Work Text:
Honeymaren inhaled deeply as she stepped into the kitchen, the scent of warm bread filling her lungs and warming her to the core. She had enjoyed the weekend off, needed it, even, but she would be lying if she didn’t say she was happy to be back at work.
“Hey, Ryder,” Removing her scarf and coat and hanging them in the cloakroom, she re-entered the kitchen to find her brother at the counter kneading dough, his brown uniform already covered in flour.
Ryder turned his head to grin at her, his dark, thick hair flopping into his eyes as he did so. Honeymaren rolled her eyes. He did so hate the hairnets.
“Hey, you,” He greeted in return, strong arms flexing at the force he put into his work. “How was your weekend?”
Honeymaren, who had located her apron (seriously, who steals a personalised apron?) now tied it securely around her waist.
“Oh, you know. Netflix, library, more Netflix. I tried a new flavour of chips; they were good.” She spoke almost distractedly as she braided her long hair behind her head, just grateful to get it out of her face. She snatched up a hairnet for Ryder while she was at it, moving behind him and jamming it on his skull, neatly tucking away the locks that escaped. He was a nightmare for forgetting to wear them, but she wasn’t going to let him get them both in trouble when Yelena noticed.
“Oh, hey - my hairnet!” Ryder’s feigned delight didn’t fool her. Honeymaren rolled her eyes and moved her hands down to tighten his apron strings while she was at it. She never would go as far as to call her brother a slob, but some days it was harder work than others to keep her tongue in check. “I was, uh … I was wondering where that went.”
“Sure you were,” Honeymaren clapped a hand on his shoulder, moving around him to the door that would lead her out into the front of the bakery, the warm, homely lights already shining through the glass panels. It looked like Yelena had gotten here early. Honeymaren wasn’t surprised – Yelena was particularly protective of her precious bakery. It had taken her two years of begging for Yelena to let her open up the bakery herself, and another six months until she had stopped turning up anyway. It looked like Ryder was currently going through the same torture.
“Hey, Aunt Yelena!” Honeymaren called as she let herself into the shop, snatching a fresh pan au chocolat off the plate Ryder had set aside for her as she did so. It was one of the perks of your Aunt owning the shop and all the staff being your family, either distantly or all too close - you could get away with an iced finger bun or two going missing occasionally.
“I saw that,” Yelena called over her shoulder as Honeymaren bit into the warm, chocolatey pastry.
Well. Sometimes , you could. Honeymaren had realised very young that Aunt Yelena had eyes in the back of her head, though it had taken her a few more years of misbehaviour to realise that her bark was much worse than her bite. Honeymaren took another bite out of the pastry, making exaggerated groans of enjoyment as she did so. She saw Yelena roll her eyes as she turned around, and it made her smile.
“Saw what?” Honeymaren asked, innocently, wiping the chocolate from her lips with a finger as she made her way to the seating area. Yelena was behind the counter, filling the display cases with fresh pastries for their customers, as she always did at this time of day. Stuffing the last of the pastry in her mouth, Honeymaren started lifting chairs down from the tables, making quick work of the small inside eating area.
Honeymaren and her Aunt Yelena worked mostly in companionable silence, Yelena occasionally interrupting to make a comment on the products she was bringing in – sometimes negative (‘that boy can be so clumsy sometimes, just look at this piping!’), sometimes positive. Honeymaren just laughed along and reiterated her comments, loud enough to be heard by Ryder in the back. Some of their other co-workers had arrived now, and they too joined in, teasing Ryder as she did.
Ah, the joys of working with family.
Sometimes Honeymaren felt sorry for the poor boy, but then again, he was her younger brother. This was just revenge for trying to flush her Bratz dolls down the toilet.
As Honeymaren opened her mouth to make yet another dig, her Aunt Yelena laid a hand on her shoulder, pointing towards the clock.
“It’s almost time to open,” Her voice was only mildly chiding, and Honeymaren was reminded once more of her childhood, not spent with her parents, but with the Great Aunt that loved her and her brother so. Honeymaren shut her mouth and smiled at her Aunt, nodding and moving to the coat pegs that sat just inside the main shop area.
Honeymaren grabbed the small, tan-coloured hat that made up part of their uniform and tugged it onto her head, turning to look at her reflection in the refrigerator. She smoothed her fringe down, carefully organising the unruly hairs on either side of her face that weren’t technically part of her fringe but weren’t long enough to fit into a braid either.
