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You’re cursed to be alone.You wake up, alone. You do your job, alone. You eat raw cookie dough in your pink silk pajamas while curled up in bed as you watch your programs, alone. Then you go to sleep, alone.
Everything- alone.You’ve nearly gotten used to it. Accepted it. Welcomed it, even.It's certainly easier to not have to constantly worry about another person's feelings or needs.Some people are just meant to be alone.
Though, you never imagined you’d be one of those people…You let out a long, dreary sigh as you pick up another glob of buttercream frosting on your offset spatula and smear it in a practiced movement against the side of the cake on the counter in front of you.…It’s really not all that bad, you reason as a small smile finds its way onto your face.There’s always cake.Today is more of the same. Another slow-paced and quiet Tuesday morning like any other for your modest, but cozy little bake shop.…Or at least it was .The bell above the door jingles sharply, announcing a customer. You look up from the frosting job you’re working on, chasing the sullen quality from your person.“Good moooorning!” A small, perky, business-casual clad faun says in a chipper sing-song, shattering the peace of the empty shop by calling out to you before you even have a chance to put on your customer service face and greet them. They quickly make their way over to the counter, their hooves clicking on the tile. They produce a lanyard-bound ID from their vest pocket and present it to you. “I’m an investigator with the mana bureau.”The small picture does indeed show the person before you, clearly trying to hold back a smile for a neutral, bureaucratic photo.
Kirkja Papadakis-Kierkegaard,
3rd level Mage-Investigator,
Certified Cursebreaker.
“Oh- Um, Hello. What can I do for you, Investigator…” You tilt your head at their ID, trying to reason out how to pronounce their last name without slaughtering it.“Just call me Kirby! Everyone does!” They laugh, and after they give a cursory glance around the shop to ensure there’s no other customers, they continue; “I have some things I’d like to chat with you about! Is now a good time?”“Sure, it's as good a time as any.” You smile wryly and motion to the bakery case. The first thing you learned growing up in your small, rural village's only bakery is that baked goods are an excellent ice breaker for nearly any social situation. “…Can I get you anything? Complimentary, of course.”“Um. Yes??? ” Kirby basically scoffs, and you see the familiar glazed look in their eyes that you so often see in customers as they lean over the case. " That one."
They point to a pastel pink-blue swirled crown of frosting with a puff of spun sugar nestled in the center.
"Candy floss? Good choice. I'm testing this flavor out, so you'll have to let me know if you like it." You turn to grab a small plate from the rack behind you. "You can sit at the counter if you'd like.""Don't mind if I do." Kirby lifts themselves up onto the bar stool with a grin.After plating their cupcake and setting it in front of them, you pull up your own beat-up wooden stool you keep behind the counter and take a seat across from them. There’s no customers to assist right now and you don’t have any tastings scheduled until later this afternoon, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. You can always do the tasks you had planned later- one of the perks of being your own boss, you suppose.“So. I’m here about a string of mishaps of magical origin that have happened across several weddings in the area.” Kirby starts, peeling off the paper and happily taking a large bite out of their cupcake. “Mmph- They all involved the wedding cake. As it would happen, my investigation so far turned up the only thing the couples involved all had in common was that they had gotten their wedding cakes from you.”"Me…?” You say incredulously. “What could’ve happened?""Cakes exploded." Kirby says as elegantly as possible through a mouthful of cake and frosting.“They exploded …?” You say, aghast, looking directly at the potential explosive in their hand. “And you’re sitting here eating one?!”“Don’t worry about it! We’re not at a wedding.” Kirby says with a little chuckle, but it reassures you little. “Plus, I’d know if this bad boy was going to magically explode, for sure.”“Oh no, that’s…” You cover your mouth with your hand as the information sinks in. It didn’t occur to you that a curse was something that could spread. You'd hate to think that you were passing on this misfortune to your customers, even the more difficult ones. “You don’t think… Are curses actually contagious? I’d feel terrible…”"Sometimes. It’s complicated. Do you mind if I do a quick reading?”“Ah, no. Go… right ahead?”You’re not exactly sure what a magical audit entails. Being a numan, magic is a force that generally doesn’t directly touch your life often, outside of being in periphery to it on a daily basis.“Great.” They put down the cupcake.Kirby closes their eyes and stays quiet and still, which despite you not knowing them very long at all, seems to be starkly at odds with their usual demeanor. The only movement they carry out is bringing their hand up to hold the bolo tie at their neck.You can swear that you feel a small thrum in the air - but knowing you have no capability for feeling energy magic yourself, you think you may just be imagining it.And then, after a few more moments of slightly awkward silence; it’s over, just like that. All in all, it’s a rather underwhelming affair."Wowie, it's a shame, this shop is so cute but the vibes are waaaaay off! Magically speaking, that is. The decor is immaculate.” They finish fiddling with their bolo tie and open their eyes, a neon cyan hued glow fading from their irises. “I could tell from the moment I walked in something was funky, but this is just… Oof."“That doesn’t sound like particularly good news.”“It could be worse! But you have… hmmm, how to put this without it sounding scary…” They say as they pick their treat back up in one hand, and wiggle their finger at your general person with the other. "You’ve got a big glob of nasty energy hanging out all over you. Centered in your chest area.”“Ah, that’d probably be because I’m cursed.” You say, matter-of-fact."That’s sure what it looks like! ” He says in a surprisingly bubbly tone, despite the worrying subject matter. “Don’t worry. Curses are my speciality, so I’ve got you. We just have to get to the bottom of things, and I can help get rid of it!”“That would be lovely.” You say sheepishly. “How can I help?”“Why don't you tell me a little about how an average day goes here?" They pull out a pen and a notepad from their bag. You lace your fingers together on the counter in front of you, trying to resist the urge to chew your nails down from the nerves.You recount out loud your day so far: You came down early, baked off some of your batters, and while they were cooling you started a fresh batch of your signature buttercream. Not too sweet, just right. You piped a batch of cupcakes to add to the case, double checked your pars for the day, and wrapped delicate little treat boxes with fancy little bows for display.Nothing out of the ordinary."Hmm. That sounds very picturesque, but none of that particularly screams 'OOOH NOOO I'M CURSED!!!' to me." They fiddle with the pen between their fingers in thought. “Usually there’s more… overtly magical disturbing spooky things,
y’know. Blood seeping from the walls, unexplained patches of goo, disembodied cackling skulls… that sort of thing! Almost like a haunting.”"No, nothing like that.""Nothing at all? With this level of energy around here, I'm surprised you're not having constant poltergeist activity.""Apologies. I'm afraid my life is a bit dull."
