Chapter Five | A Pause in the Rain

It wasn’t meant to rain that day.
She had checked the weather. Twice.

But by the time she reached the bakery, the clouds had made other plans. The wind carried that wild smell—wet leaves, stirred-up soil, something electric hiding in the air. She tugged her hood up and hurried toward the awning, just as the first drops began to fall.

He was already there.

Not by design.
He didn’t look surprised to see her, but he didn’t look expectant either.
He was holding a small paper bag, his other hand tucked in his coat pocket. A blue coat this time.

They both nodded. That kind of nod that says, we keep meeting like this, don’t we?

“I thought you might be here,” he said after a moment.
It wasn’t a line. It was an observation.
Gentle. True.

She smiled. “Apparently, so did the rain.”

He stepped aside, making space for her under the narrow awning. Their shoulders didn’t touch, but they could have.

From inside the bakery window came the glow of hanging lights and a faint warmth that smelled like cinnamon and flour. Someone behind the counter was laughing. It felt like the kind of place where everything bad in the world couldn’t quite reach.

“You come here often?” he asked, in the voice of someone who didn’t want the silence to end, but didn’t want to lose her to it either.

“Every Thursday,” she said. “For the scones. I pretend I’m only getting one.”

He held out the paper bag.
“I got two,” he said. “In case someone else forgot their umbrella.”

She took the bag.
Inside were two cranberry orange scones, still warm.
She looked up at him, unsure what to say.

But he didn’t need a thank you.

“Sometimes I come here to write,” he said, gesturing toward the bakery.
“They don’t mind if you stay awhile. And I like the way the windows fog up.”

“I write too,” she said quietly.

He looked at her then—not just at her, but into her.
Like a recognition.

They stood there in the hush of the drizzle, the whole world seeming to slow down around them. It was the kind of rain that didn’t demand retreat. It just asked you to listen.

When it passed, and the sun came back in soft patches, they didn’t say goodbye.

He just said, “Same time next week?”
And she nodded.

As he walked away, she looked down at the bag again.
There was a little note tucked into the fold. In pencil.

“Some days, the sky just wants to be quiet with you.”

She didn’t open the scones right away.
She wanted the moment to last.