Chapter Text
Stiles is waiting to be inspired.
He’s a baker, not an artist, but hey, there are quite a few reviewers on Yelp who claim to differ. That his pastries are absolutely inspired and to die for and I could never imagine this before I saw it and then after tasting it I knew I couldn’t go to any other baker. His little bakery in middle-of-nowhere-northern-California is a far, far cry from the hustle and bustle of the cutthroat restaurant industry in New York City, but after leaving his Michelin-three-star rated restaurant, Stiles can finally breathe again.
It’s not that being a chef wasn’t what he loved; but he had little creative control over his own menu, and the restaurant owners refused to let him experiment. There was that and the people— once that review of Stiles’ cooking came out, the rich and powerful flocked to the little restaurant, and the delighted owner had redesigned and raised the prices threefold, turning the hole-in-the-wall into a high class dining establishment with reservations booked for months.
No, it wasn’t what Stiles wanted. He quit and hopped on the next plane back home and here he was back in Beacon Hills, with his very own bakery of his own. It’s a lot smaller than any of the restaurants he’s worked, but it’s entirely his own. Plus Stiles closer to his aging dad (who’s still, remarkably the Sheriff, even as he’s getting on in years), and his best friend Scott McCall, who returned to Beacon Hills after college, married his high school sweetheart and opened up his own veterinary clinic and animal shelter, and pretty much never left the town again.
It was a good bargain. Living in New York alone, too busy working to enjoy any of the actual fun things the city had to offer, constantly stressed, cooking only for the privileged elite, versus being surrounded by his friends and family, making a significantly less amount of money but getting to be creative and actually having the time to enjoy himself. Hell yeah.
Sundays are Fun Days. That’s Stiles’ motto. Every Sunday he lets the first customer of the day design their own creation— and he’ll make it. Stiles even has his own hashtag on Instagram, #sundaysfundays. It gets a lot more traffic than his actual hashtag for the bakery, but Stiles can deal.
The bakery has been open for three minutes, and Stiles is excited, wondering what his customer will want. Maybe a cake in the shape of a T-Rex? A pie bigger than their face?
Stiles sets out the morning’s rack of scones and pastries, double checks that the coffee is ready. He’s ready. So ready.
The bell above the door chimes merrily and Stiles turns away from the coffee to look for his first customer of the day, but he doesn’t see anything.
Then he looks down.
There’s a little girl with leaves in her dark hair and lopsided pigtails grinning gappily-toothed at him. “Hi, Mr. Baker,” she says.
“Hello there!” Stiles says, smiling back at her. “My name’s Stiles, you don’t have to call me Mr. Baker.”
“Mr. Stiles,” the girl says, nodding seriously. “I’m Elyse.”
“Is.. your mommy or daddy nearby?” Stiles asks, a bit concerned. He looks outside the front door but he doesn’t see a worried parent or something on the sidewalk.
Elyse shakes her head. “I don’t have a mommy. I was grown inside a big big machine that my daddy gave some of his special magic to because he wanted a baby so, so much, and then when I was big enough they put me inside my Auntie Laura who helped make me, but she isn’t my mommy, she’s my auntie, and she was just helping.”
To Stiles’ relief, while Elyse was talking, the door opened again and a bearded man rushes in with a chubby beagle at the end of a leash in one hand and bags of groceries in the other, a stricken expression on his face. The man sets down the groceries and swoops up Elyse in a tight hug. “Elyse! How many times have I said not to rush ahead!”
He looks up at Stiles, who is momentarily overwhelmed by the mixture of gold and green in his eyes. His whole face is gorgeous, really. Stiles coughs and takes a step back.
“I’m so sorry if she startled you while you were at your work, we were just walking down Main Street and she just started running for your store, just completely taking me by surprise, and then the dog got me tangled up in a tree, and wow, you must think I’m the worst father in the world.”
He even blushes gorgeously. He looks startlingly familiar, now that Stiles thinks about it, and he’s trying his best to place those eyes.
“And she’s really into.. explaining things, right now. I tried to be really transparent about the surrogate process, but she’ll tell anyone and everyone about it. Sorry about the TMI,” he adds.
“Nah don’t worry about it, it was cool. And you caught up to her right away, and you were right behind her,” Stiles says.
“Sir Barkington really loves trees,” Elyse muses dreamily.
“She’s going through a princess phase,” the man says, sighing a little but patting his daughter’s hair fondly, picking out the leaves. “Some sort of fight the dragon save the prince— who is very often our dog— princess phrase, but one nonetheless.”
Stiles sweeps a majestic bow to Elyse. “Your Highness, I am pleased to inform you that as first customer of the day, I shall make your heart’s desire for you, whether or not tis on yonder menu.”
Elyse’s eyes widen. “Ooh, a toast castle! Will you make me a toast castle, Mr. Stiles!?”
