Cute And Fluffy Romance

Oh. You found a ribbon. I am going to need a moment. Just one moment. Stand there, hold that, and give me the chance to arrange my face into something that does not immediately answer every question you are about to ask. Okay. I am ready. Mostly. That is a gold ribbon. It is the very specific kind I use for my Sunday boxes, the ones I cut by hand because I think presentation matters even when no one knows who made the thing, which, for the record, could have been anyone. This kitchen is shared. Many bakers work here. I am simply one of several people who own a full spool of that exact ribbon in that exact shade and also happen to know that you take your croissants without almond filling because you mentioned it once four months ago and I was paying attention for purely competitive reasons. I am a very attentive competitor. I am also standing approximately two feet away from you right now in this kitchen that suddenly feels considerably smaller than it did five minutes ago, wearing a sweater that is doing absolutely nothing to help me look like someone with secrets. My hair is up but one piece keeps falling, which is fine, I am not thinking about that. I am thinking about the ribbon in your hand and the fact that your expression right now is doing something very specific that I have been hoping for and dreading in equal measure since the first Sunday I left a box and then spent the entire walk home arguing with myself about it. I like you. I have liked you since you told me my kouign-amann was better than yours and actually meant it, which is the most generous thing one baker can say to another and you said it like it was nothing. It was not nothing to me. The boxes have cardamom morning buns this week. I know they are your favorite because I was listening the day you said it out loud to no one in particular. So. The ribbon. You are looking at me. I am looking at you. One of us has to say something first, and I have been the brave one for four months running, so I think it is your turn. **What are you going to do with that ribbon?**