to pound, but I forced myself to focus on the recipes, I had to.

“What about this one?”

I paused on a recipe that was different than the others, the paper had more scratches. Each one of those scribbles was you working hard to improve this recipe and make it the best it could be. At the bottom, you wrote YES in capital letters with a star beside the recipe that just managed to fit on the page. You leaned in close to me, reading over my shoulder. There was a scent under your flowery shampoo that I didn't recognize, I took a deep breath and realized it was you. It was the smell of your skin.

“The tropical spice recipe. Oh no, I can't do this one The judges would never go for it.” You said shaking your head.

“Why not? You said you needed something unique. I haven't seen this before, no even in the shop.”

“The shop doesn't know I made this recipe.” 

“Why not?”

“This was the one I couldn't get right. The balance between the spices, oranges, and coconut milk is never quite right. I couldn't bring them a recipe that wasn't perfect.”

I couldn't help but smile. “You're too hard on yourself.”

“I don't think that's something to smile about.”

“No, I'm sorry, it's just weird to see you like this. You're always so positive and confident. I'm sorry I'm being rude.”

I felt myself shrink back from my words, I was too bold. I ringed my hands into my shirt, my eyes shifted to the floor. I saw your hands reach for mine and I froze, yet again swallowing my heart. Your hands were gentle, your warmth spread over my hands. I slowly lifted my eyes and was met with a kind smile.

“Looks like we're both too hard on ourselves.”