Three days had passed since Gordon Ramsay had unexpectedly appeared in Bluebell Bakes, tasting Elin's pastries with that signature sharpness that made the world take notice. Three days that had transformed her quiet bakery into the centre of a whirlwind she hadn't anticipated.
The headlines screamed her name across local newspapers. "Singapore Baker Impresses Culinary Icon" read one. Another article featured photographs of her smiling, apron dusted with flour, alongside a grinning Ramsay giving a thumbs up. Social media posts swarmed her feed, tagging the bakery, sharing videos, praising her work. The cozy hum of her little shop had been replaced by a frenzied energy she both loved and feared.
Elin arrived early that morning, the familiar smell of flour and butter comforting, but the bakery felt different—larger somehow, charged with expectation. The familiar chime of the door was drowned by a small crowd already forming outside. Cameras, phones, and the eager chatter of customers hungry for pastries and a glimpse of the baker who had captured Ramsay's attention made her stomach twist in both excitement and nerves.
Axton was already there, leaning casually near the counter, though his sharp eyes missed nothing. He had been her anchor for the past three days, managing the media, calming reporters, and ensuring no one intruded into her space while she worked.
"Elin," he said quietly, catching her gaze as she bustled behind the counter. "I've handled the press outside. Focus on your pastries. Don't let this chaos pull you away."
She shook her head, a mixture of gratitude and stubborn pride lighting her eyes. "You've done enough already. I don't want to trouble you. Go back to your—your empire of CEOs and contracts."
Axton's lips quirked in an amused half-smile. "Empire, huh? That sounds dramatic. But I'll stay right here if it means keeping you sane."
Elin rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress the small laugh that escaped her. The sound felt like a balm against the tension, and for a moment, the crowd outside melted into the background.
Throughout the morning, she moved with precision, hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. She kneaded, folded, and glazed, every movement meticulous. Her regular customers still trickled in, many whispering congratulations, snapping photos discreetly, or leaving small notes of encouragement.
Axton stayed close by, occasionally handing her a tray or a hot coffee, always silently protective. When a reporter pressed forward with a question, he smoothly deflected it with charm, keeping her out of the spotlight unless she chose otherwise.
By afternoon, the bakery had transformed into organized chaos. New faces joined the regular crowd. Tourists, food bloggers, and curious onlookers lined up outside, cameras ready, whispers of "the baker Gordon Ramsay loved" floating through the air.
Elin's hands were sore, her feet ached from standing, and yet her heart swelled with a mix of exhaustion and elation. She stole a quick glance at Axton, who was now seated near the counter, phone pressed to his ear as he coordinated deliveries for one of his global projects. Even in the midst of his CEO responsibilities, he had carved out this moment to be here for her.
She caught his eye, a small grin tugging at her lips. "You've been so busy," she murmured, wiping sweat from her brow.
He offered her a soft smile, hanging up his call. "I've been busier, but this... this is important too." He tilted his head slightly, voice warm. "Seeing you work like this, seeing you in your element—it's worth every meeting I've postponed."
Elin's chest tightened. The chaos around them seemed distant in that moment, replaced by the quiet, steady connection that had grown between them over the past few weeks.
By evening, the bakery finally slowed, the last customers leaving with satisfied smiles and full hands. Elin leaned against the counter, exhausted but radiant, while Axton slipped off his coat and set it aside.
"You've outdone yourself," he said softly, eyes scanning the display of pastries. "Every croissant, every tart... even Gordon Ramsay would be proud."
Her cheeks warmed at the praise, both from him and from the countless others who had watched her rise to this moment. She leaned slightly toward him, her voice quieter, almost shy. "I couldn't have done it without you."
He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, green eyes glimmering. "You could have done it without me. I'm just lucky I get to see it happen—and to be here for it."
She glanced at him, cheeks warm despite the heat of the ovens. "You really don't mind being stuck in the middle of this chaos?"
"I don't mind at all," he said smoothly, though she caught the faint crease in his brow. "But I do mind seeing you stressed. That's my job."
Elin shook her head, laughing softly despite the tension.
Another three days had passed.
Three whole mornings without the familiar jingle of the bakery bell, without Axton's tall frame ducking through the door. No casual smirk as he scanned the rows of pastries. No mischievous green eyes catching hers as he sipped his coffee. No crooked grin when she scolded him for stealing samples from the counter.
Just absence.
The first morning, she told herself he was busy. He had mentioned deadlines, investors, and projects that stretched across continents. She tried to focus on her baking, convincing herself that a little quiet might be nice. But the moment she set a tray of croissants on the counter, she found herself glancing at the door, expecting him to appear. When he didn't, a faint ache settled in her chest.
The second day, she busied herself with preparations for the morning rush. Flour dusted her arms, ovens hummed, and the scent of butter and sugar filled the air, but the usual warmth felt hollow. She hummed to herself, a little louder than usual, trying to fill the empty space, but even the chatter of the regulars couldn't reach the corners of her mind where he should have been.
By the third morning, her patience had frayed. She kneaded dough with too much force, the sticky strands pulling against her fingers as her pout deepened. Each thud of the rolling pin against the counter seemed louder than it should, each puff of flour into the air a silent complaint.
Mrs. Tan, peering over the counter, raised an eyebrow. "Elin, dear, what's with the storm in your kitchen? The dough looks like it's taking a beating."
Elin froze, a bit embarrassed. "I... I guess I'm just... frustrated."
Mrs. Lim, standing nearby and adjusting her apron, chuckled knowingly. "Frustrated or missing someone, hmm?"
Elin blinked, caught off guard. She wiped her hands on her apron, cheeks warming. "I—maybe a little. It's just... quiet without him."
