Chapter Text
Slow days in the bakery allowed Marinette's mind to wander. As she waited for the bread in the oven to golden, she scratched a dress into a page of her sketchbook. She hadn’t worked on a dress so elaborate in a long while. The thought of piecing such a gown together made her heart swell. She’d have to find time soon, she decided.
The bell above the bakery door dinged its jolly jingle. “Dupain-Cheng!” a shrill voice followed. A small clatter was met with a slew of swears and huffing.
Walking into the front room, Marinette suppressed a wide grin as she watched Chloé fumble with the stripey bags dangling on every inch of her arm. “How was lunch?” She bent over the counter, hands cupping her cheeks.
“Fine, fine.” She waved her off. Dumping the bags onto the counter, Chloé huffed. She brushed a few loose strands of blonde hair from her face.
A frown and upturned brows wiped away her little smile. “Just fine? I thought you and Sabrina made up.” One of her flour caked hands fiddled with the sleeve of her other arm. Ever since Chloé and Sabrina got together, they couldn’t seem to agree on anything, especially when it came to her dad. Sabrina’s father was not a fan of his daughter’s girlfriend, which he claimed was because of her fall from grace a couple years ago. But they always worked it out, always talked it through. Marinette had even found a small diamond ring in their living room a few weeks ago.
Tilting her head exasperatedly, Chloé narrowed her stare. “Sabby and I are good,” she enunciated. “Better than good, even. We’re visiting her grandparents in Toulouse next month.” She waved away that conversation with another huff. “You will never guess who I saw.” A conspiratorial little smile crinkled her eyes. That look was always followed by some piece of gossip or another.
Marinette trailed her gaze over the bags she had scattered across the counter. “I’m hoping it was some store clerk,” she said. None of the bags were from the market. It seemed they would not be having milk with their breakfast tomorrow morning. She frowned at the impending meltdown playing through her mind.
She pulled a face. “I’ll go back out once I finish studying,” she conceded. “But I bumped into Mylène on the metro and you will never believe what she told me.” Chloé braced her hands against the counter as she bounced on her toes, her heels clicking against the tile. Her bottom lip was wedged between her teeth, failing to conceal her bright smile.
Squinting her eyes to hide her own conspiratorial smile, Marinette crossed her arms over her chest. With widened eyes, Marinette gasped, a hand flying to her mouth for added drama. “She’s gone rogue and needs us to harbor her while she plans her next move!” Her theatrical mockery of shock melted into a teasing smile.
Chloé scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” she clipped.
“Utterly.”
Another roll of her eyes and the crossing of her arms fought against the rising smile. “Are you going to let me tell you about your friend or do you want to keep making a petulant mockery of me, Dupain-Cheng?”
“Which one gives me more points?”
Her hands flew to her hips, her fingers beating against the loops of her shorts, the shorts Marinette had whipped up in the spring. “Are you done?” she deadpanned.
A triumphant smile squinted her bright eyes. “That was the last one,” she promised, wiping her flour coated hands against her little apron, the powder clinging to the embroidered ladybugs. “What did Mylène tell you?” She dragged the towelette from her shoulder to finish wiping her hands.
That conspiratorial smile curled her glossy lips again, making Marinette shake her head. “Her and Ivan are pregnant again.”
“Oh!” She patted her back pockets. “I’ll have to give them a call, congratulate them. That’s very lovely.”
“There’s more,” she said, leaning over the counter. “They’re having twins! ”
“Again?” She crossed her arms, nodding dumbly with a lopsided smile on her face. “No kidding. Hopefully they’ll get that place they’ve been posting about soon.”
Chloé checked her dainty watch, one of the only things she still had from her father’s house. “Ugh,” she groaned, rolling her head back dramatically. “I still have to study.” She gathered her bags, crowding her arms. “Three tests in one day should be illegal,” she grumbled, huffing.
“Have fun,” Marinette teased, waggling her fingers at her roommate.
She shot her a glare over her shoulder, blonde hair whipping back to show her little bee earrings. “ Have fun ,” she mimicked childishly. “See you never, Dupain-Cheng, because I am going to die with all of this work.”
Marinette trailed her into the back room, peeking into the oven to check her bread. “Just remember it’ll all be worth it.” A faint gold dusted the dough. She frowned. She’d have to call her dad — again — and ask if she was doing it right. For some reason she could never get his baguettes right. The loaves were always overcooked just the slightest. Though he claimed she did it just to give him a call every once in a while, it frustrated her to sell hard bread.
Nothing she tried in the oven turned out just right, but it came close enough, unlike the baguettes. She was beginning to think the dough was wrong, not her timing. She’d have to ask him later that night, after she locked up the bakery. It could be her mixing, or the rising conditions, or the milk to flour ratio…
Milk . The thought sparked within her, spurring her toward the staircase to their apartment. She tripped over her own feet, stumbling. Her hands slammed against the back door, stinging her palms. She threw open the door right as the bell jingled in the front. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” she called over her shoulder out of breath. With her foot wedged in the doorway, she looked up for Chloé. Her heels clicked at the top of the staircase. “Milk, Chloé!” she called after her.
“I know!” she yelled down.
“Write it down!”
“I said I know, Dupain-Cheng!”