“Oh, don’t feel like you have to apologize! If anything, it's nice to have a curveball every now and then. Any little thing you can tell me might help, even if it doesn’t seem important at first."You wrack your brain, working your hands on the hem of your apron, trying to jog your memory."I suppose there could be some wee things. Sometimes things seem to get lost or moved to places I didn't put them. Or… when I'm closing the shop down for the night, I'll feel dread like I'm being watched, even though I know I'm alone… I chalked it up to being forgetful and sad.""Hmm. Forgetful- sure, happens to everyone." They click the pen top on the counter rhythmically. "But what's there to be sad about?""Er…" You hesitate. Exactly how personal are you supposed to get here?The last thing you want to do is pathetically dump your issues on a stranger that's forced to be here, just because you have no one else to talk to.These days, you’re severely lacking in social support. You’ve lost all of your friends in the breakup, as if your ex had won custody of them. There’s always your family, and you call home often. But you can only say so much about how you’re feeling to them- your parents are getting up there in age, and you don’t want them to worry too much about you. Your sister may have single handedly kept you sane during the worst of it, but you don’t want her to bear the full emotional burden. It doesn’t help that every single phone call has a segment asking when you’re moving back, either…"I’m not here to judge, so tell me everything. Even if you’ve committed a crime! That’s not my jurisdiction, so I could care less,” He giggles brightly. “Unless your victim cursed you from beyond the grave - then maybe it is? If that's the case I’d have to make a few phone calls to find out.”You let out a huff of a laugh. Their energy is infectious, but you’re immediately faced with a huge obstacle.…Where do you even start ?How can you condense nearly a full year of heartbreak into a mere minutes-long explanation?Somehow, you find your words.“Everything was fine until I opened that letter,” You finally start. "After that, my entire life fell apart.""Ah, now that sounds like something I can work with!" The faun starts hastily jotting down notes as you speak. "Do you know the sender? Do you still have the letter? What did it say?""No, I don't know the sender- and probably, but I’ll need to look through storage-" You begin fielding his rapidfire questions one at a time. "But to paraphrase: everyone who had a hand in their failed marriage would suffer like they did- that any love I had or will have from now on will wither before blooming.”"Yikes. Sure sounds like a disgruntled ex-client would be the first place to look.”“I… didn’t realize it would pass on to the wedding cakes I make…" You say, still absolutely gutted at the thought. “I hate to think something I made ruined someone’s wedding…”“Hey, technically we don’t know if that's the case yet! It could all be a coincidence. But I'm guessing something happened to support the letter’s claim?""Yes." You clear your throat, trying to dislodge the sudden frog stuck there. "The day after I received the letter my… well. My ex -fiance left me with no warning.""Oh no, I'm so sorry to hear that. Had you been together long?"
"Eight years. He was my first boyfriend after I moved here. It was so sudden… things were normal- they were perfect. Or so I thought... Then just like that… He was gone. And so were all of our plans… I had to cancel everything . No refunds of course, but it wasn't even losing all the gold that hurt. It was hellish." You let out a shuddering sigh, realizing you're going off on a tangent. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't be making this interview into a therapy session…?""You go right ahead and spill as much as you need. I love tea."You don’t need more encouragement than that to take the rare opportunity to vent. You find you continue to blab long after Kirby has finished their cupcake, them listening along attentively and responding with support or disgust where appropriate. They’re listening so intently, you’re not in a hurry to stop yourself."...Then all of our friends sided with him. Or at least it felt that way, since they all seemed to fall off right after…”"Oh, that is so uncalled for!” Their ears flick in shared indignance before a grin finds its way back on to their face. “Don't worry, you'll see enough of me during this investigation, I'll be your new bestie by time we're done here. Especially if there’s cake like this is involved, haha-"You laugh and nod, despite being skeptical of that claim. You don’t really think you even remember what it feels like to have a mutually supportive friendship at this point, so while it would be nice… you’re not holding your breath.With that, Kirby tells you that they’ll be back the next day to start combing through your past client files, reassuring you when you question if it’s safe to keep selling cakes in the meantime. Then, like that, they’re off. And just in time, too, as it’s just about the time that customers tend to start turning up, and you still have a cake to finish frosting.Hours later, you're finishing tidying up the back for the night. The colors of the end of sunset are staining the back window already.It's been a long, eventful, emotionally draining day. You certainly didn't expect to bare your deeply personal relationship trauma to a stranger today. Kirby was very kind about everything, but still…Then, you got hit by an unexpected rush, on top of that.Though, you have to admit that it was nice, not only having some validation of your curse being a real thing that is affecting your life, but being given a small glimmer of hope that it may be curable.Usually you would throw yourself into work and relish not having to think about what happened to you at all. So, while having to talk about it felt a bit like picking at the open wound- in a way, you feel a tiny bit lighter having spoken to someone about it, even if you know that feeling won’t last.After all, you can already start to feel the heavy sense of loss settling back in now that you’re alone again, a constant weight on your chest.You're more than ready to go upstairs, relax and turn your brain off for the evening. Perhaps watch a program with people even more woefully unlucky in love than you are. Even if you’re doing it by yourself…You glance at the clock.Just six minutes until close…And of course, that's when you hear the telltale jingle of a waiting order go off.You heave a sigh. Then you stand up straight and wipe your floured hands on your apron, putting a customer service smile on, despite the fatigue.
Walking out into the front of house, you see the culprit is already physically present.
