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“I need a cake.”
Aiden looks up slowly from the till, smirk on his face. “Well, good morning to you, too.” The… intruder (customer is too nice a word, even though it’s not uncommon behaviour) is tall and broad, with a flaming mane of artfully tousled red hair and a short-cropped beard to match. Aiden has a brief moment where his thoughts drift – the colour is clearly natural, so does the carpet match the drapes? – before his eyes meet the intruder’s gaze. Shit.
Only years, at this point, of customer service experience keeps his smirk on his lips, but he can’t help tensing up. Golden eyes, slitted in the bright light of the shop. Another Wolf.
His heart kicks into overdrive, fast enough to almost pass for human, if the Wolf isn’t paying attention. It appears he isn’t, which makes Aiden absurdly lucky, really, because the Wolf just rubs a hand over his neck and grumbles, “Morning.”
Aiden allows himself another half-second of panic before he forces himself to relax, slouching forward onto the counter. If it makes him appear small and harmless, all the better to keep the Wolf from recognising him. There’s a lot of breakable shit around him, and while Aiden is pretty durable, the Wolf looks like he could snap him in half.
“So you want a cake?”
The Wolf snorts. “That’s what I said.”
“Any… more information? What kind of cake? How many layers? Flavours? Frosting?”
“Uh… just a … cake?” The Wolf pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out for Aiden. It shows a crude but recognisable sketch of a round cake, two candles atop spelling 69.
Aiden feels his eyebrows climb up to his hairline. “Nice.”
The Wolf actually blushes. He’s still terrifying, but also cute. Unfairly so, really. “‘S for my mentor.”
Aiden’s eyebrows climb even further. Huh. That hadn’t been the vibe he’d gotten from the Wolves, but then, even the grand master has to scratch his itches somewhere, right?
If anything, the Wolf blushes even brighter when he catches sight of Aiden’s face. “Not – not like that! Didn’t you hear? This last case was Vesemir’s 69th.”
The Wolf drops the name casually, like it’s a given Aiden knows it. Like he knows who Aiden is. Shit.
Aiden recoils.
The Wolf blinks, nonplussed, for a moment, before his face goes unfairly soft. “Not gonna attack you, kitten.” He tilts his head, a smirk creeping onto his features, which is a relief. Between the adrenaline and the soft look, Aiden’s body has started to be very confused about the situation. “Do I look like my brother?”
Aiden, because he apparently has zero self-preservation instinct when it comes down to it, finds his eyes trailing over the Wolf’s form slowly: the simple t-shirt clinging tightly to his well-muscled chest, short sleeves straining around his massive biceps, the clean-shaven, delectable throat, the neatly trimmed beard, the lines around his eyes that speak of mischief and laughter.
“Can’t say you do.”
Apparently satisfied, the Wolf nods. “I do have some self-restraint. Sometimes,” he adds with a wink.
“Good. Don’t think Jaskier would be deterred by you being a Wolf, if you broke his precious shop.”
The Wolf scrunches his face up adorably. “I have been warned. Don’t have to worry ‘bout me.”
True to his word, the Wolf remains lax and unconcerned, very much unlike someone about to vault over the counter and pin Aiden to the wall. Which is a dangerous thought, because it makes Aiden’s heart rate pick up with something that is very much not fear, and he knows from experience that there’s only so much pastry smell can cover up where keen Witcher noses are concerned.
Thankfully, the Wolf puts him out of his misery. “So, anyway – I’ve heard you make great cakes, and granted, pretty boy’s most definitely biased, but the internet appears to agree, so. Yeah. A cake. Figured Vesemir deserves it.”
This is much firmer ground, and so Aiden pulls out the suggestions catalogue they keep for undecided customers. “I take it the case went well?” It’s at least as much genuine interest as it is small talk; Aiden deliberately left all of his old life behind, though he has no doubt that Vesemir wouldn’t hesitate to call on him, too, when the situation called for it.
The Wolf nods. “No fatalities, and the baddie was the only serious casualty. Definitely deserves a celebration.”
“Sounds like it.” Aiden slides the catalogue over, opened on the simpler cakes that look like they might be the Wolf’s style – basic flavours, one or two layers. He’s usually pretty decent taking a stab at a customer’s desires, but the Wolf has thrown him off his game, and so he feels inexplicably nervous.
There’s a stretch of silence where the Wolf stares down at the catalogue like it’s a kikimore about to bite him, before he turns those wide eyes on Aiden. “Uh… Do I have to make a choice?”
Aiden can’t help but chuckle at the small voice, though he tries to keep it soft and open. “If you want to put the order in now, yeah. Or I could hook you up with Jaskier – he’ll be in this afternoon – so you can talk allergies and preferences.”
The Wolf doesn’t get any less wide-eyed. “Can’t… pretty boy fill him in?”
Geralt probably could, but after the roller coaster of emotions this Wolf put Aiden through, he deserves to sweat a little. “Depends on if you want the accolades.” Aiden shrugs. “I’m sure Geralt would happily take them.”
That’s a lie, and Aiden’s pretty sure they both know that, that they both know how little Geralt likes being the centre of attention. Still, the overwhelmed expression makes way for determination, which means Aiden’s shot in the dark has paid off.
“Hmph.” The Wolf pulls the catalogue close. “Let me take another look.”
Aiden grins, slouches back on the counter, and points to his favourite choices from the limited interactions he’s had with Vesemir of the Wolves.
“So, just need a date, and your name and number,” Aiden says once the Wolf has tentatively settled on chocolate-raspberry cake with chocolate frosting.
“For a date?” The Wolf whips his head up, fingers still resting on examples of the more elaborate concoctions Jaskier has done in the past. A blush is creeping into his face again, and Aiden didn’t know Witchers could be so expressive, but he finds himself delighted nonetheless. Or maybe because of that.
“For the cake.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Though I wouldn’t be averse to a date with you, either.”
The Wolf goes even redder, sputtering for a moment. “Lambert.” His voice is gruff, but that’s not a no. Aiden’s heart rate kicks up a notch. It’s also not a yes, and neither is the phone number Lambert rattles off.
Just when Aiden is sure he’s misread the situation and this is Lambert letting him down gently, the Wolf hesitates, half-turned to leave already. “Text me,” he says, even gruffer. “I’ll be free all week, if – if you want to.”
And then he ducks his head, hurrying out of the little bakery.
Aiden stares after him, a slow smile spreading over his face.
Adorable. And, quite possibly, also interested in Aiden.
What a lucky day.