Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Okay, okay. Okay.”

Newt can’t look at the expression on Jacob’s face as he takes one step, then another, into the rain. Closes his eyes. Lifts his chin. Smiles, just a little.

One last miracle. One more fantasy.

At least he gets this much. At least he’ll be safe, and not miss what he never knew.

Newt can’t really be surprised when Queenie spins a shield against the rain, suspends Jacob halfway through a dream. He is surprised when she turns back to him and says, “Your turn.”

“Go on,” adds Tina. “You should say goodbye.”

“W-wait…” Newt’s token protests fade away as he finds his feet have already taken him to Jacob, whose eyes are half-open, hazy with confusion.

Newt curls a hand around the back of Jacob’s head, fingers threading through wet hair. A shock of want jolts down his spine as Jacob’s lip part slightly, like he’s got something on the tip of his tongue.

“Don’t hate me,” he breathes and leans down, presses their lips together. In the half-second before he has to close his eyes, he sees Jacob’s pupil’s dilating.
His lips are so much softer than Newt had imagined.

He wants to feel him pressed along the line of his body, not merely two points.

He can’t keep going knowing he’ll be the only one who remembers. Newt pulls back but finds himself drawn in again, resting his head against Jacob’s forehead.

“Thank you, for everything. You, as you are, and continue to be, are amazing. If nothing else, remember this.”

He thinks his rain-shield might have failed, but the drops on his face are warm and salty.

He has to go. The Goldsteins’ are waiting.

Chapter Text

Newt doesn't notice it at first.

In his defense, soulmates had never been a particular priority of his. When he was younger, he was afraid that his soulmate would be just like everyone else; get annoyed by his constant fidgeting and tics, stop talking to him when he didn't respond right away.

It didn't help that his words were so spectacularly... normal. Every wizarding child was raised to greet others with their full name, along with ancestry if they had any. Respectful bows, with iterations of depth for rank or nobility, were taught to be used in situations where speaking was not a convenient greeting. The importance of soulmates in the wizarding world was such that detailed pamphlets were sent to Muggleborns along with their school acceptance letters. Only having the knowledge of one's soulmate precluded one from the formality.

But even though no one said his words, even though he wasn't nearly half as popular as his brother, people liked him. Leta Corona Lestrange, first daughter of Delphinia Lestrange, first daughter of Lilium Lestrange, pleasure to make your acquaintance? and Professor Dumbledore, I'll be teaching transfiguration.

So he told himself it didn't matter whether or not whoever it was supposed to be his soulmate would like him, because he had other people, and he'd be fine with so many creatures to meet and protect.

But then Leta said I'm sorry, and, It wasn't supposed to be like this I swear, and, I love her, and, she's my soulmate.

He says he'll still owl her, they can still be friends, but between being expelled and her honeymoon, it's easy to keep putting it off. He needs the time to heal, so he throws his energy into a book for his creautures, one of which leads him here, in America, chasing after an incorrigible Niffler.

So it's understandable, really, that it isn't until Porpentina Goldstein, second daughter of Rauldorph Goldstein, says, "Nomaj! Nonmagicals?" that Newt realizes.

"Oh, bollocks."

"You're kidding me. I'm going to have to take you in."

A blur of apparation, and then Porpentina stumbles on the rooftop of a New York brownstone, "This isn't-You idiot! You could've splinched us!"

Newt ducks his head, hides behind his floppy fringe, stammering excuses, "Sorry I wasn't, I just, he, he said my words."

"That's very nice." Porpentina folds her arms across her chest and eyes him sternly. "I'm certain MACUSA will accept that when they ask why I didn't bring you in at once, seeing as any and all relationships to nomajs are forbidden."

"Oh." Newt sinks in on himself, which might have had less to do with Tina's words and more to do with the complete lack of suitcase-wielding portly bakers in the crowded street below them.

Tina hesitates, then gives in at Scamander's puppylike woefulness. "I suppose they might be more lenient if we find where he is and whether he's said anything."

