15. Rafael/ James
Rafael/ James
RAFAEL
The lunch rush at Wolf & Whisk was in full swing by the time I pushed through the back entrance, holding a paper bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other.
The scent of cinnamon and sugar punched me in the face like a warm, aggressive hug. The wolves were running around like someone had spiked the flour with Red Bull.
I was supposed to just drop off food. That was the plan. But then I saw James.
He was behind the counter, wearing a flour-dusted apron and a pinched expression, trying to juggle the espresso machine and a tray of something caramelized that was beginning to burn.
A streak of powdered sugar cut across his jaw like war paint, and his hair was sticking up at odd angles.
“Don’t panic,” he muttered under his breath. “We’ve only run out of milk, butter, and napkins. Again. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Sure it is,” I said, stepping into the chaos.
His head snapped up, eyes lighting up when he saw me. “You came.”
“You say that like I don’t show up every time I say I will.”
He grinned, cheeks pink. “It’s just nice to see your face when the world is on fire.”
“I brought lunch,” I said, holding up the bag.
“Did you bring extra sanity? No? Damn.”
I set the bag down on the counter and leaned in to kiss his cheek. I didn’t care that Cyrus caught it and made kissy noises from somewhere near the ovens.
“Hey, James?” Rowan called. “We’re out of lemon glaze. And someone just ordered three lemon tarts.”
James groaned. “Can you stall them? I need five minutes.”
“I can try,” Rowan said. “But I can’t lie under pressure, I get sweaty and my ears twitch.”
“You’re a disaster,” James called back, but it sounded fond.
He glanced at me, then at the chaos, then back again. “Raf… I know this is probably the worst time to ask, but would you mind—?”
I was already unzipping my hoodie.
“Just tell me what not to touch.”
“Anything hot,” James said immediately. “Or sharp. Or that requires delicate plating.”
“...So, the counter?”
“Exactly,” he grinned. “You’re hired.”
Ten minutes later, I regretted all of my life choices.
Rowan had thrown an apron at me. Cyrus was giving me the kind of instructions that felt more like riddles. James had vanished into the kitchen for an emergency batch of scones.
And I? I was manning the register and trying to smile at customers like I hadn’t just hit the cash drawer button three times in a row and opened it by accident.
“Hey, uh,” I said, staring at the screen. “How do I ring up one… cinnamon twist and a coffee with… oat milk?”
Rowan looked over from the drink station. “Click ‘Pastry,’ then ‘Swirly Guy,’ then ‘Custom Coffee,’ then type in ‘OAT’ all caps or it prints in Comic Sans.”
I blinked. “That’s a threat, right?”
“Try me,” Rowan said.
“Hey, Rafael?” Cyrus yelled from the back. “Did you take out the muffins yet?”
“What muffins?” I asked.
“The ones in the oven!”
I spun around. The timer was going off. Loudly.
“Dang it. James!” I shouted. “Something’s burning!”
James flew out of the kitchen a second later. “I knew I smelled something toasty, Move!”
He skidded past me, yanked the tray out of the oven, and cursed under his breath. The muffins were very, very brown. One looked like it had been through a small house fire.
I cleared my throat. “So… turns out I’m not good with high end ovens.”
James gave me a look, trying not to smile. “I’ve known you for months and that’s the first thing you’ve said that truly terrifies me.”
“Rude.”
“But accurate,” he said, nudging my shoulder. “Seriously, thanks for jumping in.”
“Of course. Anything for you.”
James flushed, his gaze softening even as he placed the charred muffins on the cooling rack like they hadn’t personally offended him.
“I missed you,” he murmured. “Even though it’s only been a few hours.”
“Same,” I said quietly. “You’re not the only one who needs mid-day emotional validation.”
Cyrus appeared, holding the destroyed muffins. “So who’s gonna tell Beau the bears have officially lost the baking war?”
James turned to him. “That’s slander. Rafael is not representative of all bears.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m a menace on my own.”
Rowan leaned across the counter, grinning. “But seriously… is this, like, official now? Do we have to stop making fun of you?”
“Don’t you dare,” James said, smiling. “I’d miss the emotional terrorism.”
“We’re still doing the couples trivia night next week,” Cyrus added, pointing between us. “You two better show up or I’ll tell the florist you’re cheating on her with the baker.”
“Are you drunk?” Rowan asked.
“Just high on croissant fumes,” Cyrus said dreamily.
James shook his head and handed me a chocolate chip scone from the new batch. “Sit. Eat. No more ovens.”
I obeyed. I had no pride left. He leaned over the counter and kissed my cheek.
The kiss was quick, warm, and casual. And yeah, maybe the wolves whistled and hooted. Maybe Rowan made kissy faces again.
But I didn’t care.
I was sitting in the middle of controlled chaos, eating warm pastries and watching James laugh- lighter than I’d seen him in weeks.
* * *
JAMES
The last customer left with a sleepy smile and two sticky buns in hand. I flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” and locked the door behind her, my whole body sighing in relief.
It was the next day, but it felt like the longest week had just ended.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was warm. Comforting. The kind of quiet that only came after a long day well spent.
Behind me, Rafael wiped down the counter with all the finesse of someone clearly out of their depth but still trying.
