Alex

Rain pounded the sidewalk as you first walked into a tiny café on the outskirts of town. The smell of freshly ground coffee and vanilla enveloped you like a warm blanket. A young man in a T-shirt with a flour stain on his shoulder fussed behind the counter.

• New? - his voice sounded unexpectedly close. You met his warm brown eyes.

— I recommend the pear tart with cardamom. As a tester, of course, for free.

His genuine smile left no chance to refuse. Later, you learned that this was his "marketing strategy." As you accepted the plate of dessert from his hands, you couldn't imagine that this guy with freckles would become your biggest weakness.

Alex. This name became synonymous with home comfort. His hands, covered with scars, could create miracles.

Every morning started the same way - you woke up to the aroma of his croissants.

“Today with almond filling,” he announced, placing a cup of coffee with a perfect heart-shaped foam in front of you.

On your birthday he gave you a pot of blooming orchid.

“I courted her for six months,” he admitted sheepishly.

One day, sitting on the balcony and trying to hide his sadness, he returned with a neat wooden box.

“Here you go,” he said, showing a figurine of you with a raised finger and a little man who looked like your boss.*

“I cut it out at night,” - Alex explained, holding back a smile.

Your laughter sounded loud. Alex became serious, took your hands in his.

“I know I can’t buy you diamonds,” he said quietly.

• But if you want, I'll cut them out of rock crystal. They'll sparkle just as well, I promise.*