Page 5

ELLIOTT

The aroma of freshly baked bread envelops me as I stroll down Ponsonby Road, my mind still replaying fragments of last night's encounter with Liv. Her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the gentle touch of her hand on my arm—it's all I can think about.

I pause mid-step, my gaze catching on a quaint storefront. "Dolce Vita," the sign reads in elegant script. Something about the name tugs at my memory. Wasn't this the bakery Liv mentioned?

Before I can second-guess myself, I'm pushing open the door. A little bell chimes overhead, and I'm hit with a wave of warmth and the intoxicating scent of butter and sugar.

"Welcome—" The cheerful greeting cuts off abruptly.

I blink, my eyes adjusting to the golden light inside. And there she is—Liv, standing behind the counter, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun, a smudge of flour on her cheek. Her warm brown eyes widen in surprise, and that radiant smile I can't stop thinking about spreads across her face.

"Elliott! What a surprise!" she says, her voice carrying a melody of excitement and nervousness.

My heart does a little stutter-step. I hadn't planned this, hadn't prepared what to say. But seeing her here, in her element, surrounded by the fruits of her passion—it's like a sign from the universe.

"Liv," I manage, my voice coming out a bit rougher than intended. "I, uh, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd check out this bakery I'd heard so much about."

She raises an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh? And who might have told you about my little slice of paradise?"

I feel a grin tugging at my lips. "Some charming Italian baker I met. Can't quite remember her name, though. Lisa? Lucia?"

Liv laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. "Very funny, Mr. Snow. I didn't take the famous 'Iceman' for such a jokester."

I shrug, feigning nonchalance even as my mind races. Should I play it cool? Make a grand gesture? Buy out the whole shop just to see her smile again?

"Well," I say, leaning against the counter, "I'm full of surprises. Speaking of which, what would you recommend for a hungry rugby player with a newly discovered sweet tooth?"

I scan the display cases, each shelf a work of art.

Golden croissants, jewel-toned fruit tarts, and decadent chocolate creations vie for attention.

My eyes dart from pastry to pastry, then back to Liv's expectant face. Mad idea, but I can’t help myself.

The idea that had been a joke only moments before tackles me like a hit from a prop forward.

"You know what?" I say, my voice pitched higher with nervous energy. "I'll take... everything."

Liv's eyebrows shoot up, her warm brown eyes widening. "Everything?" she repeats, a mix of shock and amusement coloring her voice.

I nod, committed now. "Every last crumb. The whole lot."

She lets out a burst of laughter, shaking her head. "Oh my! You rugby boys certainly don't do things by halves, do you?"

My heart races as I watch her move around the shop, boxing up pastries with deft hands. "Go big or go home, right?" I quip, trying to mask my nerves with bravado.

As she works, Liv shoots me curious glances. "So, what's the occasion? Team party? Charity event?"

I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling sheepish. "Would you believe me if I said I just really like pastries?"

Liv pauses, a palmier halfway to a box. Her brown eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of understanding pass through them. "Elliott Snow," she says softly, "are you trying to impress me?"

I feel heat creep up my neck. "Is it working?"

She laughs again, the sound like music. "It's certainly... unexpected. And a little crazy." Her smile softens. "I like it."

Before I know it, my arms are laden with boxes, the rich scent of butter and sugar enveloping me. As I fumble with my wallet, I gather my courage.

"So, Liv," I begin, aiming for casual but probably missing by a mile, "I was thinking that on Saturday… since I’ve already seen the bakery… we could do something else? Outside of it, I mean."

Liv's smile widens, and she tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I'd like that, Iceman. Maybe next time, we can share just one pastry instead of the entire shop?"

I grin, feeling lighter than I have in years. "It's a date."

The moment I step into the training facility, arms laden with pastry boxes, a chorus of whoops and hollers erupts from my teammates.

"Oi, Iceman!" Josh, our scrum-half, bellows. "Did you rob a bakery or what?"

I set the boxes down on a nearby bench, trying to maintain my composure. "Just thought I'd bring in a little treat, lads."

"A little treat?" Connor, our flanker, lifts the lid of one box and his eyes widen. "Mate, this is a bloody pastry palace!"

The boys descend on the boxes like a pack of hungry wolves. I grin as I watch them dive in, their faces lighting up with each bite.

"These are incredible," mumbles Tom through a mouthful of croissant. "Where'd you get 'em?"

