Elin returned with more pastries, carefully balanced in her hands, and set the plates between them with a gentleness that betrayed her lingering nervousness. The buttery scent of fresh croissants and sugar-dusted Danishes drifted between them, filling the quiet space that had once been filled so easily by laughter and easy conversations.
She placed a mug of coffee beside her own seat, then finally lowered herself into the chair across from him. The legs scraped faintly against the tiled floor, a small reminder of how quiet the bakery felt without customers.
Her fingers wrapped around her coffee cup, absorbing the warmth. She brought it to her lips, taking a slow sip to buy herself a moment. The rich bitterness grounded her just enough to steady her voice.
"Well," she murmured, swirling her coffee, watching the ripples instead of his face. "Where do I even start? Three months is... a lot." She took another careful sip, more for the motion than the taste. "Maybe I should start simple. How was work?"
Axton didn't smile.
The faint curve of his lips appeared, but it didn't reach his eyes. His gaze was fixed on her, as if he was afraid to look anywhere else and lose her again.
"Elin," he said, quietly and firmly. "We can talk about work later."
She blinked, startled by the gentle seriousness in his tone.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, the sleeves of his dress shirt slightly wrinkled.
"How are you?" he asked, the words carrying more weight than she expected. Not shallow politeness. Not a casual check-in. But a question he had been holding onto for months. "Really. Tell me how you are."
His voice softened, deep and warm, drawing her back into the present.
Elin's breath hitched faintly. She looked down at her mug, fingers tightening around the ceramic. Her throat felt thick, her heart too loud in her chest.
She tried to laugh it off, but her voice came out quieter, trembling at the edges.
"I... I'm still figuring that out." She lifted her eyes to him, her expression open in a way she hadn't allowed in months. "Some days I'm okay. Some days I don't even realize I'm not eating until my co-worker shoves a sandwich in my hands. I smile a lot, but it feels like I'm using every brick in the bakery to hold myself together."
Her eyes softened, distant for a moment, as if she were sorting through weeks of tangled emotions and unfinished thoughts.
"I've gotten used to having you around," she said quietly. "Your voice. Your messages. The way you'd just... show up when I needed grounding, even when I didn't admit it." A faint smile tugged at her lips, then faded. "Cutting myself off from you felt like ripping out a piece of my routine... a piece of my day. And forcing myself not to reach out—it hurt. It hurt more than I expected."
She took a shaky breath, eyes drifting to the croissant in front of him as if it was easier to confess to food than the man sitting inches away.
"I thought space was what I needed. I told myself it would give me clarity. That if I could survive without talking to you, then maybe all those feelings would settle." She shook her head, a soft, humourless sound escaping her. "But it didn't work. Not even close. You stayed in my head. Every day. I kept waking up expecting a text from you. I kept looking at the door thinking you'd walk through it. It was like my brain refused to let me move on."
Axton exhaled sharply, the sound almost pained. He hesitated only a second before interrupting, his tone gentle, as if he were afraid to push too hard. "If you missed me that much," he asked, searching her expression, "why didn't you text me? Or come find me? Why stay in the silence if it hurt you so deeply?"
"Because I don't trust myself with you."
Elin said it so quietly Axton almost wondered if he imagined it. Her fingers curled in toward her palm, nails grazing her skin as if she were trying to keep the words from trembling out of her.
"I'm scared," she continued, her gaze fixed on the small swirl of steam rising from her drink. "Not of you. I'm scared of what being with you turns me into."
Axton frowned, not in confusion but in concern, his body leaning forward the slightest inch as if pulled by instinct.
Elin shook her head, strands of hair brushing her cheeks as she tried to find her voice.
"Every time I'm with you... everything feels bigger. Louder. My emotions, my choices, my reactions. I get reckless. I jump before I look. I forget everything I've learned about protecting myself." She pressed her lips together, breath coming out uneven. "And someone dangerous like Sebastian doesn't even have to try. People like him look for cracks. Weak spots. Places where they can hit the hardest."
Her throat tightened. She reached up, rubbing a slow, shaky circle against her sternum as if trying to soothe something raw beneath her ribs.
"When I think about us," she said, "I don't imagine peaceful things. I imagine all the ways someone like him could use what I feel for you to hurt us. To turn me against you. To twist things so badly that we fall apart again." Her voice thickened, her next breath catching as she blinked back the threat of tears. "And it terrifies me. Because I know myself. I know how easily I panic. How easily I push people away or pull them too close. I know how messy I get when I love someone too much."
She hesitated, shoulders curling slightly inward. "And I do love you." The words came out soft but steady, like a confession she had been carrying for far too long. Her cheeks warmed, her eyes lowering again, but she didn't take it back.
