Bright Smile & London Eye (Walker Brothers #2)

1. Chapter One - Lexie

Lexie

Walking the streets of London at four in the morning will never cease to freak me out—in a good way.

No honking cars, bikes flying past me, crowds flocking the walkways, or music sounding from stores. Just the eerie silence of the city’s early morning.

Is there a better time to get to know a new city?

Even half a year after moving here from the States, I’m still not used to most of it.

The cars driving on the wrong side of the road, accents that catch me off guard, and buildings that are older than most of my country, hauntingly looming in the pitch dark of the night, only illuminated by the dim light of old metal lanterns.

You’d expect a dazzling, see-through man in Peaky Blinder attire to leave the centuries-old doorways any minute with his head propped under his arm. Or a ghost mob in Victorian dresses roaming the streets.

Walking past these old buildings never fails to make the hair on my neck stand up, but it is still by far my favorite time to walk through London. Even though, historically, it wasn’t exactly the best idea for women.

It’s quiet, with no people blocking the sidewalk and bustling past me. Just me and my thoughts—and the occasional cat crossing my path.

Never did I think this would become my favorite part of my day. Well, it's not exactly the ‘waking up at the asscrack of dawn’ part, but I adore these early morning walks. Having my workplace within walking distance of home is definitely a bonus point of moving here.

I stifle a yawn behind my hand as I round the corner to my bakery, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth when I see the light is already on.

The closer I get, the wider my grin becomes and when I open the door, the scent of freshly baked bread is already in the air. A happy sigh falls from my lips when I see my signature mug sitting on the counter, hot coffee ready for me to burn my lips on.

"Morning, Alan!" I shout and reach for the caffeinated goodness. Nobody makes a coffee quite like my boss.

"Morning, Lexie," Alan shouts back, and I see his head pop around the corner from the kitchen, looking as tired as I’m feeling. "You good?"

"As good as I can be at four in the morning," I reply with a chuckle. “Thanks for this.” I lift my mug and take another sip before I set it down.

“Of course,” he grumbles and disappears right back into the kitchen.

Alan is the owner of this little bakery-book-store concoction, situated in a calm corner right in the heart of London. He knew how to bake bread before he even started to walk and grew up right in this bakery, just like his father did before him.

His son, Bailey, however, is my age and has no interest in baking at all. This, according to Alan, was fine for him because, “That boy would eat ice cream with ketchup if you served him that; no way you can let someone with those taste buds be responsible for food.”

So no tears were shed when Bailey studied business and set out to fulfill his dream of opening a bookstore.

The universe played in their hands when he got his degree right as the store next door closed when its owners retired. They were all too happy to give their store into the trusted hands of their longtime neighbor, and one remodeling later, they became one store with one half being the bakery and the other being a bookstore, with plenty of armchairs to enjoy your pastries and new book.

“Bake and Books” makes for an interesting set of customers. From important-looking business people collecting their lunch to tourists looking for traditional spots in the city, we really get all kinds of people. There’s never a dull day here.

With a happy sigh, I find my apron and put it on before heading over to join Alan in the kitchen.

"Alan, can you tie me up real quick?" I ask him with a grin.

He turns to me, flour coating his arms up to his elbows, and shoots me a glare, which I return with the widest, most innocent eyes. Finally, he sighs and motions for me to turn around.

"Thank you." I shoot him a grin over my shoulder.

"You’re welcome." He pulls the ribbon a bit tighter. "Half a year already, and you still can’t tie a ribbon behind your back?" he says it with fake disapproval and shakes his head at me.

“I warned you when you ordered it,” I answer with a shrug. I’ve tried for years in pastry school, but I never got the hang of tying my apron behind my back. My brain and fingers just won’t cooperate. “You wouldn’t listen.”

“Practice makes perfect,” he grumbles and lets go of the ties.

"Why would I need to practice? I’ve got you!" I wink at him and walk over to my workstation.

When Derek, my fiancé, mentioned moving to London, I was apprehensive. Back then he was ‘just’ my boyfriend—and doesn’t everyone always advise against taking such a big step when marriage isn’t even on the table yet?

Nevertheless, I put out feelers to see how the job market is over here and quickly stumbled over Alan’s job advert.

One video call interview later, and he hired me.

Alan is a baker through and through—his bread is heavenly and it’s his pride and joy. Well, along with Bailey. But with the trend of Instagrammable pastries on the rise, he was looking for someone who could raise “Bake and Books” competitiveness and appeal to a younger audience.

So, I gave Derek the great news. Only two weeks later, he proposed to me when we shared a quiet evening, just after our graduation from culinary school, and off we were.

