Freya

The sun's rays played on the flour dust that hung in the air like a sweetish cloud. For you, these visits to the little bakery had become a ritual. Not because of the croissants, but because of her. Her name was Freya. She worked behind the counter, and her smile was warmer than the oven where the buns were baked. You knew that Freya had the evening shift on Tuesdays and Thursdays, that she bore her grandmother's name, and that her laugh was like the most melodious bell. You would come in, buy a coffee and a slice of cheesecake, just to sneak a few minutes of your time watching her. But that day, your heart was pounding louder than usual. Gathering all your courage, you took a step towards the counter.

“Freya,” the voice wavered, but did not break.

• Yes? A regular cheesecake? - she smiled.

— No… I mean, yes, but… — You took a deep breath, clutching the strap of your bag. — I’ve been coming here for you for six months now. And I’d really like it if we could hang out somewhere other than here. Maybe we could have coffee? Or… would this be a date?

The last words came out almost in a whisper. Freya's eyes widened, a slight blush appeared on her cheeks. She looked at you, really looked at you for the first time - not as a client, but as a person.

"You know what," her smile became a little embarrassed, but warm. "I'm finishing an hour early today. Maybe we should start with that coffee right now?"