"Yes, of course, thank you." Newt starts unlocking his suitcase. "We can use my... oh Merlin's beard, he must've grabbed the wrong one. We need to find him before he opens it. At least this'll be easier." He jumps up, wand in hand. "Point Me, Suitcase. Come on, we haven't any time to waste!"

Tina has no choice but to follow as they run a spotty course, apparating in short bursts and checking their compass every few blocks.

They appear in a aging yet neat apartment with a quiet pop just as their quarry is setting down a wellworn valise.

"Y-you!" he sputters.

"Yes, me, sorry for barging in like this, but I believe you've something of mine?" Newt holds up the other misplaced suitcase.

Kowalski looks down and back at Newt. "Wha-but how did you?"

"Tracking spell," replies Newt promptly.

"Mr. Scamander!" protests Tina over Kowalski's spluttering. "He hasn't been evaluated, you don't even know his name, his history!"

"No disrespect, ma'am," says Kowalski, drawing himself up indignantly, "but I'm a perfectly respectable member of society, I've served in the military for over a year, and I will soon be, with God's grace, running a business of my own."

Newt tunes them both out, already opening his suitcase and stepping into it. They only notice he's vanished when he snaps his fingers, and then beckons.

"You don't think he means...?"

"What? Certainly not me!"

"Of course he'd want you."

"But I'm just, y'know, just normal, and..."

"Yes, but you are his soulmate."

"I'm his what?"

"It's... complicated. It's probably best if you go on down; he should be the one to explain it to you."

As Kowalski peers over the edge of the suitcase and into its dimly lit depths, Newt's hand beckons once again. "Oh boy," he mutters, "Since I'm definitely dreaming, I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

Tina just rolls her eyes and helps him down with a silent and temporary Reducio. She's glad she'll never have to deal with the mess of a stranger being her soulmate; she's been sororally bound to Queenie as long as she can remember.

So they go in, feed the animals, comfort them, let Newt do as he does best and teach them about this intensely private part of his life.

And then the Obscurial hits. And in the midst of the wreckage, they're arrested as a scapegoat. And in the execution chamber, they survive. And then they meet Queenie and run.

His name is Credence. His mother, well, the woman who took him in, she beats him. She hates magic. That's how I was stripped of my rank.

At Pike Street, Credence turns around, asks Modesty softly, (the child trusts you) "Where did you get this?" On the steps, Mary Lou pauses, turning towards the door. On the threshold, Tina and Queenie throw up Notice-me-nots and wards while Newt holds his wand ready and Jacob brandishes his suitcase.

A flurry of spells and several unnecessary, though not unwarranted, hexes later, Tina says, "Credence? I'm sorry I couldn't help sooner, I tried I swear. I've brought friends to help. Are you hurt?"

So while Tina Obliviates Mary Lou and carefully eases the ache of Credence's bruises, Jacob and Queenie work together to provide toasty mugs of hot cocoa and crumbly slices of cornbread and Heating Charms on their thin, spartan clothing.

"But we'll make a mess," says Modesty.

"Modesty!" hisses Credence. "Don't complain; just be grateful."

"It's quite alright," Queenie soothes.

"The young lady makes a good point," says Jacob. "Miss Modesty, would you do me the favor of revealing where the dinnerware may be in this establishment?" He bows dramatically, letting her lead the way with a giggle.

Newt finally pops up from rummaging in his suitcase with an armful of buttery yellow puffskeins. Modesty gives a delighted gasp and promptly drops her plate. Before she can do more than open her mouth to apologize, three wands catch it midair and send it back.

"I didn't know magic could do that!" Modesty sneaks a guilty look at Credence. "I stole a wand and I tried and tried but only pretty lights come out."

"You're still young yet," assures Newt. "You'll learn plenty of magic when you go to school."

"...Graves said he'd teach me," Credence says. He quietly pets the puffskein humming contentedly in his lap. His other hand is loosely curled around the mug.

Newt and Tina exchange glances, remembering the interrogation. Useless, he'd called the Sudanese Obscurus.

"He made you a lot of promises, didn't he?" says Queenie gently. "Can you tell us what else he said?"

