The cupcake sat between them like a duel waiting to happen.
Mia set it down on the polished counter with exaggerated care, her sleeves almost dipping into the frosting. She quickly yanked them back, pretending she had planned the motion all along. “Ta-da! My newest creation: strawberry cream swirl. Sweet, fluffy, and guaranteed to melt even the iciest of hearts.”
The tall woman—who still hadn’t offered her name—studied the cupcake with the kind of scrutiny Mia usually reserved for overdue bills. Her dark eyes flicked over the pink frosting, the delicate sugar flowers, the precise swirl.
Mia leaned in across the counter. “What’s the matter? Afraid it’ll taste too good and ruin your whole sophisticated, cold-blooded image?”
Those midnight eyes narrowed just slightly. Then, with calm precision, the woman lifted the fork provided and cut into the cupcake. She didn’t rush. She didn’t fumble. Every movement was as smooth as if she were performing on stage.
Mia’s stomach twisted. She hated that she cared. She hated even more that she was holding her breath.
The forkful disappeared behind perfect lips. Silence. A pause so long Mia nearly screamed.
Finally, the woman set the fork down.
“Too sweet.”
Mia slapped the counter with her palm. “What?! No way. That’s perfectly balanced! People love it!”
A faint smirk tugged at the woman’s mouth. “People, perhaps. But not everyone has a childish palate.”
Heat flushed through Mia’s cheeks, half from anger and half from something she didn’t want to name. She leaned closer, voice lowering dangerously. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“And you,” the woman replied coolly, “are unpolished.”
The tension between them crackled like sugar hitting a hot pan. The other customers shifted awkwardly, whispering. A couple of teenagers giggled near the window, clearly enjoying the spectacle of a café showdown.
Mia dragged a hand through her pink-blond waves, trying not to scream. This wasn’t just any customer—it was clear now. This woman was a critic. And not just any critic, either. She carried herself with too much authority, too much weight.
“Who are you, anyway?” Mia demanded. “You walk in here, insult my café, insult my cupcakes—don’t I at least deserve a name before I call you a frost queen to your face?”
The woman finally relented, her gaze steady and unflinching.
“Yuri Solberg. Food columnist. I write for The Culinary Standard.”
Mia’s heart dropped straight into her sneakers. She knew that publication—everyone in the business did. A single bad review from them could bury a small café like Sugarbean.
And right now, the woman with her fate in her elegant, manicured hands was calling her cupcakes “too sweet.”
Mia forced a grin, though her chest ached. “Great. Just great. You’re one of those people. Comes in, trashes everything, and leaves a trail of broken bakers behind.”
Yuri’s expression didn’t waver. “If they break, they weren’t strong enough to begin with.”
The words cut sharper than any knife. But Mia refused to let her see it. She straightened her sweater, her grin turning defiant. “Well, guess what, Ms. Ice Queen Critic. This café isn’t breaking. Not for you. Not for anyone. You’ll come back. And when you do, I’ll make something so good it’ll knock that poker face right off your perfect cheekbones.”
For the first time, Yuri’s calm cracked—just barely. The faintest flicker of surprise, quickly buried beneath her usual composure. She gathered her bag, her heels clicking against the floor as she turned to leave.
At the door, she paused.
“Then I’ll give you one week,” she said softly, almost like a challenge. “Impress me—or I’ll write exactly what I tasted today.”
The bell chimed again as she left, and Mia stood frozen, heart hammering in her chest.
Enemies. Definitely enemies.
And yet, her lips curved into a reckless smile.
Challenge accepted.
———
To be continued…
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