"I love you," she whispered, "and that's the problem. I still do. I never stopped. But right now, I don't trust myself not to ruin this. Not to ruin you." Her hand opened slowly on the table, palm trembling as if her body was betraying everything she tried to keep hidden. "I'm scared that wanting you this much will make me do something reckless again. Scared that I won't be strong enough if someone tries to tear us apart."
Her eyes finally lifted to his, full of fear and longing and honesty she could no longer shield. "That's why I stayed away. That's why it hurt so much. Because loving you feels like standing on a cliff, and I don't know if jumping means I fall... or if you'll catch me."
Axton reached across the table and took her hands gently, as if he were afraid she might pull away. His fingers wrapped around hers with a soft squeeze that tried to anchor her back to him. Her hands were cold, and he rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles without thinking, as though he could coax the fear out of her skin.
He felt steadier now. The heaviness that had clung to him earlier had loosened a little, replaced by a fragile sense of clarity. Even the small bit of food he managed to eat seemed to help his body breathe again, allowing his mind to settle enough for his heart to speak.
"Elin," he said quietly, his voice carrying a firmness he rarely used. "Listen to me for a moment." He waited, watching her eyes lift toward him, guarded but searching. "I won't let anyone tear us apart again. Not ever. I promise you that."
His throat tightened, and he worked through the knot with a slow inhale. "I hate that it took losing you to realize I hadn't been giving you what you deserved. I thought that as long as I kept you close, as long as you were beside me, no one could hurt you. I thought my presence alone was enough." He let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sinking a little. "But I never stopped to see how much you were carrying alone. How much I should have done differently."
For a moment, he almost leaned forward to pull her against him, but he paused, holding himself still. He wanted her in his arms more than he wanted air, but this moment wasn't about easing his own ache. It was about giving her space to breathe her truth, even if it punched holes through his chest.
His gaze lowered to their joined hands. Her fingers fit against his as naturally as breath, and the familiarity of that connection twisted something tender inside him.
His thoughts drifted back to the life he had lived before meeting her. Ever since he had taken control of the company nearly ten years ago, his world had shrunk to a narrow cycle of meetings, deadlines, boardrooms, and signatures that never seemed to end. His nights were filled with contracts, not conversations. His mornings with email threads, not warmth.
Relationships came and went with the same shallow rhythm, blurred faces that offered distraction but never connection. He had convinced himself he wasn't built for anything deeper. That he didn't have the space for it. That he didn't need it.
And then there was Elin.
A woman with tired eyes and flour on her cheek, standing behind a counter with a tray of pastries that smelled like comfort.
He had been a lost man in a foreign country, worn down by expectations and loneliness, trying to find air in a place that didn't feel like his own.
And then she had offered him a croissant with a shy smile that warmed him more than the coffee ever did.
Axton's lips curved before he even realized it. "You know," he murmured, eyes softening, "I never expected anything when I walked into that little bakery. I didn't even know what I was hoping to find." His thumb brushed her skin again, slower this time. "But you... you were like sunlight. Quiet. Warm. And somehow exactly what I didn't know I needed."
He looked at her fully then, no shields, no distance, just sincerity settling deep in his voice.
"I've never loved anyone the way I love you, Elin. And I'm not letting fear or anyone else take this away from us again."
Elin's lips parted, a million things on the tip of her tongue, but before she could find the words, Axton shook his head gently, cutting her off—not harshly, but with the kind of quiet authority that made her pause.
"Wait," he said, his voice low and steady, carrying an intensity that made the air between them feel charged. "I know words are cheap. I know talking isn't enough. Promises are easy to make, but proving them... that's different."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking onto hers, unflinching. "I will be better for you. I'll show you. Not with speeches or empty gestures, but with everything I am, every day. You've waited long enough, Elin. I won't ask you to take my word at face value anymore. I'll earn it."
Elin opened her mouth, trying again, but the knot of emotion in her chest made it impossible to get a coherent sentence out. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, as if holding herself together for the first time in months.
Axton straightened then, the movement deliberate, and her eyes followed him. There was no distance in his heart, no hesitation in his stride, only resolve. "I'll prove it to you, Elin," he said, softer now, almost a whisper meant just for her, yet somehow resonating through the small bakery like a vow.
He moved toward the door, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of them. Elin's chest tightened, the sight of him leaving making her pulse race, yet she didn't reach for him. He had given her this choice, and that was part of the proof—he trusted her, even as he risked his own vulnerability.
Her voice finally found its way out, small but trembling, "Axton..."
He paused at the door, a hand on the handle, not turning completely around but allowing her to meet his gaze. The light from the bakery framed him, and for a heartbeat, it felt as though time had slowed. "I'll be back," he said, a promise heavier than any words she had heard in months. "And when I return, I'll make sure there's no question left about how much I care... about how much you mean to me."