Not bad, Maren. Honeymaren grinned at her own reflection. Not bad at all.
“Honeymaren.” Yelena’s voice cut through the air like a whip, startling Honeymaren from her musings. “Stop staring at your own reflection and come help me out,”
“Coming.” Honeymaren resisted the urge to say something cheeky, instead doing as her Aunt said and made her way to the cash register. Yelena was currently dividing a stack of notes and change into the draws and, at her request, Honeymaren took over, slender fingers moving swiftly until the register was full.
“I want you on the register today,” Honeymaren wasn’t entirely surprised by the request; Yelena often put her niece and nephew at the focal point of the business. Good genes , she always said. Never underestimate the value of a pretty face.
It was nice to know Aunt Yelena thought she was pretty, even if she was pimping her out for pastry sales.
The morning moved quicker after Yelena changed the sign in the window to ’open’ and their regulars began coming in, slowly, at first, and then all at once. Honeymaren greeted most of them by name, pulling their orders out of the display case almost before they requested them. It was a nice way to start the morning, she always thought. The patrons of the Northuldra Bakery had gone from customers to acquaintances to something like friends – friends she never saw outside of work, but friends, nonetheless.
“Good morning!” Honeymaren chirped, that customer service smile plastered to her face. Her braid was beginning to itch the back of her neck and she was sweating buckets, despite the fact that every time the door opened she was hit with a blast of arctic air that left her shivering. Winter was not her favourite time to be working the register for this very reason. If she didn’t already feel guilty for taking a long weekend and leaving her brother to pick up the slack, taking the wrath of Aunt Yelena alone, she would have tried to palm the duty off on him already.
“Good morning,” the response, rare from a customer she hadn’t immediately recognised, jolted Honeymaren from her thoughts, and her breath caught in her throat.
The girl who had spoken was pretty, almost startlingly so. Her long blonde hair was pinned back in an elegant bun. A braid ran the length of her head, beginning at her temple and tucking neatly back into the icy blonde twist at the back. Her high cheekbones were pink, still flushed with the cold of the outside air, and a small smile graced her thin lips. She was beautiful , and Honeymaren couldn’t have missed it if she tried.
“Hi,” Honeymaren could have kicked herself as the second greeting tumbled from her lips. Her cheeks warmed from embarrassment, and she swallowed, eyes focused on the woman in front of her. “Er – what can I – what can I get you?”
The girl seemed to hesitate for a moment, as though she hadn’t anticipated being asked that question. She licked her lips, and Honeymaren followed the movement with her eyes, mirrored it with her own action, before forcing her gaze up to those piercing blue eyes that lingered on the menu with such apprehension.
“A coffee to go, please - black.” She seemed to have grown in confidence as that simple sentence fell from her lips, as though congratulating herself on jumping the first hurdle. Honeymaren couldn’t resist a smile in response, as though feeling that pride for her too. Her hands, previously stuffed into deep pockets of the sophisticated black coat she wore, pulled out a small purse and began to fiddle with the zipper. “And, uh … - “
“If you’re not sure,” Honeymaren found herself speaking, as though her mouth had moved before her brain had given permission for it to do so. “You should try the cinnamon buns. They’re fresh, and a real favourite around here.”
She stopped, her face almost confused and for a heartbeat, Honeymaren wondered if she had said something wrong or if she had food in her teeth or oh God what if she was allergic to cinnamon –
“A cinnamon bun sounds great,” Her voice was filled with gratefulness, her smile widening from one simply of politeness, and Honeymaren knew, somehow, that she had done the right thing.
“Okay, one black coffee and a cinnamon bun,” Honeymaren grinned, beginning to regain some of her confidence. Ordinarily, confidence wasn’t a problem for her, particularly not around beautiful women. She couldn’t place what it was that had knocked that from her, what about this beautiful stranger that had made her stumble over her words and second guess her actions.
Whatever it was, it was almost impossible to take her eyes away. The girl was beautiful, intriguing, and enticing, from the way her long eyelashes brushed her cheekbones, to the stray curls that had fallen from her bun, around her ears to frame her face.
Honeymaren busied herself with selecting a cinnamon bun (the one that had been closest to the heater, so it was still warm), while her cousin made the coffee. She was aware that there were others in the queue, but she could hardly spare a thought for them. She was too busy trying to come up with something that she could say to the girl, to make her laugh, to make her come back. Something witty, but charming – but nothing that could come across as creepy or invasive.
