My Delivery Driver is a Billionaire in Disguise

5

Sophia

It became a habit before I even noticed it was happening.

Every morning, right around the time the first tray of croissants came out of the oven, I found myself setting one aside. Not in the display case. Not in a box for a customer. Just wrapped in a small piece of parchment paper and tucked behind the register, waiting.

I told myself it wasn't a big deal. Noah showed up almost every day now, still technically covering Dan's route, even though Dan had been out for what felt like much longer than a normal flu should last. I figured it made sense to have something ready for him. It saved time. It was efficient. That was the excuse I gave myself, anyway.

The bell rang a little after seven, right on schedule, and I didn't even have to look up to know it was him.

"Morning," Noah said, stepping inside and shaking a bit of rain off his jacket. "Feels like winter decided to show up early."

"It's barely September." I reached behind the register and pulled out the wrapped croissant, sliding it across the counter toward him before I even thought about it. "Here. Still warm."

He looked down at it, then up at me, something soft crossing his face. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know." I busied myself wiping down the counter, suddenly aware of how quickly I had done it, like muscle memory instead of a choice. "It would've just sat in the case anyway."

That wasn't true, and I think we both knew it. The croissants I set aside for him were always the first ones out of the oven, the ones with the flakiest layers and the perfect golden color. I never handed those out to customers first. I saved them.

He unwrapped it right there at the counter instead of waiting until he left, taking a bite before he even asked about the day's order. "This is dangerous, you know," he said around the bite. "I could get used to this."

"Get used to what, free pastries?" I raised an eyebrow. "Careful, that's how bakeries go out of business."

The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them. His expression flickered, just for a second, something unreadable passing behind his eyes before he covered it with a small smile. I wondered if I had said something wrong, though I couldn't figure out what.

"Sorry," I said quickly. "Bad joke."

"No, it's fine." He cleared his throat and glanced down at the croissant in his hand like he needed a second to reset. "This place isn't going anywhere. Not with croissants like this."

I appreciated the kindness in it, even if it didn't erase the tight feeling that had settled in my chest the moment I brought up the bakery struggling. Some days I could almost forget about the thirty day notice hanging over my head. Other days, it crept back in without warning, uninvited, right in the middle of an easy morning.

"So what's on the list today?" I asked, changing the subject before my mind could wander too far down that road again.

He pulled out his phone and read off the order, three dozen muffins and a dozen scones headed to some downtown office. I nodded and got to work, and he leaned against the counter the way he always did now, like this had become a normal part of both our mornings.

"You know," he said while I packed the muffins into their boxes, "you never told me how you learned to bake like this. Was it just your grandmother teaching you, or did you go to school for it too?"

"Mostly her," I said. "She taught me everything, standing right where I'm standing now, actually. I used to sit on that stool over there and watch her work before I was even tall enough to reach the counter."

"That's sweet."

"It was." I smiled at the memory, the flour dust in the morning light, her humming some old song I could never quite place. "I did take a few classes later, when I was in my twenties, mostly to learn technique stuff she never had time to explain. But the heart of everything I make still comes from her recipes. I haven't changed a single one."

"I can tell." He took another bite of the croissant, slower this time, like he wanted to make it last. "There's something different about food made like this. You can taste when someone actually cares about what they're making."

I felt my cheeks warm slightly at that, more than I expected to. "That's a nice thing to say."

"I mean it." His eyes met mine, steady and a little too intense for a simple conversation about pastries. "Most people don't put this much of themselves into their work anymore."

The moment stretched a beat too long, comfortable and a little charged all at once, until the sound of the espresso machine hissing behind me broke the spell. I turned to finish steaming milk for the muffins' companion coffee order, grateful for the excuse to look away before my face gave away more than I wanted it to.

By the time I finished packing everything, the sun had climbed higher outside, and the street outside had started to wake up properly, a few early customers already gathering near the door.

Noah gathered the boxes into his arms, balancing them carefully. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't be much of a morning without you," I said, then immediately felt my stomach flip at how easily that admission slipped out.

He smiled, the kind of smile that reached all the way to his eyes, and for a second I forgot entirely about bills, landlords, and thirty day notices. "Save me a croissant?"

"Already planning on it," I said.

He laughed softly and headed for the door, the bell ringing behind him as he stepped out into the morning light.

I stood there a moment, watching him walk down the street toward his van, and it hit me all at once just how much I looked forward to seeing him every single day now. It wasn't just the routine of it anymore. It was him.

I was still standing there, lost in thought, when Emma walked in through the back door and caught the look on my face before I could hide it.

"Oh no," she said, setting her bag down slowly. "You like him. You actually like him."