"He said, he said he'd protect us. That, that I wasn't a f-freak. And, and he had a vision or, or a prophecy. About a child with a lot of power. And he said I was in it too, and the child trusted me, and if I brought him the child he'd teach me magic, and I'd be safe."

"Did he say why?" Newt keeps his voice calm, but his instincts are telling him something's wrong.

There hasn't been an Obscurus in MACUSA in over a hundred years.

She can't hurt anyone! So it's useless.

To spread fear. To create a war between the magical and nonmagical worlds.

"I, I don't know, something about danger--"

With excellent timing, Graves apparates into the room.

"Sir!"

"Credence, Modesty, please follow Jacob into the suitcase." Although Newt's stance is non-confrontational, he holds his wand ready.

Modesty looks to Credence, who looks between Newt and Graves, neither of whom can hide the growing tension.

"Credence," says Graves softly. Dangerously. "Are you doubting me? After everything I have done for you, you would rather trust these criminals?"

"Credence, please," says Newt, desperate, scrabbling for something to convince him because if he is right about Graves he very much wants his soulmate and the children out of harm's way.

"Perhaps you're willing to risk yourself, but endangering a child? Credence, I expected better." Graves tilts his head, disappointment clear. Credence flinches. "Modesty, yes? Modesty, please, come with me. My name is Percival Graves, and I am the Director of Mag-"

"Excuse me, what crimes?"

Newt doesn't whether he wants to kiss or kill Jacob, and a strangled noise chokes its way out of his throat.

Graves turns the full force of his icy attention to Jacob. "Who. are. you."

"Jacob Kowalski, professional baker, Army veteran, and nonmagical," he says, proudly defiant despite the quiver of his jowls. "What crimes have we been charged with, seeing as I distinctly remember the lack of a trial?"

"A Nomaj," sneers Graves. "Yes, I remember now, you were the one that Mr. Scamander and Ms. Goldstein were arrested for conspiring with. As for your crimes, between the lot of you; conspiring to reveal wizardkind through terrorism and mass destruction, breaking the Statute of Secrecy, several counts of homicide, assaulting federal officials, destruction of federal property, impeding a federal investigation, and carrying a wand without a permit. Formality dictates that I allow you the opportunity to come quietly, Mr. Scamander, Ms. Goldstein, Ms. Goldstein, but I assure you, my subordinates in Law Enforcement would not hesitate to use lethal force, particularly in the case of such... lesser creatures you seem so fond of keeping in your company. Now come, Modesty, I promise I'll keep you quite safe."

Credence froze and then burst out, uncomprehending, "But you said you were my soulmate!"

"You? You're practically a Squib. It's a miracle you even have enough magic to have a soulmark. This was just a simple glamour." He raises his hand, where dark letters are fading away.

"You're wrong," says Newt, stepping forward. "Modesty isn't the Obscurial; she's stable enough to channel magic through a wand. Credence. I want you to know that you are the strongest person I have ever met, that your survival for so long is an incredible miracle, but right now, I need you to get in the suitcase with Jacob and Modesty."

Credence shudders silently, wavering at the edges.

"Please," says Jacob. "For the puffskeins, if nothing else." Modesty trails behind him with wide eyes.

"Credence?" she says, alarmed, "You're turning into smoke. Credence, please don't leave me."

"Alright," says Credence. "Alright. For, for the puffskeins."

In quick succession:

Graves snarls, and dark tendrils writhe out of his wand.

Jacob shoves the children down the ladder and throws himself over the entrance. (He closes his eyes against the oncoming barrage and thinks about how perhaps he shouldn't've personally taste-tested so many pastries, how he lived through the war just to die here, how that doesn't sound right because here and now he is making a difference, how Newt would feel, finding and losing him so quickly, the way he cooed at the baby occamies, how his eyes went soft when he looked at his animals. He thinks I'm sorry and I wish we had had more time and please don't miss me too much and hopes that Queenie with her mind powers can hear him so she can tell Newt.)

Newt cries out and throws up shield charms, bolstered by Tina and Queenie.

