The Sweetest Delusion
The sun was just beginning to hit the front window of the Bonbons Serenies, turning the dusted flour on the counters into a golden haze. Amber was in her element. She was dressed in a simple navy apron over a cream sweater, her hair pulled back in a practical clip.
She was currently arranging a fresh batch of Blue Serene Pillow Puffs—the signature blueberry and white chocolate pastries that had become a local hit. She carefully placed a second tray on top of the display counter, directly above a row of blueberry-filled Long Johns; the signature donuts were golden, their tops drizzled in white chocolate. Amber turned to one of her newer employees, a young girl named Chloe, and gave her a warm, encouraging smile.
"They look perfect, Chloe," Amber said, her voice bright. "The puff pastry is buttery and layered exactly how we want it. Let's get the display finished before the morning rush hits. I want people to see the 'Blue' as soon as they walk in."
The girl moved forward with a wide, comfortable smile, as if she were eager to perform any task at the bakery. Amber glanced toward the front window, checking the street for the delivery truck. She saw a man standing near a silver Mercedes—his clothing striking her as odd in some way—but her mind was already moving to the next task: checking the inventory on the artisanal energy bars.
She smiled as she worked, watching one of the waitresses walk over to gather supplies to finish setting the tables. Amber raised her head and smiled at the woman, her lips parting in friendly banter, her eyes calm yet inviting. She finished counting the bars and moved on to the new line of healthy muffins they were testing out this week. She wiped a stray smudge of flour off her cheek, laughed at something Chloe said about the heat of the ovens, and headed back toward the kitchen. It was just another productive Tuesday morning.
Sebastian's entire body had trembled when he saw Amber inside the bakery. She had smiled at him just as he had gotten out of his car. He knew she was ready to see him, but he wanted them to bide their time and not allow the world to know. He wanted her all to himself for as long as possible. He knew she understood.
He now sat in the driver's seat of his Mercedes again - wanting to calm himself and decide what to do. His hands relaxed on the steering wheel, his fingers lightly sliding over the textured leather as if he wanted to know every inch of the soft material. The world outside the glass was a blur of unimportance flowing by, all except for the bakery window. To him, the shop wasn't a business—it was a stage, and Amber was the only performer.
He watched her move with the grace of a queen. When she touched the pastries, he didn't see a business owner checking stock; he saw her preparing a treat just for him. When she smiled toward the room, his heart skipped a beat. He was certain she had spotted him and was sharing a sweet moment with him—telling him that she knew he was there and that no one else could share in their secret love.
She sees me, he thought, his breathing hitching. She's marking the time for when we can be together in our private sanctuary.
When she wiped the flour from her cheek, he felt an almost physical ache to reach out and do it for her. To him, her laugh wasn't directed at an employee—it was a signal of her joy, a secret message that she was happy because he was near.
"Soon, Amber Ann," he whispered, his eyes tracking her until she disappeared into the back. "The world is so loud, but I'm the only one who hears the music you're playing just for us."
He regulated his breathing and calmed himself. He would not deny himself this moment with her. He would not allow anything to hinder what they were becoming. He opened his door and slid out of the car. He had placed a pick-up order, and though he knew he could have asked for it to be delivered, he didn't want to disappoint his Amber Ann. Surely, she had seen his order and come out of the kitchen to ensure he received it properly.
He walked up to the front door, where a waiter greeted him cheerily. "Welcome to BonBons Sereines, sir. Please sit wherever you like. The upper and lower decks are also available if you're wanting a beautiful view of the lake."
Sebastian nodded and smiled. "I, um. I put in an order. An order for Sebastian Montague."
The man paused for a fraction of a second but almost immediately regrouped and smiled. "Of course, Mr. Montague. You can sit in the waiting area or at the bar. Let me check if the order is ready."
Sebastian chose the bar, and the waiter led him there. The young man slipped into the kitchen, and Sebastian worked to quiet his thunderous heart. He knew it was all an act. Amber must have asked the young man to inform her as soon as he arrived. He hoped she was not nervous; they had no reason for apprehension. Their love was too pure, too natural for anxiety.
Amber emerged from the kitchen like a rush of fresh air, carrying two trays in her hands. She looked toward him with a bright, inviting smile. "Your food will be right out, Mr. Montague. We apologize for the wait."
His toes curled in his shoes as he forced himself to smile quietly. This was just for them; no one else need know. He was so proud of her. She was so calm and poised, even though he "knew" her heart was thumping just as loud as his. His Amber was remarkable.
Sebastian returned to his villa and sat with his order for a long while to collect himself. He couldn't smell the bacon, egg, and cheese croissant or the BonBons signature coffee blend. He could only smell Amber Ann and see her brilliant smile.
As Sebastian savored his memories of the woman he loved, the employees of the bakery he had just left chuckled with subdued laughter.
"I am telling you, Mrs. Lance-Trace, he was creepy. Did you see that weird smile he had? He might be a serial killer."
The pastry chef scoffed at the waiter. "A serial killer? Aren't you exaggerating?"
"Calm down, everyone. He is a customer and a resort guest. Let's be respectful." Amber's words were met with a resounding "yes ma'am," but she had seen the man, and something was indeed off. She couldn't quite label it. He might have been shy, or perhaps suffering from social anxiety. Regardless, she would not allow her employees to make fun of him. How could she run mental health clinics while mocking someone with a potential condition?
She smiled to herself and allowed the experience to file away at the back of her mind—like something interesting, but ultimately unimportant.