I hesitate for a moment, then decide to be honest. "There's this new bakery on Ponsonby Road. Dolce Vita."

"Dolce Vita, eh?" Josh wiggles his bushy eyebrows. "That wouldn't happen to be run by a certain Italian beauty, would it?"

I feel my cheeks flush. "Maybe."

The team erupts in a chorus of good-natured jeers and whistles.

"Look at our Iceman, melting for a pretty baker!" Liam chuckles, elbowing me playfully.

As I watch my teammates devour the pastries, trading jokes and friendly jabs, a warm feeling spreads through my chest. It's not just about impressing Liv anymore; seeing the joy these simple treats bring to my friends feels... right.

"So, when are you bringing her to watch practice?" Tom asks, licking sugar off his fingers.

I roll my eyes but can't hide my smile. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, mate."

As I join in the laughter and camaraderie, Liv's warm smile flashes in my mind. For the first time in a long while, I'm excited about something beyond the rugby pitch.

Saturday

I stand in front of my wardrobe, a towel wrapped around my waist, staring at my clothes like they're written in hieroglyphics. Crikey, when did choosing an outfit become so bloody difficult? My hands hover between a crisp button-down and a plain white tee, indecision gnawing at me.

"Get a grip, Snow," I mutter to myself, running a hand through my damp hair. "It's just a date, not the Rugby World Cup final."

But it's not just any date, is it? It's Liv. The thought of her smile, flour-dusted and radiant, sends a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with pre-match jitters.

I finally settle on the white tee – casual but not sloppy – and a pair of dark jeans that my sister swears make me look "less like a rugby brute and more like a proper gentleman." Whatever that means.

As I walk into the quaint café on Ponsonby Road, my eyes immediately find Liv. She's a vision in a flowing purple sundress, her dark curls cascading over one shoulder. For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

"Elliott!" she calls, waving me over. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost in a scrum."

I chuckle, sliding into the seat across from her. "Nah, just battling Auckland traffic. Though I'd take a scrum over rush hour any day."

There's a beat of awkward silence, and I find myself fiddling with the menu. "So, um, how was your day? Bake anything exciting?"

Liv's eyes light up. "Oh, you wouldn't believe it! I tried this new lavender honey croissant recipe, and it was a disaster at first. The dough kept..."

As she launches into a passionate description of her baking trials, complete with dramatic hand gestures, the tension in my shoulders starts to melt away. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and before I know it, we're swapping stories like old friends.

"...and that's how I ended up covered head to toe in cocoa powder on my first day of culinary school," Liv finishes, giggling.

I lean in, grinning. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I once tackled the wrong player during my first professional match. Turns out, those jerseys all look mighty similar when you're running full tilt."

Liv throws her head back, laughing. "Oh no! What did your coach do?"

"Let's just say I ran a lot of extra laps that week," I reply, winking.

As our coffee arrives, I marvel at how easy this feels. The nerves from earlier have vanished, replaced by a warm, comfortable buzz. It's like we've known each other for years, not days.

"So, Elliott," Liv says, her tone turning playful, "I have to ask – what possessed you to buy out my entire pastry case earlier this week?"

The heat of a blush creeps up my neck. "Ah, well, you see..." Damn, I never feel this sheepish. I have to clear my throat to shake off the feeling. "I suppose I wanted an excuse to see you again. And to share a bit of your incredible baking with my teammates."

Liv's eyes soften. "That's actually quite sweet. Though next time, you don’t have to go through all that trouble."

As I meet her warm brown eyes over my coffee cup, I know this is just the beginning of something special.

"Come on," I say, standing up and offering my hand to Liv. "Let's explore a bit. I hear Ponsonby's got some hidden gems."

Liv's eyes light up as she takes my hand. "Oh, you have no idea. I know just the place!"

We weave through the bustling main street, Liv leading the way with a mischievous grin. She tugs me down a narrow alleyway I've passed a hundred times but never noticed. The brick walls are adorned with vibrant street art, splashes of color bringing life to the shadowy passage.

"I can't believe I've never seen this before." I trace my fingers along a painted peacock.

Liv laughs, the sound echoing off the walls. "That's the magic of Ponsonby. Always something new to discover."

We emerge into a sun-dappled courtyard, fairy lights strung between potted olive trees. A small fountain burbles in the center, its gentle music mingling with the distant hum of the main road.

"It's like a secret garden," I breathe.