In the kitchen, the man was slicing strawberries with careful precision, their vibrant red standing out against the pale wood of his cutting board. A small pot of sugar and water simmered on the stovetop, filling the air with a syrupy sweetness. His knife paused mid-slice as he turned toward you, his unseen companion for the night.

---

“You ever notice how some people wear their feelings on their sleeves? Like, they don’t even realize the rest of us can see them unraveling?” he said, a slight smile playing at his lips.

He turned back to his strawberries, scooping them into the pot of syrup and stirring gently, the mixture hissing and bubbling as the berries softened.

“There’s this guy who comes to the bakery. Been showing up for a few weeks now. Nervous as anything, like he’s afraid we’ll charge him extra for making eye contact. You know the type—tall, kind of lanky, hair all over the place. He orders the same thing every time: a black coffee and a blueberry muffin. Stares at the counter while he waits, tapping his fingers like he’s got somewhere more important to be.”

The man shook his head, reaching for a wooden spoon to stir the mixture.

---

“But here’s the thing,” he continued, “he’s not just nervous. He’s _watching_. His eyes dart around the room, quick but deliberate, like he’s searching for someone—or making sure no one’s searching for him. It’s not fear, exactly. More like... anticipation. Like he’s carrying a secret and can’t decide if he wants to share it or keep it buried.”

He stepped away from the stove to retrieve a bowl, pouring the strawberry mixture into it to cool. The scent of warm fruit filled the room, mingling with the faint trace of vanilla from a jar he’d just opened.

“And then,” he said, with a faint laugh, “yesterday, he shows up looking completely different. Still nervous, still fidgety—but this time, he’s got a hickey. Right there, on his neck.” He gestured to his own neck for emphasis, his eyes glinting with amusement.

---

He leaned on the counter, folding his arms as he spoke, like he was letting you in on a secret.

“Not just any hickey, either. It was huge. Like someone got a little too excited, you know? And the guy? He didn’t even bother to cover it up. Just walked in like nothing was out of the ordinary. Ordered his usual, stood there with that big purple mark on his neck, completely oblivious to how obvious it was.”

He chuckled, reaching for a sheet of pastry dough and rolling it out into a perfect circle.

“It was kind of endearing, honestly. The way he kept fidgeting with the hairband on his wrist, twisting it around like it was some kind of stress ball. It was one of those simple ones, green and white, like something you’d pick up at the corner store. I didn’t think much of it until later.”

---

The man began assembling the pastry, layering the cooled strawberry mixture onto the dough with a steady hand. He folded the edges over, creating a rustic galette, and slid it into the oven. The heat from the oven fanned out into the room as he set the timer and leaned back, lost in thought.

“Today, though,” he said, his tone softening, “I finally saw her. The girl he’s been so nervous about. She came in around noon, wearing a green dress that matched her eyes so perfectly it was almost unfair. She had this easy smile, the kind that makes you feel like the sun just came out. And her hair? Pulled back in a loose ponytail, held in place by—you guessed it—a green and white hairband.”

He paused, letting that sink in before continuing.

---

“But that’s not all,” he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “She was wearing this necklace, a simple thing, just a crystal on a silver chain. And when the guy walked in a few minutes later, he had a watch on—a sleek, silver thing with a green face. Matched her dress perfectly. Matched her eyes, too. And that crystal on her necklace? It caught the light just right, the way his watch did when he glanced at her.”

The man stepped away to check on the galette, the scent of buttery pastry and sweet strawberries filling the room as he opened the oven door. He smiled as he saw the golden edges, the bubbling fruit in the center.

---

“People don’t realize how much they say without saying anything,” he mused, pulling the galette out and setting it on the counter to cool. “That guy? He’s been nervous because he cares. Cares enough to match his watch to her dress, to wear that ridiculous hickey on his neck like a badge of honor. And her? That hairband wasn’t just convenience. It was a connection. A little thread tying them together for the rest of us to see, if we’re paying attention.”

He sliced into the galette, the pastry flaking beautifully under his knife. He slid a piece onto a plate and set it in front of you, the strawberries glistening under a light drizzle of cream.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the dish, “is them. Sweet, a little messy, but undeniably good together. And the best part? It’s real. Just like them.”

He smiled, sliding the plate closer.

“Go on. Try it. I think you’ll taste what I mean.”