A gargoyle man dressed in a fine suit stands near the self-ordering kiosk, checking the watch on his wrist. The pink silk paisley of his tie charmingly matches the blush sheen of the quartz horns protruding from the tawny stoneskin of his forehead.Immaculate grooming. Good posture. Excellent sense of style.
Your love life may be an absolute trainwreck, but you’re relieved you can still recognize a handsome man when you see one, apparently."Hello there," You greet the well-dressed man in your shop, trying to keep voice sounding smooth and unfrazzled. "It'll only be a moment and I'll have your order together.”“Hey, good evening. Take your time.”A dazzling smile. And a nice voice too.
You’re slightly weak in the knees.You’re suffering as you meticulously pick his order out of the case, trying to convince yourself that you’d be this picky and only selecting the nicest looking cupcakes for any customer, not just the ones you find particularly attractive."Here you are, Carlyle, " You read his name off the screen and deftly seal up the bottom of the rosy pink paper box with a strip of tape before setting it back on the counter. "Can I get you anything else?""No, nothing more for me. Then again-" He squints at the chalkboard above you, and seemingly not finding the information he's seeking, adds: "Do you not serve coffee here…?""Ah, I'm afraid not. This is a cake shop, not really much of a cafe.”“Too bad. It’s likely going to be an all-nighter, so I thought I’d get a pick-me-up beforehand.”“Well- are you in a hurry?" You have a wild idea, and speak before thinking twice."I could not be." A small smirk plays on his lips, and his deep brown eyes glint with curiosity piqued. "It depends on the reason.""Alright, you sit tight for a moment, will you? I'll be right back."You duck into the back and up the stairs to your loft flat, and in a whirlwind prepare a regular cup of coffee in your single-serving machine. You blaze through the motions, muscle memory from going through your morning routine in a half-asleep haze shining through. You grab whatever mug is closest at hand and stare down the machine while it whirs and grinds, willing the two minutes to pass faster.You hustle back down the stairs, pausing at the bottom landing to take a deep breath before emerging into the shopfront once more."Hope you don't mind storebrand," You lilt and slide the steaming mug over the counter to him, handle pointing towards him. "Be careful please, it's quite hot.""Ah, it smells good." You cringe as he immediately takes a long sip from the still surely boiling hot beverage, before remembering a gargoyle's temperature tolerance is much different than your own. "I really appreciate it. However…"
You tilt your head slightly, waiting for Carlyle to finish voicing his concern."Is your partner going to be okay with me using this mug?""My- wha- huh?" You babble in confusion before realizing that he's turned the mug's design to face you to illustrate his point.WORLD'S BEST BOYFRIEND, the well-loved mug reads, the hand-glazed font bordered by multiple pink hearts.Trevor made you that mug years ago, and you can’t bring yourself to throw it out. It used to be your favorite… And even now, after everything, it's still apparently the one you subconsciously reach for.Your hand finds your face in utter mortification. You barely muster the courage to peek through the crack in your fingers."Oh. Oh, gosh. I- That’s-" You stumble over your words further, still flustered when you lower your hand. Then, you settle on keeping it simple instead of going into your own personal tragedy too deeply. "No, I'm single.""Hmm." Carlyle seems to at least have the sense of mercy to not pry further.
"W-Would you like cream or sugar?" You swiftly and blatantly change the subject. You can feel that your cheeks and ears are burning up. "Those I definitely have down here…""No, I prefer it this way. This is going to sound odd, all things considered, but I'm actually not a fan of sweets.""Oh? But-" You pointedly glance at the box of cupcakes you just packed."I know, I know. It's for the rest of the team." He shrugs, shoving his free hand in his pocket and swirling the coffee in the mug like he's a sommelier. "It's been a difficult case, so I thought everyone could use a treat, then I somehow got roped into pick-up duty as well.""I see…very kind of you. But why here, then?""The ladies are all crazy about this place." He grins. "Though now, I see why. Excellent service."You can't help but smile at the praise. Thank heavens for Welp."So, what more do I owe you for this?" He gestures with the nearly empty mug."Oh, nothing! Consider it complimentary." You lean on the counter playfully. "But maybe you could come back sometime? I love a good challenge- and I bet I could find something sweet that you do like.""Hahah- challenge accepted, then."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The shop’s been much more lively this past week.Not only because prime wedding season is beginning and bringing along with it an expected influx of customers, but at least partially due to you having an ever-present, talkative guest every weekday your shop is open.You're honestly not used to having company anymore- besides customers, at least. Since Trevor broke up with you and you moved shop, it’s just been you.But it's… kind of nice, having someone to talk to every now and then that isn’t just making compulsory, transactional chit chat. It’s made it rather hard to wallow in your sadness alone, as has been your mode of operation for months. You barely even mind that your guest is creating a leaf-litter of loose, discarded documents all over your countertop.Kirby has taken a brief respite from their datapad to watch your work frosting a cake. This client specifically wanted the entire sides of the cake textured with rosettes, so you of course obliged. You turn the stand with one hand when necessary, confidently putting down the flowing lines of buttercream."You make that look soooo easy!" They say, grinning. "But if I tried that, there'd be a huge mess, hehe."“Do you want to give it a try?” You ask, stopping the flow with an elegant flick. “It’s really nothing but some practice.”“Oooo…” Their eyes light up “I want to, but I don’t want to waste all your product.”"Oh, nothing to worry about there. If you pipe onto a clean baking sheet, it can go back in the bag after."After they roll up their sleeves, wash their hands, and you’ve given them a short and simple demonstration, you suddenly have an intensely focused bureau investigator practicing buttercream rosettes by the dozens in your shop while you handle the customers starting to filter in.“Aaaww, look at that one! It actually looks like a rose, haha!!” They pause and grin widely while they admire their handiwork, a glob of off-white frosting unceremoniously dripping off the piping tip they’re too distracted to pay attention to.“It does indeed. You picked it up pretty quickly.” You laugh. “Do you want to keep going? There’s plenty of buttercream.”“Ugh, no I’m good! My arms are already tired! You must have forearms of steel.”You chortle in response, but any words you were going to say are cut off by the ringtone cutting through the shop.