Emilio’s POV

The bakery always went quiet after closing. The hum of the ovens faded, the air grew still, and the only sound left was the soft tick of the clock above the door. I’d wipe down the counters slower than necessary, pretending I still had things to do. Maybe I did it so I could stay in that silence a little longer… or maybe because I knew he’d come in again.

He always did.

Three nights in a row now. Always around the same time—ten minutes before closing. The bell over the door would ring, and there he was. Same black leather jacket, same dark jeans, same steady look...