The curse tears past the barriers. Tina recovers fast enough to send a flurry of spells, hoping to deflect it, but the curse dodges.

President Picquery and a squad of Aurors apparate into the building and immediately cast anti-Apparition wards.

Queenie casts Ennervate on Chastity, in hopes that she will be overlooked in the chaos and escape safely.

A hailstorm of hexes and spells rains down on Graves from both sides, but he deflects them all with ease.

Chastity snarls, "Witchcraft!" and stabs Graves' hand with a fountain pen. He reflexively drops his wand. She grabs it and snaps it in half.

In an instant he withdraws another wand with his free hand, turns, blasts her through the wall. But in the half-second his guard is down, Newt releases the Swooping Evil.

As the Aurors restrain him, Queenie reveals Grindelwald beneath the Polyjuice. President Picquery explains how they found the real Graves.

Newt, however, is too busy running to Jacob.

"Please," he says, searching for a pulse in pale, clammy skin. He swipes tears from his eyes. "Ennervate. Episkey. Anapnium. Tergeo. Reparifors. Ennervate. Oh Merlin, Jacob, please be alright."

Jacob's eyelids flutter, once, twice, open to reveal completely black eyes. And he opens his mouth and screams.

-----

6 MONTHS LATER

-----

"Yes, Modesty, you do have to wear your coat; it's much colder than you think."

Newt throws on his own scarf. "Alright, everyone ready?"

"Yes, sir," says Credence from behind a bouquet of flowers.

"Just Newt is fine."

"Yes, Mr. Scamander."

Newt sighs and goes on.

Queenie nods very seriously, basket of pastries at her side.

Modesty pats her pockets securely.

Tina squeezes Newt's hand.

"Everyone, hands on the Portkey please," Newt pauses then, "Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

The Portkey whisks them away, and their little group stumbles apart in a small copse of trees.

On a sunny, though chilly, Tuesday morning, they are the only ones in the cemetery. Newt leads the way to a plain grave marker that simply reads, "Chastity Barebone 1908-1926".

Newt applies a Scouring Charm to its surface while the sisters weed the grave.

Once it is clean, Credence plucks a single red poppy out of the bouquet and places it on the gravestone. "I'm sorry no one was there for you," he says.

Modesty puts a shiny new fountain pen next to the poppy, then turns and hugs Credence wordlessly. They stand there, heads bowed in silence, until finally Credence says, "We're ready, Mr. Scamander, sir."

"Just Newt," he says automatically, "Remember to hold tight to us." With that, the five vanish from the cemetery.

This time, they are in a London alley. They weave through crowds of summer tourists and students on holiday, until they reach a particular mannequin in a store window.

"Newt Scamander, party of five, here on behalf of Jacob Kowalski."

The mannequin beckons them through the window. The receptionist greets them with familiarity, and nods them to the elevator. "No changes, I'm afraid."

"That's alright, thanks anyways, Oakinfeld." They take the elevator to the fourth floor, where a nurse scans their packages.

"Sorry loves, procedure you know."

"Yes, of course," says Tina. Newt is fidgeting, distracted, impatient, Credence and Modesty still shy at strangers, and Queenie is focusing on maintaining her mental barriers.

"All clear," says the nurse.

"Thank you," Tina throws over her shoulder as they quickly move on.

Finally, they are in Jacob's room. He has the privilege of a private room due to the generosity of a Professor Dumbledore. Next to his bed is a cabinet stocked with common potions for long term coma patients and a first aid kit.

The group is familiar with his room and follow a well-established routine. Credence throws out the wilted flowers and replaces the vase with the fresh ones. Queenie brings out the food while Tina spreads a colorful picnic blanket over the plain hospital sheets. Newt conjures chairs for everyone, and draws the curtains to let in some sun.

"Hi, Mr. Kowalski," says Modesty between bites of her sandwich. "Lots of things happened this week! Rumpelstiltskin escaped again, and Papa called him some very bad words when he didn't think I was listening." She giggled and Newt pulled a shocked face.