“Oh, shoot. I guess I should actually do some work huh? This is probably that ex-client of yours I’ve been waiting to call me back.”Kirby touches their bolo tie before picking up the call, and suddenly both the ringing, followed by their voice, is completely silenced, despite them clearly talking into their device.You suppose it’s for the best. You at least have a little smile on your face as you scrape the buttercream off the clean parchment paper and back into the piping bag.“Ohh, was there a little demo going on? That’s so sweet...” One of your regulars that you’re more acquainted with says as she approaches the counter, observing the small rosettes meeting their demise at the end of your spatula. She’s a tall, willowy Aurelian elf woman with dusty mauve streaks in her blonde hair to match the shade of her eyes and the tint of her skin, and a dainty, jeweled septum piercing. “That kind of enthusiasm makes me think of the little ones at the studio.”“Haha, just a small one. Good morning Devin,” You say in a warm, compulsory greeting. “Any classes today for you?”“Birthday party,” She nods, a dreamy smile breaking up her gentle features as you place the box containing her order on the counter in front of her. “It’s a full house this afternoon. Pookie and I have our work cut out for us.”“Well, that sounds delightful. Maybe I’ll have to come by and paint something some time. When you’re less busy.” Devin runs the sip n’ paint pottery studio down the street, so your businesses tend to get quite a bit of synergy from parties and tourists, especially on holidays. It makes sense that you’d form a bit of an acquaintanceship, but it’s a bit embarrassing to think that you barely know her and she’s still the closest thing you’ve made to a friend since moving almost a year ago- at least until a certain bureau investigator forced their way into your life.“Please do, we’d love to have you. For you, first one’s free as long as it can fit in your hand.”You smile and nod. You don’t know if you could glaze pottery without thinking of Trevor… So it might take you quite some time yet before you’re ready to visit her shop in return.“Oh! Before I forget,” Devin digs through her slouchy, beaded bag, and produces a cylindrical aluminum container you already know contains some homegrown loose leaf Rowenian breakfast tea. “My Gran just sent me a big batch, and I wanted to make sure you got some before I spaced and made it all into kombucha.”“Oh, bless you.” You say and happily grab the container, immediately opening it to smell the fragrant leaves. You immediately are hit by a wave of nostalgia and homesickness for your home village, which as it so happens, is in the same half of the Queen’s Isle that part of Devin’s family is originally from. “I was running low. Let me knock a smidge off the top of your order for that, haha.”“Thanks. I’m just so glad you moved onto this street, y’know? It’s so convenient, I used to have to get the party cupcakes catered from clear across the city. And yours are so, so good. They’re way better than the ones we were getting before.”“Oh, thanks so much! I’m glad. It’s good to be here.” You say, only partially lying. There’s nothing wrong with your shop’s new location… but there are still days you strongly miss your old one. You certainly could’ve done without having your life uprooted.Devin finishes her transaction and she’s out the door with the box in one hand, waving back with a few fingers wrapped around her keys as the shop bell jingles.Not long after, the rush arrives. While you work, you can't help but let your thoughts wander back to that handsome customer from yesterday. You wonder when he'll be back? You need to make some less sweet options to put in the case for when he does…Soon, it’s been an entire week since you saw your handsome stranger. You’ve begun to wonder if the interaction had even gone as well as you remember. Maybe he wasn’t flirting, but was just being polite? You did serve him bland storebrand coffee out of a cheesy mug your ex made you…You’re almost ready to start tidying for the day when there’s an order jingle ringing out in your deserted shop. You try not to get your hopes up as you walk over to the screen, like you have several times this week- but then let out a huge heave of a sigh when you see the order details.Carlyle does eventually intend to return to your shop, if his name popping up in your empty online order queue that evening means anything. And luckily for you, this time it’s with enough time before close to get a little something together for him.First you handle boxing up his order, then after a brief moment of wrestling with whether you should or not, you relent and pop upstairs to make him a mug of coffee.You don't have to mentally debate if you'll be giving him the embarrassing sentimental mug with the love hearts this time, though- you pick one of the demure, tasteful marbled beige ones from your regular set instead.After the coffee has been brewed, you carefully bring the steaming mug downstairs, set it on the counter, and turn to observe your display case with a scathingly critical eye.Something not too sweet. Still flavorful, though. Not too plain- impressive, but not overly showy…You finally select one of the orange and red currant scones you made fresh this morning. You have to pick something to start with, and this seems as good enough a baseline as any.Irresistibly dense and buttery, the slight sweetness of the dough is offset by the bright pop of citrus and the tartness of the berry. It's a humble baked good at heart, but it's a recipe you've made so much that you've nearly perfected it, in your opinion. It makes you think of home every time you make a batch as well, so there's no doubt that there's love baked inside. You’ll simply forgo the jam or cream, to fit his preference.…You really hope he likes it.You watch the door and chew your lip. Just when you're concerned the coffee will cool off before he gets here, you see him walk past the window and enter the shop.You realize how weird it probably looks- you anxiously standing here wringing your hands and waiting for him- far too late to do anything about it."Oh, whew. Hi there. I'm glad there's not some other Carlyle in this city." You quip with a breathy, stress-relieving laugh. "That would've made this very awkward.""Good evening," He says in his smooth, deep voice, and gives you such a radiant smile that you momentarily feel like you might just faint. "I didn't expect a whole spread.""I thought you might like some coffee again this time."“I absolutely would." Carlyle says in an approving tone, but raises an eyebrow when his eyes pass over the mug it’s in. He grasps the handle of the mug anyway, bringing the liquid to his lips for a sip before continuing. “It’s a shame it’s not in my favorite mug this time; it tastes better in that one. But, I’ll manage to survive somehow.”Favorite… He’s not talking about the old embarrassing gift mug, is he?"...Favorite?" You audibly repeat.