The apartment was quiet, except for the distant hum of a heater and the occasional creak of old wooden floorboards.
Sarah opened the front door in her oversized hoodie, expecting maybe a delivery gone wrong or a flyer. What she found instead made her freeze:
A bouquet of deep red roses.
A sleek white box tied with a crimson ribbon.
A smaller package wrapped in deep emerald paper with a handwritten tag that read: "ForSkeptic."
Her brows furrowed.
She stared at the bundle, unmoving, before slowly picking it up like it might detonate. She brought it inside, shut the door with her hip, and stood in the middle of the living room staring at it all like it had personally offended her.
Chloe padded in from the hallway, yawning, her hair in a messy bun and wearing candy cane pajamas. She blinked blearily, then stopped when she saw the gifts in Sarah's hands.
"Oh—" she perked up. "Did someone leave you a—?"
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "They're for you, Chloe."
"Me?"
She held up the tag wordlessly.
Chloe's eyes darted to the flowers, the boxes — and then slowly, a grin crept across her face.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "It's him. The café guy. The online one!"
Sarah dropped the boxes unceremoniously onto the coffee table. "Well, you charmed him. You can deal with the aftermath."
Chloe blinked. "Wait… you're not happy?"
Sarah crossed her arms, her voice flat. "Do I look happy, Chloe?"
There was a pause. Chloe opened her mouth, then closed it.
Sarah looked down at the neat wrapping, the carefully chosen ribbon, the flowers that were far too elegant to be last-minute. "This is ridiculous. I pretended to be you for onehour, and now I've got some lovesick stranger sending gifts to my door like we're living in a fairytale."
Chloe tried to lighten the moment. "I mean... technically I'm the stranger. You're the poetry muse, remember?"
Sarah shot her a look. "Don't."
Chloe's smile faltered.
"You lied to him. You lied through me. And now this—" she gestured to the gifts, her voice cracking with frustration, "—this isn't sweet. It's uncomfortable. And it's your mess."
Chloe's expression fell. "I didn't mean to push you into anything. I just… didn't think he'd actually—"
"Exactly," Sarah cut in. "You didn't think. You never think when it comes to this stuff. You throw people into your chaos and hope someone else will clean it up."
Chloe looked hurt. "That's not fair."
"No, what's not fair is that I'm standing here holding flowers from a man who doesn't even know my name."
Silence hung between them, heavy and awkward.
"I didn't ask for this," Sarah added quietly, more to herself now.
Chloe looked down, her voice small. "I just thought… maybe it would be nice. For you. To be seen."
"I don't want to be seen like this." Sarah's voice softened, but the edge remained. "Not as someone else's fantasy."
Another long pause.
"Do you want me to return them?"
Sarah already walking toward her room. "I don't care what you do with them."
And then she disappeared, the door clicking shut behind her.
Chloe stood there in the quiet, the roses between them like a question that no one wanted to answer.
Later that evening, Chloe sat curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under her, flipping aimlessly through a fashion magazine she wasn't reading. Her hot chocolate sat untouched.
Sarah hovered near the hallway entrance, fingers twitching at her side.
"I was too harsh," she finally said.
Chloe looked up.
"I—" she exhaled, the words dragging behind her ribs. "I didn't mean what I said. Not all of it."
Chloe put the magazine aside. "You kind of did, though."
"I know," Sarah said. Her eyes dropped to the floor. "But that doesn't make it okay."
There was a pause.
Then Sarah moved slowly to the edge of the couch, lowering herself beside Chloe like someone testing the temperature of deep water.
"I've been… overwhelmed. With everything. I don't know how to be this person people expect. I'm not charming. I'm not spontaneous. I can't do romance the way you do."
Chloe offered a faint smile. "You don't have to."
A pause. Then.
"Well, you scared me, a little. I've never seen you that angry before."
"I was scared too... I'm sorry," Sarah said again, softer now.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Chloe picked up the wrapped gift box from the table, raised an eyebrow, and said, "I accept your apology… by opening these."
"I think we should return them."
Chloe, sprawled comfortably on the couch with a blanket tucked around her legs, blinked at her. "Return… pastries? You want to return pastries?"