Mrs. Tan nodded sagely, as if she'd known all along. "Ah, the tall one with the green eyes, yes? That explains the extra-thick dough today."
Elin groaned softly, pressing her forehead against the rolling pin. "Exactly. How did you...?"
"Experience," Mrs. Lim said with a wink. "When someone shakes up your heart, even your bread feels it."
Elin lifted her head, a small smile breaking through. "I suppose even my pastries can't escape it, huh?"
Mrs. Tan chuckled. "Not a chance, dear. Not a chance."
Mrs Lim chimed in. "You quarrel, ah?"
Elin nearly dropped her rolling pin. "We didn't quarrel!"
The two aunties exchanged knowing looks, their eyes sparkling with mischief. They giggled like schoolgirls despite their silver hair. "Aiyo, look at her cheeks! Red like strawberry bun!" Mrs. Tan teased, waggling a finger in Elin's direction.
Elin pressed her hands over her face, groaning, wishing the flour-covered apron could somehow shield her embarrassment. She hated how transparent she felt, how obvious her longing was. She did miss him—missed his calmness that seemed to steady her mornings, his teasing that made the mundane fun, even the way he sometimes sprawled across her tiny counter as if he owned the place. The emptiness left behind was louder than she had expected, echoing with every clatter of trays and whir of the oven.
Mrs. Lim leaned over, voice low but teasing. "Three days is a long time, ah? Maybe he's been kidnapped by business men in suits."
Elin snorted, lowering her hands slightly. "Or maybe he's just... busy being a CEO. Probably too important to remember a baker." Her tone was half-laced with sarcasm, half with longing she couldn't hide.
Mrs. Tan shook her head, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. "Ah, Elin, don't fool yourself. Even the busiest CEO wouldn't go three days without a single message if he cared."
Elin muttered under her breath, sliding a tray of golden buns into the oven. "Three days. Not even a text. Hmph. Stupid CEO." She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, hoping it would soothe the ache in her chest.
But as the warmth of the oven seeped into her fingers, the scent of freshly baked bread wrapping around her like a soft hug, she realized something she hadn't wanted to admit. The truth tugged at her stubborn heart in a way that was impossible to ignore. She wanted him there. Not just as a customer popping in for his morning coffee. Not just as a friend who made her mornings brighter. She wanted Axton.
***
The third night, Axton was holed up in his office long past midnight. Papers were spread across his desk like battlefield maps, each document a reminder of deadlines, projections, and decisions that could make or break millions. His tie was loosened, the knot hanging low, and the coffee at his side had gone stone cold hours ago. The hum of the city outside the glass walls was a dull undercurrent, unable to drown the constant rush of his thoughts.
He rubbed at his temples, scrolling through spreadsheets on his laptop. Every chart, every forecast, every color-coded risk analysis demanded attention, yet none of it registered fully. His mind kept slipping, drifting to a certain baker, Elin Chen.
Then, sudden and loud, a sneeze exploded in the quiet of the office. "Achoo!"
His assistant outside the door jumped. Axton frowned, reaching for a tissue, muttering, "Strange."
Before he could settle back into his chair, another sneeze tore through the air. "Achoo!"
He froze, brows lifting. One more—"Achoo!"—and his hand froze mid-gesture.
"...What the hell," he muttered, leaning back in his chair as his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the ceiling like the universe was playing some private joke. "Someone's definitely talking about me."
A ghost of a smile curved his lips. He didn't have to wonder long. The image of Elin popped instantly into his head: flour on her cheek, apron tied too loose, lips pursed in that tiny pout when she was annoyed.
Was she thinking about him? Complaining, maybe. Calling him careless or irresponsible. Or... missing him?
His chest tightened at the thought. He'd promised himself to give her space, to let her think about his question without pressure. But God, every cell in his body wanted to march right back into her bakery and demand to know what was running through that pretty head of hers.
Instead, he closed his laptop with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. For a fleeting moment, he pictured her laughing behind the counter, calling him stupid under her breath.
And damn it—he sneezed again.
A soft knock pulled him out of his thoughts. Before he could answer, the door cracked open and Vivian stepped in, her designer heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She held a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of files in the other.
"You're still here," she said, her voice lilting with a touch of feigned concern. "It's past midnight, Axton. You'll burn yourself out at this rate."
He glanced at her briefly before returning his gaze to the screen. "Deadlines don't wait for sleep."
Vivian crossed the room, setting the files on the corner of his desk. Her perfume lingered in the air, sharp and deliberate, wrapping itself around the office like a net. She tilted her head, studying him. "Still... even the strongest need rest. You've been working nonstop for days. Why not take a break? Dinner? Or... something lighter." Her hand brushed the edge of his desk, a subtle invitation.
Axton's jaw tightened. He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "Not interested, Vivian."
Her smile didn't falter, but her eyes gleamed with something sharper. She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "You've been so distant lately. Ever since that girl..." She let the words hang, then added with a soft laugh, "She's not even in your world, Axton. You deserve someone who understands your life. Someone who can keep up."
For the first time that night, his eyes lifted from the laptop fully, piercing and cold. "Don't," he said quietly, the weight of steel in his tone. "Don't talk about her."
The firmness in his voice made her blink, but she recovered quickly, forcing another gentle smile. "I'm only saying this because I care. You're running yourself into the ground. Why tie yourself down to someone who can't—"
"Vivian." His voice cut clean through the air, final and unyielding. He rose from his chair, standing to his full height, and the shift in his presence was enough to still the words on her lips. "You don't get to decide who belongs in my world. Or in my life."
Silence stretched. Vivian's smile faltered for the first time, but she hid it quickly, retreating a step with a small nod.
"I see," she murmured, straightening her blazer. "Then I won't trouble you any further tonight."