“Yes, the pink one with all the hearts on it. ‘World’s Best Boyfriend’?”He is.You feel your face heat up with the blood rushing to your face, and you fight the conflicting urges to cover your face with your hands or flee the scene completely.“You… like... that mug?”“I do. It’s a great aspiration to have, in my opinion.” You’d think he was taking the piss if he wasn’t clearly being so painfully, genuinely sincere. It’d almost be less embarrassing if he was joking, you think. "Gives me something to work towards.”"Right. I can… I'll use that one next time, then. If you insist."Carlyle simply smiles at you from behind the incorrect mug.You clear your throat.“Now- I'll have you know I take challenges very seriously,” You say in a forcibly flat voice, trying to regain some of your meager composure. You smirk and motion to the baked treat still sitting on the table. “Whenever you’d like to have a taste.”Carlyle picks up the scone, inspecting it before finally taking a bite.You hang on bated breath, trying to not watch his facial expression in an off-putting or intense manner, and most likely failing.“...I think almost anyone else would enjoy this.” He says after several bites and a long moment of deliberation. “But it’s not for me.”“Ah. Really? Too sweet?”“Too sweet.” He confirms. “But the orange is nice.”“Everyone likes my scones.” You can’t hide the surprised tone from your voice.“I hope I haven’t upset you.” He says in response, obviously taking your tone to mean you're hurt; but that couldn’t be farther from what’s happening, the gears in your head already trying to come up with a new attempt at a solution. "In my defense, I did try to warn you."“Upset? Haha, no! Try inspired.” You say with a cheeky grin. “There isn’t a soul on Hearth that hates every single baked good. I refuse to believe it!”“Is that right?”“Yes. There has to be something sweet you’ll like, and I’m going to find it.”"Alright then." He laughs, clearly amused by your enthusiasm. "Would you like more notes for what I’d enjoy or…?""No, no-" You start jotting down a few notes of your own on the scratch pad you keep behind the counter. "Figuring this out on my own is half the fun."To Carlyle's credit, he has the grace to not waste your effort- finishing the whole thing even if it seems to have not been to his tastes. He even insists on paying for the scone, despite you intending on giving it to him for free.“So, is there something special about Tuesdays?” You casually lean on the counter, trying to ask in a way that doesn’t seem like such overt information gathering.“After-hours meeting at the law library with the ladies. I’m at the library most evenings honestly, but on Tuesdays we all tend to congregate and tackle some of the larger research tasks together.”“You know, these must be some lucky ladies,” Better to rip off the bandage now, you think, rather than getting your hopes up and then find out all of this playful flirting has been courtesy from someone with an incompatible orientation. “For you to be buying cupcakes for them every week, haha. Anyone you’re interested in…?”“No, nothing like that. They’re my colleagues. My department is entirely women the same age as my mother or older.” He says with a chuckle. “Besides me, of course.”“Oh, that sounds lovely.”“It has its benefits, it’s sort of like having a bunch of my aunts doting on me at work. On the other hand, they keep trying to set me up with their daughters, daughter’s friends, friend’s daughters, random women off the street… You get the idea.”“I don’t see why you’d need any help in that area.” The words fly out of your mouth before thinking, and then you internally scold yourself for being so forward. But Carlyle doesn’t seem phased in the least- smirking at you and letting out a breath of a laugh.“Hah. Perhaps I could get you to convince them on my behalf, then?” He says, his voice a deep rumble as he takes the pink box containing his order from you. You see a glint of his fangs as he speaks. ”If you feel so strongly on the matter.”Though you got to chat for a bit longer this time, it still didn’t feel like enough. As soon as it’s over, you’re already anticipating getting to talk to him again next week, just with a bit of extra glow.The next morning, you must look as light as you feel, because someone picks up on it right away."You know, you seem a little peppier today." Kirby rests their chin on their palm when they’re done taking a call. "Did something good happen?"You hesitate to immediately spring into gushing about Carlyle. Kirby has been nothing but positive so far, but you've only known them a short time and you worry about scaring off any semblance of a friend you've had lately.But they're just sitting there, looking at you expectantly, now…They have told you to tell them everything…"That guy I told you about before? He came back." You say, unable to hide your giddiness.“Oooooo! How exciting!”“I know. I couldn’t have dreamt this man up if I tried. He was somehow even more charming this time. He’s just… so smooth and well put together and he smiles.” You can feel the blood rushing to your face just talking about seeing him again, however briefly.“He smiles??? Honey. Everyone smiles! Your ex must’ve been the most boring man on the planet, geez.”“Maybe a wee bit.” You admit. You do wish Trevor would’ve been more emotive in general, sometimes. You cross your arms, trying to mitigate some of the embarrassment. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’d have to see it to understand?”“Oh, I’m sure that’s it, hehehe.” Kirby says, clearly not believing you for a single second.“And remember how I told you I accidentally gave him that tatty old mug from my ex to use? He asked to use it again, even.”“Hahaha- Oh wow!! That’s bold!” Kirby giggles. “Did he like the stuff you made?""No, he hated it!” You laugh, grinning. “But I'm going to figure him out yet.""Oh. Well, then-” They cock an eyebrow at you in confusion before swiftly recovering. “Did you ask him out?”"Uh, no…""What? No?" All of Kirby's energy seems to deflate in an instant. "Why not???”“Good question, I don't know,” You say in a deadpan manner. “Maybe the whole love curse business? It’s a wee bit discouraging for romantic pursuits.”"Huh? What’s the worst that could happen?”"I don’t know. …What if…""What if???""Well, we don't know the extent of the curse yet. What if he explodes like one of the cakes, or… or something worse?""Hehehe, he's not a wedding cake!! He's not going to explode!" Kirby wheezes in amusement. "It takes a looooot more juice for a curse to explode a whole person, silly!!""Oh, good to know… I think." You find yourself laughing as well at the absurdity and slightly ominous implication of the statement. "I'm a little bit concerned to hear there's a precedent.""Don’t worry about it! You see a lot of things in my line of work!" They beam mischievously, in the way only someone who is giving unsolicited love advice can. "You should ask him out! I mean, if you're into him, of course. But you really seem like you are, so you should.""Is it that obvious…?""Uuuhhhh… Yes. Super.""How embarrassing." You groan and hold your forehead with your hand. "If you think so… It sort of seems like tempting fate…"“Hey, curses can always be broken! You can’t just stop living because something bad might happen.”"