"And the gift," Sarah added. "He shouldn't have sent these. It's too much. I didn't ask for this. This feels… pointed. Romantic. Intentional."
Chloe gave her a look. "Yes. That's usually how flirting works."
Sarah scowled. "This isn't funny."
Chloe's expression softened. She sat up a little, pulling her hair into a lazy bun. "It's not meant to be. But Sarah… maybe just because you're not ready doesn't mean you have to punish him for trying."
"I'm not punishing him."
"You're trying to return pastries."
Sarah sighed, rubbing her temples. "I just think the kindest thing is to be clear. Not… indulge it."
Chloe patted the couch beside her. "Then let me indulge it. Just for tonight. Come on. One pastry. We'll pretend we're heiresses with a secret admirer."
Sarah didn't move.
With exaggerated care, Chloe unfasten the ribbon from the white pastry box and lifted the lid. A faint puff of sweetness rose up — caramel, almonds, butter.
Inside, nestled like treasures, were six intricate pastries. Each one looked sculpted: glazed fruit, sugared petals, delicate gold leaf.
Chloe let out a low whistle. "Okay, this man is dangerous. These are gorgeous."
She held out a fork to Sarah. "Taste one. Just one. That's all I'm asking."
After a moment's hesitation, Sarah sat — not for the sweets, but for Chloe. She took the fork.
"Good," Chloe said, triumphant. "Now the real prize."
She reached for the second box — the gift box — smaller, flatter, wrapped in deep emerald paper with a gold ribbon tied in a crisp knot.
Sarah watched with visible discomfort as Chloe slid the ribbon off.
"This isn't a good idea," she muttered.
Chloe popped the lid open.
They both stared.
Nestled in a bed of velvet was a delicate necklace — fine gold chain, and in the center, a pendant shaped like a droplet of obsidian glass, rimmed in rose gold. Simple, elegant… but unmistakably expensive.
Chloe's breath hitched. "Oh."
Sarah's face paled slightly. "Okay. That's—"
"—a lot," Chloe finished for her. "Yeah."
For once, her voice lacked its usual mischief. She stared at the pendant like she didn't know whether to be delighted or deeply suspicious.
Sarah leaned back, arms crossed tighter. "I told you. We're sending it back."
Chloe looked up at her. "To who? He didn't leave an address."
"I'll go to the bakery. Return it there."
Chloe tilted her head, studying her. "You're scared."
Sarah didn't answer.
Then Chloe picked up the necklace, let it dangle between her fingers like starlight. "You know what? I'll open this — inhonor of your apology." She winked. "That way you can feel properly guilty and festive."
"That's manipulative."
"Thank you," Chloe said sweetly, clasping the necklace around her own neck and fluffing her hair. "And festive."
A long pause.
Sarah finally sighed, resting her forehead against her hand. "This is all going to backfire."
"Maybe," Chloe said, admiring the pendant in the mirror. "But at least it'll backfire tastefully."
Sarah snorted despite herself.
Then softer, almost to herself, "He shouldn't have sent it."
Chloe glanced at her in the reflection. "Maybe he didn't send it to you. Maybe he sent it to the version of you he's been talking to — the girl with thoughts like poetry and silences like winter."
Sarah's expression faltered.
"But here's the twist," Chloe added. "That version? It is you. You just don't believe it yet."
For a moment, the words hung in the air like a breath that hadn't been let go.
Sarah reached out — slowly, carefully — and took the pendant from around Chloe's neck. Chloe didn't resist, just watched her with wide, unreadable eyes.
Sarah lowered it into the box and pressed the lid shut with a quiet finality.
"I'm returning these tomorrow," she said, voice firm. "That's it."
Chloe didn't argue.
She just pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself and leaned back into the couch, her smile fading into something quieter. Thoughtful. Almost sad.
"You're allowed to say no," she murmured. "Just… make sure you're not saying it to things that might matter."
Sarah didn't reply.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°
Next morning, Sarah lingered in the doorway.
"Chloe?"
She looked up. "Hmm?"
Sarah cleared her throat. "Do you remember which pastries were in the box?"
Chloe blinked at her, surprised. "Why?"
"I want to return them. Properly. All of it."
Chloe's face fell slightly — just for a second. Then she forced a half-smile and sat up straighter. "You're seriously doing this?"
