The days passed in a blur of flour, sugar, and late nights at the bakery. Eunice had grown accustomed to the rhythm of the work, but Peter's presence continued to linger like an unspoken tension in the air. At first, his visits seemed harmless enough. He'd stop by to chat, sometimes bringing a cup of coffee, sometimes offering a flirtatious compliment.
But then it became more.
One evening, after closing time, Mercy had asked Eunice to stay late to prepare some cakes for a special order. Eunice worked diligently, her hands moving mechanically as she decorated the pastries. Peter arrived just as she was finishing, carrying two bottles of wine and a couple of glasses.
"Mercy's gone out for the evening. I thought we could celebrate the good work you've been doing," Peter said, his voice smooth, almost coaxing.
Eunice hesitated. "I'm not sure about that. I still have a lot of cleaning up to do."
Peter smiled warmly. "Don't worry about that. We can clean up together after. A little drink won't hurt. Just one glass."
Eunice glanced at the wine, then back at Peter. Her gut told her to say no, but her loneliness and exhaustion from the long days of work pushed her to accept. She needed a break.
"Just one glass," she agreed, reluctantly.
Peter poured the wine, handing her a glass before sitting down across from her at the small table in the back of the bakery. The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of the overhead lights, suddenly felt intimate, and Eunice couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks. Peter's eyes never left her, his smile never fading.
"You know, Eunice," Peter began, his voice lower now, "I think you're more than just a hard worker. There's something about you… something special."
Eunice forced a smile, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. "I'm just here to work. I don't have much else to offer."
"Don't be so modest," Peter said, leaning in slightly. "I see you. I notice the way you carry yourself, the way you smile when no one's looking. You've got a fire in you."
Eunice shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes dropping to the wine glass in her hand.
"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," Peter continued, his voice softening. "But sometimes… people just connect. You know?"
She glanced at him quickly, catching the intensity in his eyes. Her heart raced, and her palms grew clammy. She wanted to leave, to escape the suffocating tension in the air, but her legs felt like they were rooted to the floor.
Before she could gather her thoughts, Peter reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. His touch was warm, and his fingers brushed against her skin in a way that sent a strange shiver down her spine.
"I—" Eunice started, but the words caught in her throat.
"Eunice," Peter murmured, leaning closer, his voice low and intimate, "I think we both know what's happening here."
She tried to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened just enough to make her pause. The air was thick, and her breath caught in her throat as her pulse quickened. She had to get out of there. She had to leave before things went any further.
"I— I should go," she stammered, standing up abruptly, knocking her chair back with a loud crash.
Peter quickly stood too, his face suddenly serious, the charming smile replaced by something more intense. "Eunice, wait. I didn't mean to—"
But it was too late. Eunice was already backing away toward the door.
"I need to go home," she said firmly, avoiding his eyes as she grabbed her bag.
"Eunice, please," Peter's voice softened, but she didn't wait to hear the rest. She pushed the door open and rushed out into the cool night air, her heart pounding in her chest.
The next few days were a blur of confusion and guilt. Eunice tried to push the memory of the encounter with Peter out of her mind. She focused on her work, keeping her distance from him whenever he came to the bakery. But every time he walked in, her heart skipped a beat.
Peter didn't make it easy. He continued to send her small notes, offering to help with the work, to bring her coffee. He would linger near her, casually brushing past her or leaning close enough that she could smell his cologne.
One afternoon, as Eunice was kneading dough in the back, Peter appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.
"Eunice," he said quietly, "I can't stop thinking about you. I know you're not like the other women I know, and I respect that. But I can't deny what I feel."
Eunice's hands froze in the dough, her chest tightening with dread. She had already decided that she would not get involved with anyone, especially not her boss's boyfriend. Yet here he was, confessing his feelings.
"Peter," Eunice said, her voice shaky but firm, "I can't. I won't."
Peter stepped closer, his gaze softening. "Eunice, we don't have to make it complicated. We can just… be together, if only for a while."
The temptation was strong, and for a moment, Eunice's resolve wavered. She thought of the lonely nights, the quiet longing in her heart. But then she remembered her mother's face, her promise to stay true to herself.
"I'm sorry," Eunice said, backing away. "I can't do this."
Peter's expression hardened, but he said nothing. He turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Eunice standing there, shaken but resolute.
That evening, when the bakery closed, Eunice sat at the small table in the back, staring at her hands. She felt as though she had been torn in two. Part of her wanted to give in, to let Peter's words wrap around her like a blanket of warmth and affection. But she couldn't.
She knew that whatever had been building between them was a dangerous game. And deep down, Eunice knew that if she gave in now, she would regret it.
But the next time Peter came into the bakery, his smile was different. There was no charm in it. Only coldness. And that was when Eunice realized that she had already crossed a line—one that she would soon regret.