...Right.” You sigh, wishing you could believe them. “I'll keep that in mind."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Kirby had told you that you couldn’t stop living because you were cursed. You had told them that you would keep it in mind.While you do keep that in mind, you certainly don't act on it during any of the encounters you have with Carlyle over the next few weeks.Maybe if you weren't still so devastated from your breakup and the threat of your curse ruining any attempt, you'd have the courage to ask him out yourself. But as for now, you stay rooted in the comfortable little routine you've built.Your next attempt is still something that is a perfect pairing for coffee, but slightly more involved. You prepare a tender batch of coffee cake, with a hearty ribbon of cinnamon swirled through the middle of the loaf, and crumbles of cinnamon streusel on top to to match, forgoing any glaze or drizzle that might have otherwise ended up finding its way onto the cake.Still too sweet. Way too heavy, too dense of a crumb. But cinnamon is clearly a welcome flavor. Maybe something more elegant?The week after that, you tried a ginger-pear gateau, hoping that the sweetness of the honey would be more permissible than normal sugar, with the heat from the ginger to balance out what sweetness there was. You painstakingly arranged the thin slices, the whole thing baked to perfection and kissed with citrus zest.He didn’t like that either; but he does seem to like the burn of ginger, commenting on the underlying warmth.And he may or may not be the type of guy that eats with his eyes first, given how impressed he was with the admittedly beautiful layering of fruit slices.The next thing you tried was an opera cake. An almond sponge soaked with coffee, which you already know he’s quite fond of. Layers of cream and dark chocolate ganache diligently stacked and cut neatly serve to pleasantly enhance that already present espresso flavor.You had even piped two Ss elegantly connected with an ampersand, for Sugar & Spice- the current name of your shop, as of moving locations- in immaculate script across the top. If most of these are going to go into the case, you might as well make them on brand.He seemed to like this one the most so far, taking a lot longer than ever before to decide its fate.But he doesn’t like any sort of application of buttercream, it turns out. You should’ve known better already, you suppose- he doesn’t like frosting- he doesn’t even take cream in his coffee, why would he like cream layers in a coffee flavored cake, either?It wasn’t a complete loss, however, because he seemed to really enjoy the addition of cardamom that you had used to compliment the flavor of the espresso, at least enough for him to point it out.And honestly, the praise he heaped onto you for your careful penmanship and attention to tidy little details takes any hint of sting from the failure away instantaneously.You’ve already figured out he likes citrus- specifically oranges- and almonds. He prefers a fluffier crumb to a denser one. No heavy glazes or frostings or cream layers.With the culmination of your last few attempts, you've put together another critical detail: he likes spiced things.Cinnamon. Ginger. Cardamom. Clove. Nutmeg…Those flavors seem to be the one big unifying element of what he’s liked of your baking.Mixed spice.You’re making some progress, finally.But what to make him that can test your theory? Cinnamon buns? Too sweet, surely. Gingerbread? Too dense, no go. You could always make a simple spice cake, but it would probably seem sad and bare without frosting, which you’ve already confirmed that he despises in all forms.Not to mention that any of these options will make your shop smell like a Yuletide market, or a candle store… And it's the height of summer…“Wowie, don’t think too hard over there!!” You snap back to attention upon hearing Kirby’s lively voice through your mental fog. You realize you’ve been silently ruminating for quite a while. “You’re frowning so hard your face might break! What’s on your mind?”“Trying to figure out what to make Carlyle for Tuesday.” You tap the end of the pen you’re holding onto the notepad in front of you. “Can’t think of anything.”“Hehe, can’t you just bake this man a nice loaf of crusty bread and call it a day already? Everybody loves good bread.”“Hah, no. It has to be a sweet baked good, I’m afraid. No need to worry though, I’m just a bit stumped at the moment. I’ll figure it out.”“Oooo, I can help you decide on something!! I’m awful at cooking anything but I’m pretty good at the whole deduction thing, hehe~”“Oh, no- I couldn’t ask you to help me with something so frivolous. You’re doing actual detective work.”“A little distraction now and then can be good! Especially when you’re as stuck as I am right now with these leads…” Kirby looks almost forlorn for a moment before any lack of cheer is immediately erased from their expression. “Sometimes thinking about something else entirely can help get you the breakthrough you need!”“Well, is there anything you’d like me to make?”“Ooo! Ooooh!! I would ask for baklava but that’s probably way too sweet for your man.”“Hah, well, maybe I can make you some baklava too, if this goes over well.”Kirby grins wide, their ears flicking back and forth in excitement.“Yes!! What’s this guy like again? Gimme something to work with.”You quickly summarize your previous findings.“Hmmm… You know what that sounds a lot like? My Oma used to make these little Yuletide cookies that sound a lot like that, with the spices and the orange peel.”“Huh. Those do sound familiar.”“I dunno, I forget…”After a cursory scroll through your respective devices, Kirby manages to find the name.“These, these! Pfeffernuse!” They exclaim in excitement and shove their device towards you, pointing to the screen with their other hand.“Ah- I can whip these up for sure...” You reply, scrolling down to skim through the ingredients list.The cookies come together relatively quickly- you could knead dough in your sleep after growing up in your parents’ bakery. And, as expected, they make your shop smell like a Yuletide candle stall, which it seems every customer you have over the course of the afternoon seems to feel compelled to comment on- It doesn’t get old at all.“Here they are.” You present the serving dish filled with pfeffernusse to Kirby, then take one of the small, shiny cookies for yourself.By general standards, they’re quite good. Very flavorful.But for your specific purposes; the shiny glaze is too sweet; and the cookie itself is too heavy and too dense. There’s no way that Carlyle is going to like these…“Oh, wow!!” Kirby says your name in a shrill tone, almost a squeal around a mouthful of cookie. “Amazing!! Divine!! These are absolutely perfect, just like she used to make!! If he doesn’t like these, his tastebuds are broken!!!”“Hahah- I’m glad you like them.” You feel the smile spreading out onto your face.