“Here you are,” Honeymaren slid the takeaway coffee and the pastry bag across the counter towards the girl, being sure to meet her gaze and flash her a smile as she did so. To her chagrin, she wasn’t sure the blue-eyed girl even noticed, so preoccupied with rummaging through her purse for the correct change, dropping some extra in the tip jar.
Well, at least she’s considerate.
“Thank you – “ there was a pause, and Honeymaren realised she was trying to read the name on the tag pinned to her left breast, blue eyes narrowing slightly, as though she couldn’t quite make out the letters. “ - Honeymaren ,”
This time, the blonde caught her grin, just as casually charming as before. It was a smile Honeymaren had thrown at girls a hundred times before; a little crooked, a little cocky. It was the smile she used at the local gay bar, on first dates and, once, in the dairy aisle of her local supermarket. It always worked.
But the only sign of it working she saw this time, was the darkening of a blush on her fair cheeks.
Okay. I can do better.
“No problem,” Honeymaren busied herself tossing the coins into the register, taking the opportunity to look at the blonde from beneath her lashes, that same, coy smile on her lips. She shut the register, smartly, and bent at the waist to lean her palms on the register, smiling up at the stranger. “Come back soon.”
“- Okay,” The answer came almost unbidden, bright blue eyes widening, as though she couldn’t believe her own tongue had betrayed her. Honeymaren’s smile widened, but not unkindly.
Cute.
Honeymaren rested her chin on her hand and watched her walk away, coffee clutched in gloved hands, heeled boots clicking on the hard floor. She was like something out of a movie, sophisticated and effortlessly elegant. She even made their tacky old takeaway cups look interesting.
“Who was that?”
Gerda, one of their regulars who had been standing behind their mystery customer, made her way to the register, her gaze following the stranger as she walked out the door, the bell tinkling behind her.
“A new customer,” Honeymaren feigned nonchalance as she stood up straight, tapping Gerda’s usual order into the register (English breakfast tea and a croissant) without bothering to ask what she wanted. She hadn’t changed her order in the two years she had been coming here, and Honeymaren was sure she wasn’t going to change it now.
“Oh?” Gerda raised a thin eyebrow, a knowing smile beginning to creep onto her warm, motherly face. “And, will she be returning?”
Honeymaren smiled good-naturedly as she handed Gerda her bagged croissant, the warmth of the pastry leaving a gentle buzz in her fingertips.
“I don’t know,” She answered, truthfully, taking Gerda’s cash and opening the register. “I hope so.”
Honeymaren didn’t see the stranger for a week after that. Her usual customers came and went, and they even had another new customer, though based on the look he gave when he saw the inside of the bakery, Honeymaren decided probably wouldn’t be returning.
But then, exactly a week after she had first seen her, the woman appeared again. This time, she was early – so early it took Honeymaren a few, sleepy blinks to realise that it was, indeed, her.
“Good morning,” She spoke, this time, with the corner of her mouth curled into a coy smile. Honeymaren wondered if that was the first time she had greeted her, or if she was so tired she just hadn’t heard her.
“Morning,” Immediately, Honeymaren’s smile widened. This, she could focus for. “You’re back,”
“You were right about the cinnamon bun,” she answered. She didn’t seem as anxious this morning, the hands that clutched the strap of her bag steady and loose. “It was delicious,”
Honeymaren glanced to her right – it was so early, Elsa was the only one in the bakery, aside from their four early bird patrons, who were in the seating area, staring intently at laptops, phones and newspapers.
“I’m glad you liked it. They’re a Northuldra speciality,” Almost unconsciously, she was leaning forwards across the counter, as though if she got close enough she could see something more, hear something more. Her eyes were the brightest blue she had ever seen.
“I can see why,”
There was a beat where neither of them spoke. Honeymaren bit her lower lip, eyes narrowing just a little as she examined the woman in front of her. The woman in question looked a little confused but did not shy away, looking right back at Honeymaren with that piercing gaze.
“So. Black coffee and a cinnamon bun to go?” The moment was over. Honeymaren moved back from the counter, suddenly very aware of the feeling of her heart pounding in her chest.
“Oh – “ the woman blinked, seeming almost a little surprised, as though woken suddenly from a dream. “Yes. Please.”