And every day, I’m so damn glad I found that job advert. Working here is so much better than I imagined, especially considering the horror stories told by other graduates about their jobs.

I go over my list from yesterday, checking what’s already prepared and what I need to start with. Looks like my day is starting with flower-shaped macarons.

"I’m taking a quick break, Alan," I let him know and set a mug of fresh coffee down beside him.

He grumbles in response while I reach for my own fresh cup, grab my phone and walk to the front of the store to step outside for a bit to take a breather.

It’s six by now. Which means it’s another thirty minutes until the store opens for the occasional, very early birds—mostly fellow early risers buying their lunch for later and about an hour before the real rush starts.

The fresh air is very welcome after two hours of working next to hot-running ovens. While working in a warm place is amazing in the colder months, during the summer I could imagine better work environments.

But what can you do when the ovens are running constantly? It’s not like we can bake without them. Thank God we’re nearing autumn and colder weather.

I take a seat on the steps that lead up to the entrance for Bake and Books, stretching my legs as I take a sip of my coffee, and check my phone.

Derek : Morning, Beautiful. Miss you. 3

I grin when I see my fiancé’s message in my notifications. Setting down my mug, I pull it up and message him right back.

Lexie : Morning, handsome. Wishing you an amazing day :*

My grin grows wider. I love his morning messages. He’s been sending them ever since I started working here and had to leave before he even woke up.

It’s the one thing I dislike about moving here. Our schedules clash all the time. I don’t get to see him in the morning, and only for a bit in the evening before I have to go to sleep. When he has to stay late, there are days we don’t see each other at all while awake.

It sucks. But his messages always make my day.

"It’s important," he’d said when I asked him about it. "If I can’t kiss you first thing in the morning, the least you’re getting is a message."

God, I love that man. My hand subconsciously finds the ring on its little silver chain around my neck, and my cheeks start to hurt from smiling so widely.

I can’t believe this is my life.

I get to work my dream job and be with the man of my dreams. And even though it took moving countries to get here, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

The moment he proposed, I just burst out crying. The ugly kind. Snot running down my face, almost hyperventilating, but he still wanted to marry me anyway. What a keeper.

I’m way too scared to wear the ring at work, even though I’m wearing gloves whenever I work in the kitchen. Knowing my luck, I’d lose it and bake that thing right into a cupcake and that would be a disaster.

So, I keep it securely around my neck on a simple, silver band and put it back on when I leave work. Gosh, it’s so pretty the way it sparkles in the early morning sun rays. I could spend my day out here just staring at it. And I can’t wait to see him this evening. He promised me to be home early so we could finally spend some quality time together.

My head shoots up when I hear a shuffle to my right and see a figure moving in the corner of my eye. Heart beating fast, I jump up when I realize the man does not seem okay.

"Are you okay?" Fear quickly changes to worry when I see him hold onto the railing, pale as a ghost. His breath is coming in heavy huffs, fingers clawing so tightly onto the oscillated metal, seemingly the only thing keeping him upright.

"What’s going on? Do you need an ambulance?" I ask him as I hurry down the few steps to the ground, but he shakes his head, eyes firmly pointed at his feet.

"I’m okay." His voice is barely louder than a whisper and I sigh. Men.

"You are very clearly not. Sit down."

I grab him by the elbow, and he lets me help him to the steps, where he plops down like a sack of potatoes, no strength left in his legs at all.

As soon as he sits, he pulls up his knees, hugging them to his chest, his shoulders rising rapidly with each breath.

"Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance?" I ask him worriedly. What even happens when his breathing doesn’t calm down? Will he just… faint?

He nods without looking up and I’m starting to panic. What if it’s a medical emergency and he just doesn’t know? Just in case, I subtly open my phone and dial 9-9-9.

"Panic attack," the stranger presses out between huffs, and I slowly lower my phone.

I had one in my teens. My parents made me move halfway across the country in the middle of the school year and the thought of having to make new friends led to a panic attack just outside my new school. I legit thought I was going to forget how to breathe and die right there and then.

"Okay," I say, trying to give my voice a soothing tone as I kneel down in front of him. “Okay. You’ll be alright.”

His whole body is tensing, fighting for every breath, his fingers flexing against his jeans. Fuck. What should I do? I can’t just leave him here.

I look to my left, then right to see if anyone else is around, but the streets are still empty.

"Come on,” I say softly, reaching for his hand. It’s rigid and cold in mine, but it makes him look up, at least. “Try to breathe with me. In and out," I coach him, continuously speaking and hoping it will make him focus on my voice instead of his panic.

Thank God, it seems to work.

"In and out," I repeat, and I hear him trying to adjust his breathing to mine.

It takes a few minutes, but finally, his breathing seems to have calmed down.