“You’re the beeeest-”Honestly, seeing your new friend’s reaction makes it worth it to have made them anyway, even knowing from the start that they weren’t going to bag you a win. Luckily, you manage to reserve some for Carlyle to at least try later, before the ecstatic faun manages to devour the whole batch.Later that day, the dwindling overcast daylight from the encroaching evening creates a lonely, gloomy atmosphere in your empty shop. The uneasy feeling that always seems to reappear when you’re alone starts to creep back in, and you can’t help but worry that Carlyle’s not coming today. Perhaps the on-and-off rain is keeping him from stopping by. You’ve only seen him show up on foot, and even if he drove there’s not any ample parking on this street.Or maybe he’s not coming back, period. Maybe he’s gotten bored of whatever this little thing between you is? You couldn’t blame him.After all, you don’t know each other all that well at all. You’ve only seen each other a total of five times now, basically in passing. You wouldn’t even know he was a lawyer if he hadn’t specifically used the word ‘case’ when referring to his job and mentioned the courthouse before.And the curse… Well. You know what the letter said by heart now. Withering before blooming, and all of that.It’s nearly to the point of you giving up and just going about your normal closing procedures when the familiar jingle plays. And while the notification sound and the name on the order is familiar, the order itself is not at all.Usually, as you’ve learned, you see an order for half a dozen cupcakes- always a variety, except for whomever always orders your lemon meringue flavor without fail.But this evening, he’s ordered… a disposable cutlery kit.No cake, no cupcakes, no other items at all. Just that.You tilt your head at the screen, wondering what it could possibly mean.After a bit of deliberation, you take a single cutlery kit from the open box and set it on the counter top.Moments pass as you stare at the lonely item on the counter, contemplating the situation with only the ubiquitous smooth jazz playing on the overhead speakers to keep you sane.…Should you brew coffee?But the minutes tick by, with still no sign of Carlyle.You decide not to, not wanting to waste it if he's not coming. You fight the urge to either break into uncontrollable laughter or equally uncontrollable tears.The rain has picked up enough that you can hear it audibly pattering against the panes of your shop windows.Time marches on.You sigh. You drum your fingertips on the counter top. You glance at the clock.It's two minutes past close.You’ve finally moved to turn the neon sign declaring your shop as open off for the evening, and just as you’re standing there pressing down the switch you see Carlyle a few paces down the sidewalk, walking towards the shop underneath the protection of a clear umbrella.He stops in his tracks, looking at the darkened sign and then back down at you on the other side of the glass, seeming at a loss for how to proceed.After a second of stalemate, you push open the still unlocked door.“Carlyle?”He finishes the rest of the walk as quickly as he can without splashing through the accumulating puddles in his leather shoes.“Hey. Sorry I'm late."“Hi! I’m- I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure what you meant by a cutlery set.”“I planned on going home early today, so no cupcake order from the ladies this evening. I wanted to let you know I was still coming, but I realized I had no way of knowing what you’d make to order it for myself, so.” He smirks faintly and shrugs beneath the umbrella, the shoulder pads on his suit lifting up slightly with the motion. “That was the solution I chose. You eat with cutlery, so: I'm still coming to eat.”“It's okay. That’s actually pretty clever." You beam. You don’t care in the slightest that you’re already closed- you’re just happy he showed up. You motion with your hand for him to enter. "Come in, come in. You’re going to get soggy.”He obliges, closes his umbrella, then shakes it off before he steps completely inside."I suppose the weather held you up?""Yes, the train was delayed. There was a large rain spirit blocking off the tunnel, it was an entire ordeal.”“Well, that would certainly explain the sudden rain. It wasn’t on the forecast this morning.” You chuckle nervously.“I don’t want to intrude, since it took me long enough to get here that you’re closed now.” He motions to the sign. He’s always been courteous enough to punctually depart when you’ve turned the sign off, cutting off your conversation far earlier than you’d like at times. “We don’t have to do this today if it would be a hassle.”“Oh, no, it’s no bother- it’s pouring out now, you can’t walk back to the station in that- even with an umbrella. At least stay until it passes.” You reach out and gently touch his forearm for effect. Then, you recoil like you’ve touched a hot stovetop, realizing you’re probably being a bit too comfortable with him when you don’t even know how he feels about physical touch from a relative stranger. You move the culprit to stroke the back of your own head for comfort instead. “Er, if you wanted to, of course. We could sit at one of the tables for a while and have a chat…”"That sounds like exactly what I need right now." He gives you one of his characteristic bright smiles, and you're so close you can see the outline of his wide, slightly protruding canines. He places his contained umbrella in the bottom of the coat rack."Why don't you sit down? I'll go make you some coffee."You do just that, returning with coffee for you both; his in his claimed mug, and yours in one from the regular marbled set. You can’t help but laugh at the stark difference between the color of your respective drinks, perhaps being on the very far end of the spectrum in shade, seeing as he likes his with no additions and you with as much cream and sugar you can reasonably put into yours.When you return, he’s sitting at one of the tables, looking out the window. He’s removed his suit jacket and draped it across the back of the chair. You nearly drop the mugs as you’re coming down the stairs as you miss the last step on the flight, because you’re too focused on the how aesthetically pleasing you find the sight- emotionally evocative, like you’ve taken a wrong turn in your own shop and walked into some sort of sad, tragically beautiful painting.After delivering the (thankfully unspilled) coffee, you turn back to the counter to grab the plate of pfeffernusse. You set the cutlery set down, as well.“I don’t think you’ll need this for the cookies, but… you did already pay for it.” You say with as straight a face as you can manage.Carlyle laughs a deep, rich laugh- somehow gravelly and smooth at the same time. He takes the cutlery kit and slides it into the breast pocket of his jacket where it’s hanging on the chair behind him with a pointed smirk, before turning his attention to the cookies on the table in front of him.You take a seat across from him, hoping you don’t look as obviously captivated as you feel.You’re used to having a countertop between you, so this is a new experience. It certainly feels more intimate, like you’re having a coffee break with a friend rather than a customer you’ve developed a bizarre crush on. You’re close enough now that you can’t help but notice all the subtle details of the stone texture of his face- the small divots and minor cracks, and the faint lines of erosion where water must have chosen its path down his face countless times.