Sarah didn't answer right away. "It's the right thing to do."
"He didn't send poisoned éclairs, Sarah. He sent pastries and a pendant, not a marriage proposal."
"I want to replace them. Buy the same ones. So I can… put everything back exactly how it was."
"You're going to walk into his bakery, hand him a pastry box you reassembled, and say what? 'Here, take back your generosity. And this croissant too'?"
Sarah didn't answer that. Instead, she waited.
"Okay. Fine. I had the tarte au citron — with the meringue peaks? And the chestnut-ginger one. Seasonal special. You're not going to find that just anywhere."
"I'll try," Sarah said.
Chloe raised an eyebrow. "You're really going to all this trouble?"
She nodded, picking up the box with care, gently closing its lid like sealing away a memory.
"God, you're intense sometimes," Chloe muttered under her breath — but not without a note of admiration.
Sarah turned to leave, then paused. "Thanks for remembering."
"No problem," Chloe said, softer now. "Just… maybe don't be too dramatic when you hand it back. He might think you're rejecting his entire bloodline."
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•
It took her nearly an hour to find the pastries.
The tarte au citron was easier—one glance at its glossy meringue swirls in the glass display and Sarah had quietly pointed to it, avoiding the cashier's eye. But the chestnut-ginger one? That had her walking three blocks further to another boutique patisserie Chloe vaguely remembered. When she finally spotted it—crowned with candied ginger and dusted with gold—she felt oddly relieved, like something had settled in her chest.
She returned to the apartment, carefully placed the pastries back in the box, nudging each into position like a puzzle piece. The lemon tart nestled in beside the original ones. The chestnut pastry took its spot, barely distinguishable from the rest. She retied the ribbon with fingers that trembled only slightly. Neat. Precise. Like it had never been touched.
The pendant box rested on top, silent and pristine. She wrapped it again too, like it was.
She stared at the final package for a long moment. Then picked it up.
Every step toward his bakery felt heavier than the last. She tried to rehearse what she'd say—but every version felt hollow.
It wasn't about the pastries.
Or even the pendant.
It was about drawing a line. Quietly. Firmly.
When Sarah turned the final corner, the box steady in her hands, she caught sight of him.
Eric stood just outside his bakery, his sleeves rolled up, one hand pointing at the tall glass windows as he gave instructions to the window cleaner perched on a small ladder. His posture was relaxed but focused. The morning sun framed him in sharp edges: precise, sharp like the man himself.
She stopped in her tracks.
A breath caught in her throat.
For a moment, she just stood across the street, half-shadowed by the awning of a flower stall, watching him.
Her gaze dropped to the package—wrapped neatly, perfectly tied as if untouched—and then back to him. What if she just… handed it over through someone else? No need for words. No awkward silences. No need to face whatever expression would flicker across his face when he saw her.
Decision flickered in her eyes.
She dug into her handbag and pulled out a small sticky notepad, its edges curled from being jammed at the bottom. Kneeling beside the flower stall's stand, she used the flat surface to scribble something with her pen—short, careful strokes, her hand pressing harder than necessary:
"These belong to you. Thank you.
P.S. I couldn't return the flowers — our neighbor's cat decided they'd make a lovely bed. Sorry."
No name. No explanation.
She fold it and tucked it under the ribbon of the box, making sure it wouldn't fall.
From where she stood, Eric was still turned away, talking to the cleaner who was now spraying down the glass.
It was now or never.
Then, Eric had turned, now speaking with someone on phone.
Not wasting another second, Sarah crossed the street. Her steps were soft, deliberate, careful not to draw attention. She slipped past the small tables and chairs set outside, and just as she reached the open doorway, she spotted a young staff member — a girl barely older than twenty arranging menus behind the counter.
Sarah stepped inside just enough to be noticed but not seen by Eric. She raised the boxes slightly and gave a gentle smile.
"Could you please give this to Eric?" she asked, her voice quiet.
The girl blinked, glancing down at the perfectly tied ribbon and the elegant packaging. "Sure," she said, taking it with both hands, slightly curious.
Sarah nodded once, and without waiting for a second word, turned and walked away — her breath finally leaving her lungs in a soft exhale as she stepped back into the sunlight.
She didn't look back.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•