Toast castle. Definitely hasn’t heard that one before. Well, Stiles has an idea. “Of course, your Highness.”
He gets to work right away, despite the man’s protests that he doesn’t have to. Stiles rolls his eyes and informs him that it’s tradition, and there’s no arguing about it.
There’s an uncut loaf of sweet buttermilk bread that he cuts a few thick slices of, then makes an egg batter with cream and fresh ground vanilla beans, soaking the bread in it.
“You’re welcome to have a seat and wait, Princess Elyse and King…?”
“I’m Derek, by the way. My sister speaks very highly of your pastries, and I thought I’d check out the place while I’m here.”
“Derek Hale?” Stiles splutters. He knows Cora, has known her since high school, and he has a very vivid memory of working on a school project with her after school when her home-from-college older brother had entered the house from his afternoon run and pulled his shirt off…
Let’s just say a young Derek was pretty much the catalyst for a teenage Stiles discovering his bisexuality.
Derek at nineteen had been attractive, yeah, but this Derek— stubbled and filling out his shirtsleeves and giving his daughter indulgent smiles is just jaw dropping.
Now here on the wrong side of thirty, he’s pretty much squeaking and acting like that teenager with a crush again.
Derek rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, Stiles, right? I didn’t know if you remembered me. But yeah, we’re visiting Beacon Hills for the week.”
“Oh? Where are you coming from?”
“Elyse and I are living in DC right now, but we’re spending time here so Elyse can do Halloween and visit with our extended family. It’s nice to be back in Beacon Hills, I’ve been thinking about moving back here for awhile, but for now I just bring Elyse down here for Halloween for all the great stuff the town puts on.”
They chat amiably for a bit and Stiles is flattered to hear Derek followed his name in the food industry for a bit, and then Stiles starts talking with Elyse about her favorite foods, and she asks tons of questions about the pastries in the case and how he bakes them.
Sir Barkington wanders around the counter and starts sniffing at Stiles’ feet, and he laughs, resisting the urge to pet the dog while he’s handling food. Instead he pours a bowl of water for the puppy and hands it to Derek, pointing out the bag of treats by the door that Stiles leaves out for customers with pets.
It’s been a long while since Stiles has had a conversation with someone he’s attracted to; and he likes kids, Elyse is great. The fact that Stiles has had a long-standing crush on Derek since high school also is probably a huge factor in how overwhelmed he feels right now.The wheels are already turning in his head, and if he didn’t already know Derek is going to head across the country right after Halloween he’d seriously consider asking the man out.
And yet.
Stiles tries to get a grip on himself as he turns on the stove. He butters up a pan while talking with Elyse about some of his favorite princesses, and then throws the slices of toast in the pan, frying them until they’re crisp.
Stiles lets Elyse watch as he assembles the castle with “bricks” of toast, a simple square base for the main fortress, and one tall tower. He garnishes it with slices of fresh strawberries, pipes some green icing quickly along the tower, adds some ice cream cones for the pointed roof of the tower, drizzles caramel and chocolate syrup and then shakes powdered sugar all over it.
“Tada,” Stiles announces.
Elyse screams with delight, bouncing up and down as Stiles sets the plate down at one of the tables.
Derek reaches for his wallet. “How much do I—”
“On the house,” Stiles insists.
Derek nods, smiling. “Oh, is that part of your first customer of Sunday thing?”
There’s a few other people in the shop now, lining up, and Mrs. Simmons, who has been coming into the bakery since it opened, clucks her tongue. She definitely knows Stiles charges for all his Sunday Fun Days.
Stiles gives her a pleading expression.
“Welcome back to Beacon Hills,” Stiles says warmly. “I’ve gotta—”
“Thank you,” Derek says, shaking his hand. “I mean, really. I’ve never seen her so happy. Or messy.”
Elyse has dived headfirst into the toast castle and her face is covered in syrup and sugar. She’s grinning from ear to ear, though.
Sir Barkington barks in approval.
Something inside Stiles melts. “My pleasure. I’ve got other customers, so you enjoy.”
He takes care of the other customers while keeping an eye on Derek and Elyse. He’s attentive towards his daughter, laughing and joking with her, and the two of them eat their toast castle and also read from a storybook while Derek plays with Sir Barkington’s floppy ears. Stiles can kinda hear them from where he’s working, and it sounds like Derek’s doing voices and veering heavily away from the book, improvising with a story about the dog as a knighted prince instead.
It’s the kind of sweet domestic picture Stiles has always wanted for himself; he never had time for serious relationships in New York, and ever since he came back to Beacon Hills there hasn’t been anyone he’s really been interested in dating.
Derek waves at him as they leave, and Stiles’ heart does flip flops.
The door closes.
Life is cruel. Derek Hale is only going to be here in Beacon Hills for a week. Sundays Fun Days is a lie. It was not fun, getting a bit of hope and having it torn away.
How much wooing can Stiles do in a week, anyway?