If You Never Left

Chapter 7 : He takes what?

I searched for my phone in my purse and unlocked it. It was 4 A.M. and no missed calls. Makes sense.

Who would have thought about me or taken care if I were at home or not. I hid my disappointment and walked out the car only to find out I hadn’t reached home.

It was not my apartment. It was not New York city. It wasn’t the place with chaos and sounds of honks but it was quiet.

It was still quite dark and after completing scrutinizing the surroundings with quiet roads and more trees with clean streets.

I realised; we were in the middle of a small town. Far from the noise of the chitter chatter or morning gmt. Far from the loud music and rush of New York. Far from the hustling of going up for my work and stumbling upon my shoes at least 3 times to be precise.

It was serendipity. The sky was clear and I could still see the moon. Full and Clear. I can see tiny stars glittering through my eyes. I can feel I can breathe again.

I looked over Austin with satisfaction for taking me here in the stillness of the earth yet confusion on his intention of taking me here. Before I could open my mouth to speak.

He showed me the keys. Keys of something and I could not understand a thing about it. He moved his hand forward and I unintentionally gave mine to him.

As we walked for some metres near the streets as I saw a closed shutter and read the headboard that said, “The Smith’s Bakery”.

Glad it was closed. Yet another failed try. We both looked over the bakery. Still closed as Austin leaves my hand and opens and starts putting the keys in the lock of the bakery.

What in this world is happening? Did he steal the keys or asked for it? Is the owner of this shop some sort of relative of his? Or did he really ask the owner to keep him at gunpoint? And the shutter opened.

It was dark as I took a step near it and Austin took my hand and moved me inside. It was then after, he switched on the lights and it was one of my favourite sites I ever saw.

This bakery shop was designed in an old vintage style with wooden floors and cottage styled lamps. To my front, I could see some tables and chairs all made with what I suppose was pure oak with a small flower pot in the middle which had 3 roses in it. Pink, White and Red.

This extended to every table. To my left, I can see a wall of memories, with many customers' remarks and selfies with what I suppose was the owner with a chef cap.

In my right, Austin behind the counter which had some cakes and desserts in the line. Wait, behind the counter. In utter shock seeing him wear an apron, moving up his sleeves to his elbow and tearing a packet of flour and putting it in a bowl- WAIT.

Is he? Is he baking cupcakes? Is he cooking? For me.

“Austin, what are you doing?” I said to him with my state of confusion and shock. He seemed calm.

“I am baking cupcakes Ms. Vermont.” His hands did not stop as he placed a swiffer above it and he started adding sugar and salt with baking soda, sieving them up.

“You wanted to eat cupcakes and we couldn’t get any so I am baking it myself.” He kept on working.

My body stiffened. Because, this was the farthest thing I imagined him to do. My imagination was limited to him dropping me off to my apartment with a stern look.

Never in my life I thought that someone or Austin Stafford especially, would bake cupcakes for me. Cupcakes make me happy, their tiny size and cute icing on top takes my heart and it's taste as it reaches my mouth, sends me to heaven. Sweet and ruffly.