“And I know you’ll forget!”
Their front door slammed in response, making Marinette chuckle to herself. Slipping back into the bakery, the oven wafting warm air into her face, Marinette wiped her hands against her apron again. She stretched her hands above her head, the knot in her shoulders not budging. She checked the bread again, unconvinced by the goldening coating the top. A buzz in her back pocket stole her away from her battle with the bread.
Fishing out her buzzing phone, she smiled down at Alya’s newest message.
> Hey girl! You’ve gotta come see Venice for yourself. You’d love love love it!
A picture of her and Nino day drinking on a riverboat was attached below, smiling like fools. The flush of their cheeks was barely visible beneath their summer tans. The next image was them pouting, like they were begging her to join them. She snickered, the sound bittersweet.
Watch the bakery for me and we have a deal! xo <
A string of emojis, some inapplicable to their conversations, littered the page. She sent back a little kissy face as she shook her head. The smile etched across her face beamed brighter than her screen, which once again filled up with a mix of emoticons.
A figure walked past the doorway, startling her into dropping her phone. Two fractures ran across the screen, making her frown. As she wiped away the disappointment onto her ladybug-speckled apron, she rushed back into the front of her bakery. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said sheepishly as she slipped behind the counter, her phone sliding against the countertop. “Find anything tasty?” She cringed at her words. “I mean, it’s all very tasty! Handmade with love too!” That made it worse, she decided. “Do you need help finding anything specific?” she asked, slumping in on herself.
“I’m looking for macarons.”
“Oh, of course! We have a big selection you can pick from.” She smiled as she looked up from her wringing hands. “And if nothing suits…” Wide-eyed with her mouth agape, Marinette fumbled with her words. She blinked a few times.
Adrien Agreste stood in her bakery, hands in his pockets staring dully at her fresh pastries. He was frowning, like the selection displeased him. He seemed taller in the afternoon light. Thinner, too, like he had lost part of himself. When he met her gaze, he looked empty. There was no light in his eyes, even as the sun shot rays into his green irises. “Hey, Marinette,” he said, the words heavy between them, heavy in her heart.
Unsaid words clogged her throat. She shrunk under his plain gaze. Waved dumbly. Her eyes skittered away from him. She cleared her throat as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her apron. A deep breath, raspy in her chest, swelled up her courage. “Hi,” she breathed. “Um, how, uh, how’ve you b-been?” A half-smile — more of a grimace — etched onto her flushing face.
He looked away, giving her room to breathe properly. The thumb of his right hand rubbed an empty spot on his ring finger. She pinched the empty lobe of her ear in response. Silence crowded the bakery’s front room. Dropping her hand, she rubbed her arms instead, warming herself against a sudden chill.
“I wasn’t sure…” His jaw clenched for a few ticks of the clock hanging over the doorway. “I didn’t know if you would be here, still.” The heel of his sneaker — the same orange ones he had when they were teenagers — bounced against the tile. “I hoped you would, but…” He glanced up again, freezing her hands against the sleeve of her shirt. “Now that I’m here…”
She nodded along to his words, waiting for the shoe to drop. Six and a half years she had anticipated this conversation. Six and a half years of fear and guilt roiled through her. Her recently painted nails dug into her palms, preparing her for the sucker punch her heart was about to take.
The breath he pushed out deflated him. “I wish I hadn’t come,” he whispered. He turned away, prepared to leave her for the second time.
Her mind skittered. She fumbled with the boxes next to the register, haphazardly stuffing many different macarons into the striped box. “Wait!” she called for him as the bell overhead jingled its sweet tune. “Wait, Adrien, wait, please!” She stumbled out from behind the counter, the macarons shifting in their box as she closed the lid. “Adrien,” she breathed. “Please, take these.” The box filled the small gap between them, bouncing against his back. “As a homecoming gift.”
He turned. His gaze watched the box in her outstretched hands for a long while. Something shifted in his tired eyes, tilting his brows upward. When a small, broken smile broke across his face, her own speedily matched it, warming her entirely. “Thank you,” he whispered. As he wrapped his hands around the small box, their fingers touched, jolting Marinette awake. “This is too kind of you,” he said, holding the box close to his chest.
She shook her head, letting her smile grow. “It’s what friends do.”
The pupils in his dull eyes shrunk, pinning her to her spot.
Heart skipping to many beats as she ran through her words, Marinette shifted her weight, wringing her hands together. “Welcome home,” she stuttered.
Letting his gaze fall back to the box clenched in his trembling hands, he nodded. His hair blocked his troubled eyes, swinging against the tip of his nose.
“Come back soon, okay?”
Another simple, empty nod, which she frantically matched. Heart pressed to her chest, she watched him go. He was sluggish as he left, walking across the crosswalk with his eyes glued to that little box. His feet seemed to drag against the pavement, no doubt scuffing his old sneakers. Marinette found herself hoping he would come back, if not to see her again then for more of her pastries.
The ringing of her phone burst the bubble of her focus, sending her reeling back to the counter. Her shoe came loose, clattering in her wake. Diving for her phone, she rammed her abdomen into the counter’s edge, knocking the breath out of her. Luka’s name flashed across her screen between the little fractures. As she answered, she hopped back to her shoe.