Honeymaren flashed her another smile, which was shyly reciprocated, and got to work making the coffee. It was so early she was still on her own at the counter – they usually didn’t have too many people coming through at this time in the morning. The silence wasn’t awkward, but comforting; a little piece of solace in an otherwise busy day.
Now, though? It felt as though her heart was hanging on the strings of that silence, waiting for her to say something, anything. She had flirted with customers before, and it was this that she enjoyed, that she rode on – the anticipation . What would she do next? What would she say?
But she said nothing.
“Here you go,” Honeymaren placed the coffee on the counter, reaching into the display case and bagging up the cinnamon bun, the heat of the lights permeating her skin. “Is that everything?”
“That’s it. Thank you,”
Her voice was sweet – almost shy. None of that coy smile, flirtatious confidence, the stubborn, strong gaze she had met just minutes ago. It was as though, as the moment passed, so did her resolve. Honeymaren noticed that those long, slender fingers were gripping her bag tighter now and that she fumbled with the zipper of her purse when she pulled it out.
Honeymaren continued to smile all the while, half flirtation and, if she was honest, half reassurance. She enjoyed making girls nervous when she flirted, seeing their eyes dart downwards, their cheeks flush pink. She got the feeling that this was something more than that, though.
“Have a good day,” Honeymaren’s voice was softer now, kinder. The stranger had barely looked at her as she paid, not even as she dropped her change into the jar that read ‘tipping makes you incredibly attractive ; )’ . She didn’t even seem to notice the sign.
“Thank you. You too,” Finally she looked up and smiled. Honeymaren made sure to reciprocate, widely and enthusiastically, and she saw a little of that light return to her eyes. Did that qualify as her good deed for the day?
She watched the girl as she left, stopping by the condiments station as she did so. To her absolute disgust, Honeymaren watched as she dropped not one, not two, but six packets of sugar into her black coffee and gave it a quick stir. The blonde took a quick sip, and, apparently finding it to her satisfaction, left with only a small smile.
She might be hot , Honeymaren thought to herself, but she needs to learn how to drink coffee.
“What are you looking at?” Yelena called from across the kitchen. Honeymaren stood on her tiptoes, peering through the glass windows in the swing doors.
The mystery girl had returned, and Honeymaren was stuck in the kitchen.
“Nothing,” Honeymaren answered, innocently, but didn’t turn away from the window. She could see that the blonde had entered the bakery, and was waiting patiently in the queue behind Kai, one of their more regular customers.
“Is this the mystery girl?” Honeymaren flinched as Ryder came up behind her and spoke in her ear. He could see over her shoulder easily, and she gave him a light elbow in the ribs for his nosiness.
“ Shh ,”
“Oh, so it is!” Ryder grinned and moved around her to get a closer look through the glass, leaving a trail of flour on her sleeve as he brushed passed. Honeymaren scowled and pushed him to one side. Through the window, the mystery girl had reached the counter. She looked around, as though searching for something.
Surely she’ll just get the cinnamon bun again, right? Honeymaren had made them this morning – and, not to brag, but hers were always the best.
“Shut up,” Honeymaren grumbled, but didn’t take her eyes away from the window. The mystery girl had collected her order and was in the process of paying. Honeymaren watched as she dropped a tip in the jar in front of the register, and left with a polite smile, taking her sugar-loaded coffee to go.
“She’s pretty,” Ryder commented in an offhanded manner, turning back to his sister with a grin. Honeymaren noticed that he had a smudge of flour on the bridge of his nose. “And way out of your league,”
“Go fu-“
“Honeymaren?” They both flinched at the sound of their Aunt’s voice, enough to make them turn around and give her a sheepish look – not quite apologetic, though. “What on earth is going on? What are you talking about?”
“ Nothing , Aunt Yelena,” Honeymaren stuck her brother with a murderous gaze, a look that didn’t even put a dent in his ego, not after twenty-four years of being on the receiving end of her glares. “Ryder’s just distracting me. I can’t work with him around.”
Aunt Yelena narrowed her eyes at the pair, letting out a suspicious hum, the fierceness of which silenced Ryder’s protests. She was a formidable figure with hands on her hips, grey hair tied in a severe bun behind her head, and a few wisps escaping to frame her face – beautiful, and lined with years of memories.