"That’s good, you’re doing great," I tell him and awkwardly pat his shoulder. "Now wait here, I’ll get you some water."

"You don’t—" he starts, but I’m already halfway up the stairs.

I half expect him to have fled by the time I return with the ice-cold glass, but he’s still sitting there, still pale and his breath still shaky, but at least he uncurled his posture and his shoulders aren’t raised up to his ears anymore.

"Here you go," I say, handing him the glass and grabbing my phone, which somehow ended up on the step beside him. "Are you feeling a bit better?"

"Yes," he says, his voice still shaky. As soon as the glass touches his lips, he seems to realize it helps and drinks the whole think with a few greedy gulps. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome. Should I call someone for you?"

"No, it’s… I’m fine." He rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath. "I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to inconvenience you or anything. Thank you."

"Having a panic attack is more of a ‘medical emergency,’ not an ‘inconvenience’," I scold him, using air quotes for the two words. "Now, I have to go back inside, but feel free to stay here. We open in 20 minutes."

"Thank you."

I climb the rest of the steps, almost stepping inside, when his shaky voice stops me in my tracks.

"What’s your name?"

"Alexandra." I look back at him over my shoulder. He’s stood up, and color has returned to his face, and it suits him a lot more than the pasty white he’d been before. “But my friends call me Lexie."

"Lexie, huh?" He tilts his head, like he’s making a mental note of it, then nods. "Thank you, Lexie."

He lifts his hand for a friendly wave and turns around, when this time, I stop him.

"What’s your name?"

Turning back around, he continues to walk backwards.

"I’m Jackson."

"Take care, Jackson." I give him a nod, then walk back inside, the glass heavy in my hand.

The encounter seemed inconspicuous enough, but it keeps replaying in my head throughout the day. I don’t even know why. The image of that man curled into himself on the steps of Bake and Books has burned into my brain.

"You’re distracted today," Bailey teases me as he flips the sign to "closed" and locks the front door. "Still thinking about the mysterious stranger?"

"Yeah, kind of," I admit, starting to put unsold pastries into boxes. "I don’t know. Maybe I’m just curious."

"To be fair, I would be too," Bailey admits, leaning his elbow on the counter, watching me as I work. "Six in the morning really isn’t the time to have a panic attack. Something must have happened, right?"

"I guess so," I say, looking up at him, then shake my head. It’s none of our business. "I guess we’ll never know."

"Exactly," Bailey agrees, rolling his shoulders as he pushes himself off the counter. "Now, how about you let me handle the cleanup and go home to let your fiancé distract you? Judging by how… wired you are—" He makes a vague motion at me. “It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to spend time with him.”

"Really?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll… clean?”

He loathes cleaning up the bakery. Whenever Alan asks him to, he always cites the ‘childhood trauma’ of having to do it, just to get out of wielding a damn mop.

"What can I say? I’m feeling generous today." Bailey shoots me a grin and shoos me away.

"Thank you." I sigh and grab the box I filled with Derek’s favorite pastries from the shop. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

"Hey babe, I’m home!" I shout as I step inside, pulling the door shut behind me.

A happy sigh escapes me as the scent of tomato sauce hits my nostrils.

Oh, how I love having a cook as a boyfriend.

"Hey, Love," Derek says, popping his head around the doorway. His face immediately breaks into a big smile when our eyes meet. "Dinner’s going to be ten more minutes."

I kick off my shoes and walk over to him. Without a word, he opens his arms, and I step right into them, setting the box of pastries on the counter behind him. Fuck, I needed this.

"God, this smells good," I mumble against his shirt, sighing happily as his arms tighten around me and he presses his lips to the top of my head.

"I could say the same," he chuckles, releasing one arm to stir the sauce. "I love it when you guys don’t sell out."

"I love it more when we do, though," I joke, letting go of him and pursing my lips for a kiss, happily sighing against his lips when he obliges.

“I missed you.” And I mean it. It’s been a while since we had a proper evening to ourselves.

“I missed you, too.” Reluctantly, he lets me go but keeps my hand firmly in his. "So, how was your day?"

"Stressful as always," I reply, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before stepping past him to grab plates and set the table when one of his timers goes off. A feeling of warmth spreads through my chest.

Could my life be any more perfect?

When he sits down across from me, he immediately reaches out his leg until he can tap my foot with his. Another little ritual of ours I’ve missed. I shoot him a happy smile from across the table, warmth slowly spreading from my chest to my cheeks.

"What’s got you smiling like that?" he asks, a curious little smile playing at his lips.

"Nothing," I mumble, fighting to gulp past emotions building up in my throat. "I’m just happy."