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His laugh made more butterflies burst into life in my chest, and I wondered if I could somehow bottle this feeling for later when I was tired and alone and staring into the darkness. “I’m not gonna lie, it was a bit creepy.”

“Oh God.” I put my hand over my face. “I knew it. I didn’t mean to stare the first time but I’d never walked past you before and the light was on…”And I saw you standing there looking hotter than anyone I’d ever seen in my life.

“Are you like a moth then? Attracted to the light?” he asked, his lip curling into a smirk that made my stomach twist.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Did something else catch your attention then?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Probably the croissants.”

“Just the croissants?”

“Maybe the man making them too. He is really good looking.”

“Is he? Might have to fire him then, can’t have hot people in my kitchen. It’s not fair on customers.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Don’t do that, otherwise I’d have to find somewhere else to get breakfast from. My wallet might thank you, but my stomach wouldn’t.”

“Guess he’ll have to stay then.”

“Good.” Our eyes met and we both smiled, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so much profound joy.

After our breakfast date, where Riley and I spent three hours in Bramble & Honey talking over the most incredible spread of food, he walked me back to my flat in the rain, refusing to share my umbrella even though it was pissing it down. I’d been so tempted to kiss him, but I’d chickened out at the last minute. And trying to stop my umbrella from blowing away in the rising wind hadn’t helped the situation either.

We’d kept messaging though, and it was nice to have someone to chat to who often kept similar hours. When I was awake at three, curled up on my armchair under a mountain of blankets, the whole world seemed less lonely knowing that not far away, Riley was up and making croissants.

He’d send me pictures of what he was making, and I’d try and stay awake long enough to pop down when Toasty opened to get whatever he recommended. Sometimes he’d take his break then too and we’d find somewhere to sit for half an hour, eating fresh croissants and talking about whatever came to mind. I’d talk about the book I was translating, Riley would talk about the bread he’d been making or something he wanted to try, or we’d find shared interests and go back and forth until he had to go back.

And with every message and every conversation, I felt myself falling for him.

One morning, about twelve days after our breakfast date, I found myself going for another walk at four having slept particularly badly. I was tired and feeling sour, so I hadn’t really paid much attention to what it was like outside, beyond slinging a jacket around my shoulders. But by the time I was halfway to Toasty, the sky had opened and rain had begun to fall.

It was the kind of soft rain that soaked through every piece of clothing you owned, and within five minutes I felt like I’d jumped into a swimming pool. I should have probably gone home, but I was too close to Toasty and could see the warm lights of the kitchen window through the gloom.

I knew Riley would be working and I didn’t really have anything in mind except waving at him before going home and diving into a hot bath. But I wanted to see him, even if it was only for thirty seconds through the window.

Riley didn’t notice me at first because he was carefully rolling pain au chocolat and placing them on a tray, and I was fascinated at how gentle his large hands were. I wondered what they’d feel like cradling my face… touching my body… making me?—

He looked up and startled as he caught sight of me, concern writing itself across his face as he took in all the details of my sodden form. He tried to mouth something that looked like “what the hell?” as he wiped his hands on his apron and walked towards the front of the shop, grabbing something off the wall as he went.

“What the hell are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked as he stuck his head out of the shop door. “It’s fucking pissing it down out here.”

“It wasn’t when I left home,” I said with a laugh, because it was all I could do. “I think I’m a bit wet.”

“Yeah, just a bit.” He stepped back slightly. “Get in here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m bloody sure. Get your butt in here.”

He was still half in the doorway, the glow of the kitchen framing him and the warm smell of dough enveloping him. He smiled down at me and put his hand out to brush hair out of my face, where it was plastered to my skin. “Good morning,” he said softly.

“Morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”