Chapter Three - Early encounters

Amara had been planning on putting off telling Declan where she actually was for at least a day, to give herself time to recoup and actually look more decent when he came. But Milo  had changed that. Now she had less than two hours before Declan showed up and—

"Bonne après-midi!"

The greeting sounded a bit louder than it needed to be. People. Amara continued working and thinking about how she would make things work for her. She could finish decorating this batch of cupcakes and slip over to the bathroom, and make sure her face didn't look too tired. She'd put on foundation upon waking, but that was it, and it had mostly been to hide the dark circles. That had been hours ago now, too. She hadn't even bothered with mascara or eyeliner, considering she was just working in the back anyway. If necessary, she could dash upstairs and grab her purse and put at least those on.

"Amara!"

Her hand slipped and she stabbed the cupcake she was working on. She swore and covered it up with icing. "What Elara? I'm almost done."

"You have a new friend sitting out front."

Amara swore again.

"Do you want me to tell him to leave?" Elara asked. "Has he been bothering you?"

"No, no," Amara said, hurriedly applying icing to the last cupcake and wiping her hands on her apron. "I just… I just met him, and Milo  decided to invite him over."

"Should I be getting Milo ?"

"No! No he just stole my phone again."

"Ah. You should really change your password more often."

Amara rolled her eyes as she arranged the cupcakes on a platter. "Yeah, I know. I'll be right out. And I won't be long, okay? Really."

Elara nodded and returned to the front counter.

Amara's mind tried thinking quickly. She could dash upstairs, grab her purse, but the bathroom down there was out past the counter, and he might see her on her way. Okay, so she could stay upstairs and use the bathroom there, as long as it wasn't being used, or use the small basinet. Or the kitchen, if Salma had too much of her stuff the other places. How long would that take?

She set the platter in the glass case, crouching to slide it in easier. She briefly scanned the shop, wondering—There. He was eating a pastry, sitting at a small table at the back wall with two chairs. Near where the bathroom entrance was. He would definitely see her if she tried going in. He decidedly did not look like he had spent the entirety of the night sleepless, either.

She sighed. Screw it; she was at work and he would just have to deal with her like this. If he didn't like it, he would just leave quicker. Besides, he was the one who showed up before he said he would. She washed her hands briefly and shook them, then went out.

Declan was staring into space as he worked on the last third of his pastry, not noticing anything else, it seemed. Amara plopped down on the chair opposite him. "You're early," she said in French as she crossed her legs. She tried not to speak Arabic while she was on the bakery main floor, for the customers' sake, even though there were generally a few different languages being spoken at any one time among the patrons. English, foremost, but that was all she cared to notice. She remembered enough from high school to understand some of it. Most else she learned from song lyrics.

Declan suddenly blinked out of his reverie and turned to her, but froze at that. He kept his pastry remains in hand and stared at her.

Amara furrowed her brow after a few moments, and pursed her lips. "What? Never seen a girl in the middle of work before?" She wondered if she'd gotten batter on her face, or icing. She hoped it wasn't icing; it had been bright blue. Of course, he had seen her absolutely covered in colorful paint. But that was different.

Finally he snapped out of it. "No, I mean yes, I— I have. Um. I wasn't sure if I should wait inside or outside, because there are some lovely little tables out there, but I wanted to be sure and see you so I stayed in here. And I am very glad I did."

Amara chuckled. "You know I still have an hour of work left."

"That is fine; I don't mind waiting." He recognized he was still holding what was left of his pastry, and popped it in his mouth. After swallowing, he asked, "Why are we speaking French?"

"Because it's polite."

Declan snorted. "Nobody else is."

Amara glanced around the bakery, eyebrow raised.

"Yes, right, sorry about that," Declan said. "But not really because it's true. But I am—Keeping you from work. Do you want to get back to that? Or do you want me to keep you from your hour left of work?" She saw a bit of hope in his eyes. Okay maybe a lot of hope.

She chuckled again as she uncrossed her legs. "I will return to my work, Monsieur, though thank you for the consideration." She got up and smiled at him. "And you don't have to wait around here, you know. There are plenty of other things to do in an hour's time."

Declan watched her, nodded a little. "… Right. Yes. Maybe. How long again?"

Amara raised an eyebrow. "An hour. If you're out, I'll text you when I'm done."

Declan nodded again, and smiled at her. "I look forward to it."

She smiled back, a little unconsciously, but quickly focused herself again as she turned and returned to the back room.

When she took a few more pastries out by the register, Elara whispered to her.

"He is smitten with you, girl."

Amara scoffed softly.

"I'm serious," she continued. "And so is he."

"Yeah; we'll see how long." But she still couldn't stop from grinning as she returned to the back.