The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains of her bedroom, casting a golden glow across her sleepy face. Outside, the hills were alive with the earthy scent of damp earth, a familiar, calming smell.
But it wasn't just the scent of the hills that reached her; something else—something sweet, warm, and delicious—wafted through the air. The smell of cookies and pastries stirred her senses, and without thinking, she slowly opened her eyes.
Mr. Hargrove must be baking, Eve thought lazily, stretching her arms above her head and running a hand through her messy hair. But the scent was so inviting, so irresistible, that she couldn't help but follow it.
Still half-asleep, Eve shuffled out of her bed, rubbing her eyes. Her hair tousled from sleep, she made her way toward the kitchen.
Stepping through the doorway, her sleepy mind was jolted fully awake.
There was Vincent, standing by the oven, in a chef's hat and an apron. He turned at the sound of her footsteps. "Good morning, Eve," he said, his voice as smooth and warm as the pastries he was baking. His face lighted up with an easy smile.
Her heart skipped a beat. Vincent? Here? Eve felt her face flush instantly, mortified that she was standing before him in her most unguarded state—sleepy, unkempt, in her pajamas, her hair a mess.
Eve stiffened with embarrassment, feeling every ounce of her morning grogginess hit her at once. Her instinct was to turn and run, but her feet refused to cooperate. She was frozen, eyes wide, staring at the man who, impossibly, looked even more handsome than ever.
With the chef's hat on his head and his broad shoulders framed by the apron, he was a vision—like something straight out of a magazine. The thought crossed her mind before she could push it away. How does he manage to look this good... while baking?
"Why are you here at this hour?" Eve finally managed to ask, her voice sounding far too small for her liking.
Vincent chuckled. He placed one hand on his chest and raised the other in a mock salute. "To surprise you with some wonderful cookies and pastries, made by none other than yours truly."
Eve couldn't help but roll her eyes, even as her face remained warm with embarrassment. "Vincent, you are unbelievable," she muttered, trying to maintain some composure despite the fact that her heart was still racing.
"I'll... I'll just freshen up," she stammered, quickly spinning on her heels, eager to escape his gaze and the flurry of emotions building inside her.
Vincent called after her, his voice teasing. "We're waiting for you, Eve. And by we, I mean me and my cookies." He cleared his throat dramatically, making her laugh despite herself.
Eve returned with her face freshly washed and hair neatly combed. She found the table spread with an array of beautifully baked treats—cookies, muffins, and pastries, all perfectly golden and smelling divine. The sight before her was so far from what she expected that it almost felt like a dream.
"Wow, these are a treat for my eyes," Eve said, taking a seat at the table and eyeing the spread.
"Thank you," Vincent replied with a soft smile, clearly pleased with her reaction.
"When did you come here, and when did you start baking all of this?" she asked, unable to hide her curiosity.
"I came early, just after sunrise," Vincent said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her. "I didn't want to wake you, so I thought I'd surprise you with breakfast instead."
Eve raised an eyebrow, still slightly stunned by his thoughtfulness. "You're full of surprises, Vincent."
He shrugged, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "I enjoy baking."
"Where did you learn to bake?" Eve asked as she took a bite of one of the cookies. It melted in her mouth, the perfect balance of sweetness and warmth.
"My mother taught me," Vincent replied, his voice softening with the mention of her. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze becoming distant. "When I was a kid, we used to spend hours in the kitchen together. She loved baking, and I used to help her with everything. Those were some of the best memories of my childhood."
Eve smiled, sensing the fondness in his tone. She wanted to know more, to understand the person he was beneath the layers he often kept hidden. "It sounds like you were really close."
"We were," Vincent said, his smile fading slightly as a shadow passed over his features. He hesitated, his eyes clouding with something dark. "She... she was murdered."
Eve froze, the cookie halfway to her mouth. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't expected that. She placed the cookie down gently, her heart aching for him. "I'm so sorry, Vincent,"
His jaw clenched slightly, the pain in his eyes unmistakable. There was a long pause before Eve spoke again, her voice tentative. "Who... who killed her?"
For a moment, his face was unreadable. Vincent looked down, his hands resting on the table, and then shook his head slightly. "Let's not talk about that now," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "It's a long story... not one for today."
Her heart ached as she watched him retreat into himself, the pain too raw to be fully revealed. She didn't push him further, sensing that it was a wound too deep to probe.
Vincent cleared his throat, trying to shake off the heaviness of the moment. "Let's just enjoy breakfast, okay?" He gave her a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Eve nodded, reaching out to touch his hand gently. "Thank you for this... for everything."
Despite the sorrow that lingered in Vincent's eyes, there was also something else—a warmth, a tenderness that made her heart beat just a little faster.