Yelena’s lips pursed together, and Honeymaren hoped that she wouldn’t ask any more questions, not wanting to have to explain that she wasn’t working, but instead checking out a pretty girl – a customer, no less. Ogling a customer on work time? That wouldn’t go down well with Yelena.
“Ryder, stop annoying your sister,” She said, finally, earning a ‘what?!’ from the young man in question. “Honeymaren, stop goofing off and get back to work.”
Honeymaren groaned and rolled her eyes, but did as she was told, moving all the quicker when Ryder got yet another scolding for continuing to sass their Aunt.
She couldn’t believe she’d missed the mystery girl coming back. Someone else had served her – what if they had flirted with her? That was her thing.
She’d just have to make sure that she was on the register next time she came.
Whenever that would be.
“So, where is she?”
Honeymaren looked around at her brother, his broad arms crossed over his chest, a lock of hair falling into his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be working today, but he had come in anyway, ducking behind the counter to help himself to a pastry – or three.
“Where is who?” Honeymaren asked, innocently, returning to scrubbing the counter. It was late morning, most of their regulars had been and gone, and the lull in foot traffic gave her the opportunity to clean up. Ordinarily, she may not have been so bothered about the appearance of the counter, but for some reason, she couldn’t keep still today.
“Oh, really ,” Ryder hopped up onto the countertop, the bit she had just cleaned, naturally, prompting Honeymaren to swat at him with her cloth. He batted her away, lazily, and leaned on one hand, flakes of pastry falling from his fingertips to the freshly cleaned surface. “So why are you so agitated?”
“I’m not agitated.”
“You’re cleaning. You never clean,”
Honeymaren let out a frustrated sigh and turned to face her brother properly, hands placed on her hips.
“First of all, I do clean and – “
“No, you don’t,”
“ – yes I do – and second, I am not agitated,” Honeymaren swatted him once more with her cloth, but this time he grabbed the offending instrument and attempted to pull it from her grip.
There was a brief tussle that Honeymaren ended up winning, only because she made a feint for one of Ryder’s nipples, prompting him to let go, with a yelp.
“I just … had a lot of coffee today,” She knew exactly how defensive she sounded, and by the look on Ryder’s face, he wasn’t buying it. Honeymaren sighed in exasperation and opened her mouth to berate her younger brother again when the door to the bakery opened behind her.
Simultaneously the siblings turned around, only to see the mystery girl walk in, arm in arm with a redhead who was talking a mile a minute. As Honeymaren watched, the blonde raised her head and their eyes met. Honeymaren smiled, and, after a moment, so did she.
From his seat on the counter, Ryder gave her a small shove on the shoulder, and she knew he had rolled his eyes – so hard she could practically hear it happening. She stumbled, regained her balance quickly enough that she hoped the blonde hadn’t noticed, then turned and tossed her cloth at her brother again.
“ Go. ” She hissed at him, barely audible but with the force that only an older sibling could rain down upon their younger. Ryder gave an exasperated sigh, but hopped down off the counter, taking the cloth with him, and made his way through to the back of the bakery. Honeymaren was just grateful he now found her flirtations amusing on the verge of disgusting now, rather than trying to tag along on dates as he did as a kid. They were all dates with boys back then, so they weren’t that good anyway, but having her kid brother tagging along? Definitely would have made it worse.
“Hey,” Honeymaren greeted the blonde as she approached the counter, Ryder, now safely out of the way. She wasn’t sure what to make of the redhead – it didn’t look like they were dating, though their arms were firmly linked together.
“Hello, Honeymaren,” Icy blonde hair in a loose braid, the girl looked a little more relaxed today than Honeymaren had seen her before. She obviously wasn’t going to work - Honeymaren saw no sign of the laptop bag she would ordinarily carry around, not to mention she was here hours later than usual.
Honeymaren noticed the redhead glancing between them, her freckled nose scrunching a little as though she was thinking, hard – trying to connect some nonexistent dots of some kind. Her eyebrows seemed to raise into her fringe as the blonde said her name.
“So, what is it today?” She redirected her attention to the blonde, putting on her usual customer service smile. It felt strange, somehow, to be facing the mystery girl with such a fake front. She didn’t know her – didn’t even know her name, and yet it felt wrong, in a way. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”
The blonde smiled, blue eyes brightening.
“Yes, please. And a mint tea and another cinnamon bun for my sister.”
Honeymaren was almost embarrassed by the relief that hit her in a wave. Sister. Well, at least she knew they weren’t dating.