“These look a bit familiar somehow.” Carlyle selects one of the cookies and rotates it between his fingers in observation, watching the overhead light glint off the shiny coating.“I don’t think you’re going to like them.” You say, watching him inspect the small treat through an inquisitive look on his face. “But I made them for a friend earlier, so I thought I’d have you try them anyway.”He’s quiet for an uncommonly long amount of time as he eats the cookie- but not in the good, stunned-into-silence way you’ve been dreaming about seeing. He looks tired. He looks wistful. He looks sad.It goes on so long that you wonder if you should say something, until you finally do.“...Carlyle?”“Hahah… Sorry, spaced out a bit there. I’m sort of a mess today.”“Is everything alright? You seem unhappy.” You may not be very familiar with him yet, but you’re not so dense as to have not noticed he’s acting much more muted than normally. “I hope the pfeffernusse weren’t that bad…” You laugh quietly to try to lighten the mood.“Oh, no- Not at all. Nothing you’ve made has been anywhere close to bad in quality.” He smiles, and you try desperately not to reel from the compliment. “It’s just too sweet for me. Too heavy. The flavor is great, though. Smells like Yuletide morning as a kid.”“Did you also have a grandmother who made these?” You laugh. “It seems like everyone who’s come into my shop today has had one.”“Ah, no. My Mom made something kind of like them, but they were rolled in powdered sugar instead.” Then a realization clearly lights up his brown eyes. “So actually yes, I suppose I technically did have a Grandma who made them. But I didn’t know her before she was a statue.”“Oh- Did you hate sweets as a wee little stone man as well?” You can’t help but laugh, covering your mouth picturing an overly formal gargoyle child. “I bet you did.”Your laughter is infectious, and you can see his beige spaded tail swishing around the chair legs animatedly.“I did! Mom always left some out of the sugar for me.”“Damn, that’s smart. I should’ve thought of that.…” You ponder, tapping your lip with your fingertips and avoiding his eyes.“No reason to, honestly. They were still a little too sweet, even when she didn’t. I’m sure your friend enjoyed them though, so they fulfilled their main purpose.”“They did… So, if it’s not my baking, what’s got you so down, then?” You ask, then hastily add: “If you don’t mind me prying.”“Work.” He says simply. “Work has been difficult for me lately.”“Understandable. I imagine being a lawyer must be quite stressful.”“Not only that- I’m a divorce attorney.” He sighs, rubbing his fingers restlessly along the mug’s handle. “I see people when they’re going through what’s likely the worst time of their lives, every single day. And because of the nature of the job, I can't even offer much in terms of support. I’m not a therapist. Ultimately, all I can really do is make sure my client isn’t being shafted.”“Oh, that does sound draining.” You look down into your ridiculously milky coffee to try to hide the wince. You can’t help but wonder if you would’ve needed a divorce attorney if the curse had destroyed your relationship later than it did. You can’t help but feel perversely relieved- at least you didn’t have to go to court over your heartbreak. “What made you choose that field?”“I didn’t, really. I used to do criminal defense. I was moved to civil cases a few years ago. I do enjoy my job, for the most part. Most of the time, it’s easy enough to separate myself. …It’s when something is hitting a little too close to home- that’s when it’s hard.”“Close to home?”“Yes. My parents were married for thirty-five years- owned their house, fully grown kids, perfect example of a good relationship and they decided to just- get divorced a few months ago, out of nowhere. I mean clearly it wasn’t out of nowhere to them, logically, but it was a shock to me.”“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. That must be hard to come to terms with, even as an adult. Especially when it’s a surprise.”“The irony isn’t lost on me, believe me.” He swirls his half-full coffee in the mug, a grim smile on his face as he takes another long sip. “Sometimes I feel like I’m cursed.”“Cursed?” You say, barely louder than a whisper. You haven’t told him about your own curse- so you know he must not know the weight of using that word with you, but it slices into your chest all the same.“Yes, not literally of course, but as if working with geasa all this time has rubbed off on me- like the magic itself has backfired on me somehow.” He takes a deep breath of air and shakes his head. “I know I’m just being dramatic. I would know if my magic was off. I was fine when they told me months ago, then- It just didn’t feel real until I went to help them pack up my childhood home this past weekend. I’ve felt down ever since.”“I know how that feels…” You quickly course-correct. “I mean, how hard that is- packing up a place you loved like that. It’s like having to physically detach from part of yourself.”“From such a heartfelt description, I assume you’ve had to as well?”“Yeah. My fiance broke up with me last autumn. Lived together for years, and I was the one that moved out- That’s how I ended up opening shop here.”“I’m so sorry.” Carlyle says, genuine concern in his voice. ”That must have been incredibly hard for you.”“It was… But it’s in the past.” You lie with a sad smile. Maybe sometime soon, you’ll manage to convince yourself…“Do you want to talk about it?”“I’d rather not.” It’s bad enough feeling like that loss will swallow you whole at any moment. It’s only even more mortifying to be reopening the wound once again in front of the handsome regular you’re crushing on.Carlyle nods, clearly intrigued but not pushing you for any more information. There is a short, surprisingly comfortable stretch of you both sitting in relative silence apart from the rain pattering on the shop window and the low background music of the shop.Carlyle finally clears his throat.“At least there’s always coffee,” He sighs in catharsis.“True. In your favorite mug, at that.” You chuckle, eyes resting on the familiar lettering. Strangely, seeing it in Carlyle’s hands, it doesn’t fill you with nearly the same heart wrenching sadness as it used to.“I hope you don’t find it tasteless that I’ve claimed it, given what sounds like the painful context.”“Ah, no, not at all- If anything, it’s making me feel a lot better about the whole thing.”“I’m just saying- he can’t change his mind and come back for it now.” Carlyle smiles at you from behind the cup. “I’ve become very attached.”You somehow manage to speak through your flustered laughter and your heart trying to race out of your chest.“Haha- I don’t think you have to worry much about that…”