His towel missed half the crumbs and smeared the rest into a vague trail of butter and sugar. He’d left Bear and Bun early and arrived here just a few minutes before closing time.
“Okay, chef,” I said, amused. “You might be strong enough to lift a car, but you’re a disaster with a dish towel.”
He looked up, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “In my defense, I usually leave the clean-up to someone else at Bear and Bun.”
I walked over and plucked the towel from his hand. “It’s charming.”
“You think everything I do is charming.”
“I really don’t,” I teased, brushing past him to clean up properly. “But I make an exception when you’re trying so hard.”
He stepped behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, chin dropping to my shoulder.
“I do try. Mostly to impress you,” Rafael said.
“Well,” I said, tilting my head to rest against his, “mission accomplished.”
His lips brushed my jaw, soft and unhurried. “Let me take you home.”
“You just want a reason to steal more pastries.”
“Maybe,” he whispered. “Or maybe I just want to fall asleep with you again.”
The way he said it, low and almost shy, sent warmth all the way through me. I turned in his arms and smiled up at him. “Let me just finish closing.”
We cleaned the shop together. Well, I cleaned. Rafael mostly hovered nearby, stealing sips from my abandoned latte and bumping into me on purpose.
Every time he did, I got a little less annoyed and a little more smiley, until we were laughing more than wiping things down.
By the time we turned off the lights and stepped out into the crisp night air, I was leaning into his side, and his arm was securely around my shoulders.
We didn’t talk much on the walk over to his apartment.
The stars were out, peeking through a stretch of clouds, and the cool night breeze carried the scent of pine and the fading sweetness of sugar that still clung to my skin.
He held my hand the entire time like he didn’t want to let go.
The walk back to Rafael’s place was peaceful, our hands clasped as we strolled under a sky dotted with stars and lazy clouds.
It had cooled just enough for me to lean a little closer, not that I needed the excuse.
Every time his thumb brushed mine, a little jolt danced up my spine like my body was still catching up to the fact that this was real. We were real.
By the time we reached his apartment, I was yawning behind my hand, the long day finally catching up to me.
The door clicked shut behind us, and I kicked off my shoes with an exaggerated groan.
“My feet are suing me for workplace abuse,” I muttered, wobbling toward the couch. “They’ve unionized. Demands include a raise, benefits, and a week off.”
Rafael laughed behind me. “Is there a strike pending?”
“It’s already begun,” I said dramatically, collapsing face-first into the couch cushions. “I’m no longer mobile. This is where I live now.”
He set the bag of leftover pastries on the table and leaned over me. “Want tea?”
“Always.”
While he disappeared into the kitchen, I rolled onto my back, stretching out like a lazy cat. Every inch of me felt used up in the best way. Spent, but not empty. Worn down, but cared for.
Rafael returned with two mugs. One had a cartoon bear scowling into a mug of coffee. Mine, obviously.
I sat up enough to take it and sipped gratefully. Chamomile and honey. Of course he remembered.
I set the mug down on the table and leaned back again, sighing as I rubbed one sore foot against the opposite ankle.
Rafael glanced down. “They really hurting?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but it’s fine. Occupational hazard.”
Without saying anything else, he crouched in front of the couch and gently lifted one of my feet into his lap.
“Wait, what are you—” I blinked as his warm hands wrapped around my ankle, then began kneading the arch of my foot with steady, careful pressure.
“Oh my god,” I groaned. “You’re hired.”
“Thought your feet went on strike,” he joked.
“They’ve rescinded the paperwork.”
He chuckled, thumbs pressing into a spot that had me melting into the cushions. “How long have they been this tight?”
“Since the holiday rush. Possibly forever,” I admitted.
“You work too hard,” he pointed out.
“Says the guy who just threatened a loan shark.”
“I don’t do it in adorable aprons,” he countered.
I laughed, my head tipping back as his thumbs worked slow, delicious circles. The tension in my calves, my arches, even my toes began to melt away.
His touch was confident but gentle, not clinical. Intimate, even. Like he was pouring every ounce of care he had into this moment, into me.
He picked up my other foot and started again, just as thorough.
My breath caught when he pressed into the ball of my foot and then slid his fingers down with a rhythm that made heat coil in my gut.
“You keep that up and I’m gonna fall in love with you,” I murmured, only half joking.
He didn’t stop. Just looked up at me, slow and steady. “Then I’ll keep going.”
My chest did that fluttery thing it sometimes did when he looked at me like I was the most important thing in the room.
“I already do, you know,” I said softly, heart hammering. “Love you.”
His hands paused for just a beat, then resumed, slower now. Reverent.
“I know,” he said, voice rough around the edges. “I love you too.”
Silence stretched between us, not awkward. Just full. Full of everything we didn’t need to say because we already knew.
Eventually, he set my feet down and rose, sitting beside me. I didn’t hesitate. I curled into him, tucked my head against his chest, and let him hold me.
His hand smoothed over my hair. “Better?”
“Way better,” I said, already half asleep.
I could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
Outside the world kept turning, but in here, wrapped up in his arms with my feet still tingling from the best masSean of my life, I felt warm. Safe. Home.
“You’re dangerous,” I mumbled.
“Why?” Rafael asked.
“You’re making it really hard not to picture what forever looks like.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Then don’t fight it.”