“Coming right up,” This time, she knew, it wasn’t her customer service smile that graced her face. This was her charming smile, her getting-numbers-in-the-grocery-store smile, and it was aimed directly at the mystery girl. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the redhead’s eyebrows shoot up into her fringe, but Honeymaren didn’t let up.
As she worked, she could hear the pair whispering behind her back. The redhead was speaking in a hushed voice, so quickly she could hardly make out what she was saying – though she heard her own name mentioned once. The beautiful blonde, on the other hand, spoke very little and seemed to be trying to hush her sister. Honeymaren guessed, from the way they were acting, that the blonde was the older out of the two.
“Here you are.” Honeymaren handed over their drinks and took the money. Was it her imagination or did the blonde linger, just a little before thanking her and walking away?
She watched her go, watched her long, thick braid as it swung over her shoulder, watched her sister nudge in the ribs with a sharp, freckled elbow. Watched as the redhead leaned over and whispered, not nearly quiet enough.
“You’re right – she is hot!”
Honeymaren didn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.
She came back quicker this time – it was only three days before Honeymaren saw her again.
This time, Honeymaren decided, she would have to learn her name. She was sick of referring to her as mystery girl all the time.
Not that she thought of her all the time – that would be a gross exaggeration. It was just every so often. Sometimes. Rarely, even.
Maybe a little more than that.
She had mentioned her to Ryder after the second time she had come to the bakery, pointing her out as she walked down the street outside. He hadn’t seen her before, either – and when she described her to the others she worked with, they too had no idea who she was. Even Yelena had been stumped, and she knew everyone who walked into their bakery.
But no one knew her.
“Good morning,” Today her hair was half up, half down, a more relaxed style than the professional buns Honeymaren had seen her wear before. It was a style that suited her, framing her beautiful, angular face. She looked more youthful, now – freer, somehow.
“Morning,” And again, she grinned at her, crooked, charming and inviting. This time, it was reciprocated, her head tilting to the side as she grinned back, gazing through her lashes, and something ran through Honeymaren’s body like lightning.
Honeymaren knew she was beautiful but holy shit.
“Uh – “ it took her a moment to get herself together again, whetting her lips with her tongue. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”
“Of course,” She hadn’t questioned that Honeymaren had remembered her order, neither this time nor the last. Honeymaren wondered if she knew the effect she had on people.
“On its way,” Honeymaren, desperate to regain some of her footing in this flirtationship , flashed her another, charming, smile as she reached for a takeaway cup.
“Actually – “ Honeymaren paused and turned her head towards the girl. “I’m staying in today. If – “
Did she almost ask if that was okay with me?
Honeymaren resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow as the girl amended her statement, determination clear in the furrow that appeared between her brows.
“I’m staying in,” Her voice was clear, that confidence shining through again. Honeymaren smiled, feeling an irrational sort of pride for this stranger that had nothing to do with how hot she was, and everything to do with how nervous she had seen her upon their first meeting.
“Okay,” She grinned, picking up a cup to serve the drink in and busying herself with making up the coffee. It didn’t take long, but she could feel the stranger's eyes on her back the whole time, boring into her, and she found herself blossoming under her gaze. She moved differently under her curious scrutiny, her body more fluid, her face more expressive. She liked performing.
“Here,” Honeymaren placed her order on the counter and went to the till jabbing at it quickly with deft fingertips. “Is that everything?”
“Yes. Thank you, Honeymaren,”
This was her chance – all she had to do was ask for her name.
Honeymaren watched as she picked up her cup and plate and turned towards the tables, long, icy blonde hair fluttering out behind her as she did so.
Come on, Honeymaren.
“What’s your name?” She blurted.
Mystery Girl turned around again, eyes wide, face painted with surprise. Honeymaren cursed herself internally, suddenly hyper-aware of her body, her hair, the way she was standing.
Nice one, Maren. Real smooth.
It was a long moment, waiting for a response. Honeymaren fought the urge to look away, instead focusing on her hair, her eyes, the way the coffee trembled in her cup as she moved.
And then she smiled.
“Elsa,” She said. “My name is Elsa.”
Honeymaren’s own smile grew, eyes crinkling.
“Elsa,” the name felt like honey on her tongue. It fit her so perfectly that, now she knew it, she wondered, how could she have not seen it before? How could she not have guessed? “It’s nice to meet you. Elsa.”