Chapter 4 – Morning with Cakes

The sunlight was sharp when it poured through the cracks in Aiden’s blinds, but he didn’t mind it for once. Usually, mornings dragged him out of restless dreams — broken pieces of nights he’d rather forget. He always woke with his chest tight, his breath uneven, his head too heavy from the weight of dreams he hated.

But today was different.

Last night had been different.

For the first time in a long time, he had slept without the shadows. No sudden jolts awake, no sweat clinging to his skin, no gnawing ache in his chest. Just a heavy, quiet sleep. When he opened his eyes, the first thing that surfaced wasn’t dread — it was her. Emma. The sound of her voice over the phone. That nervous laugh when she didn’t know why she called him. The way she had asked him to stay on the line until she drifted off.

And she had.

And so had he.

He ran a hand through his messy hair and sat up, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. She talks too much, he thought. But somehow… it worked.

He leaned back against the headboard, replaying one of the things she’d rambled about last night. That stupid little bakery she loved. She’d mentioned it casually, saying no place made better strawberryshortcake. He’d mocked her, of course, calling her a “cake snob,” and she had shot back that he didn’t know good food even if it was shoved in his face.

And yet, here he was, twenty minutes later, standing in front of the bakery.

The smell hit him first — warm bread, butter, sugar melting into the air. The place buzzed with the morning crowd: people with take-away coffees, kids clinging to their mothers, couples splitting croissants. Aiden shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and scanned the glass display, trying not to look like the out-of-place daredevil that he was.

“Need help?” the girl behind the counter asked.

“Uh,” Aiden muttered, eyes darting to the cakes. “The… strawberry shortcake.” He cleared his throat. “Make it two.”

The girl smiled, boxed them carefully, and handed it over. “Great choice. These sell out fast.”

Aiden raised a brow, muttered something that almost sounded like thanks, and headed out. The box felt ridiculous in his hand — like he was carrying a piece of her with him.Emma’s apartment door creaked open after a knock. She appeared in the doorway, drowning in a giant pink hoodie and gray sweatpants, her hair an unbrushed halo around her face.

She blinked at him, then at the box in his hand. “Wait… you didn’t.”

“I did,” Aiden said flatly, holding it up. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Her mouth fell open, then curved into the brightest grin he had ever seen. “You went to that bakery? Oh my god, you actually remembered.”

“Don’t act surprised,” he muttered, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “You never shut up about it. Hard not to remember.”

Emma rolled her eyes but was still smiling, the kind of smile that softened the edges of the messy apartment around her. She cleared the coffee table in the living room, pulling books and a forgotten mug out of the way so he could set the box down.

When she opened it, her eyes lit up. “They look perfect.”You’re ridiculous,” Aiden said, but there was a tug in his chest he couldn’t quite shake. He sat on the couch, watching her carefully cut into the shortcake with all the seriousness of someone performing surgery.

“You don’t just cut into cake like this,” Emma explained, handing him a fork. “It’s an art form. Respect the layers.”

He snorted. “It’s sugar and cream. Don’t overthink it.”

But when he took a bite, his brows lifted despite himself. Sweet, soft, a hint of tart strawberries. He hated admitting it, but it was good. Too good.

Emma caught the flicker of surprise on his face and grinned smugly. “See? I told you. Best cakes in the city.”Aiden tried to play it off. “Not bad. For cake.”

“You’re the worst,” she muttered, shoving another bite into her mouth.

They ate like that, shoulder to shoulder on her couch, laughter slipping easily into the air. For once, Aiden wasn’t calculating his next move, wasn’t feeling the constant weight pressing on his chest. He was just… here. Eating cake with a girl who had messy hair and the nerve to tease him like he was normal.

When they’d finished, Emma leaned back, satisfied. “Okay, officially best breakfast ever.”

Aiden smirked, eyes flicking to the hoodie she was wrapped in — his hoodie. It looked oversized on her, the sleeves nearly covering her hands, the hood falling back to reveal her flushed cheeks.

He tilted his head, voice low and teasing. “So, when exactly are you planning to give that back?”

Emma blinked, then looked down at herself, clutching the hoodie closer with a guilty little laugh. “This? Oh, um… never?”Never?” He raised a brow. “You’re just gonna steal it?”

“It’s not stealing if you left it with me,” she countered, smiling slyly. “Besides, it’s comfy. And—” She paused, a faint pink dusting her cheeks. “It smells like you.”

For a second, Aiden didn’t know what to say. His smirk faltered, something warmer flickering in his chest. He covered it quickly, leaning back with mock irritation. “You’re unbelievable.”

Emma grinned, hugging the hoodie tighter. “Get used to it, tough guy.”

And just like that, the morning light pouring through her window felt a little brighter, a little softer. Aiden didn’t say it out loud, but he knew it — she was already changing him.

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