"They still can't decide where I should go to school next year. Papa says Hogwarts is the best, but Auntie Queenie says I should stay in the public school system because learning nomaj science is important too and they can teach me whatever's left, and Aunt Tina says we shouldn't ignore other options like the Academy in California or maybe an apprenticeship to the New Orleans guild or the CAMPS. And then they said it was up to me, but I can't pick because they all sound really fun. I still want to visit you every week though...

"Oh, and, it's finally warm so if we're good Auntie Queenie says she'll take us to the beach. I've never been before, but she says it'll be fun. I'll make sure to bring back lots of pretty things for you, but it'd be even better if you woke up, 'cause then you could come with us! We all really miss you, so please wake up soon.

"Your turn," Modesty said, nudging Credence with her shoulder.

He looks at his lap, slowly shredding a napkin. When he does finally speak, his voice is soft. (The first few times they visited, he couldn't stop apologizing.) "Queenie taught me how to bake the other day. I made the muffins."

Queenie beams. "And he did an excellent job." She added lightly, "Keep sleeping much longer and he'll outbake you."

Credence flushes, and he ducks his head, but it's with embarrassment, not agitation.

After a small comfortable silence of chewing and swallowing, Tina speaks up. "There still haven't been any signs of Grindelwald, but both British and American Aurors are on the lookout. St. Mungo's is giving you the best they can offer, and they promised to reach us immediately should any of the wards go off. We can," she licks her lips, "we can only hope he has lost interest, or forgotten about you."

She looks down, having lost her appetite. She hadn't wanted to bring down the mood down, but she knows that they deserved to know.

"We'll give you some time alone," says Queenie, and quietly herds her sister and the children out of the room. "Let's wait outside."

"Hey," says Newt after the door closes. He holds Jacob's hand, rubs the ball of his thumb across it. "The animals miss you, you know. I didn't think they would bond with you so quickly. I like to think that maybe they, well, know that you are soulmate. I wish you'd wake up. There's so much I don't know about you still. I know," his breath hitches, "I know I should be grateful, that you're still alive, that they've been able to reverse the curse, that I ever met you....

"They've finished building your bakery, you know. Cozy little shop where the Salemers used to be. The kids say it doesn't look anything like before. Don't worry, we won't open without you."

He hesitates, then laughs at himself. "Look at me, I'm stalling. Well. I talked to my brother. About-about the war, and the things he went through and the things he had to do. I'm sure the magical side of it was quite different... but when you get down to it, doesn't make it much less awful. And I guess, I guess I just wanted you to know that, the horrors he made you relive, I haven't experienced them, and I probably never will, but I'll be here for you, when you wake up. I hope you really can hear me, somewhere in there, because I'll be ready to listen." Newt scrubs tears from his face and stands up. Just before he opens the door, he pauses.

"Please wake up soon. I want to learn how to love you."

Chapter Text

"Er. You're quite sure you want my help?" Newt fiddles with the apron Jacob tossed at him, looking dubiously over the ingredients laid neatly on the counter.

"Yes, don't worry, we're starting simple. Follow my instructions and you'll be fine. Speaking of, put on the apron already." Jacob peered into the oven, turning the dial to the ideal temperature.

"Okay, now what?"

Jacob turned from preparing the oven and snorted. "You're wearing it wrong, słoneczko."

The tips of Newt's ears flushed red, as they always did when Jacob used his endearments, and he held out the tangled fabric helplessly.

Jacob stepped behind to help. "Here, you see? It crosses behind you, then you bring it around the front to tie it off. But," and he poked Newt in the ribs, "you are far too skinny, so I will go around again and tie it in the back."

"I eat plenty!" Newt protested. "You of all people should know, considering how much food you force on me. I really don't know why I'm still so skinny."

"Ah, yes, my grandma always used to say that there is no use eating if you do not give your body time to absorb it. You don't sleep enough either." Jacob tied off the apron, his hands sliding down to Newt's hips.

"That one's all on you, for keeping me awake." He turned around, grinning softly, leaning against the counter, still within the cup of Jacob's hands. "Thanks for the help." Jacob melted under the affection in Newt's eyes, and couldn't help but steal a quick kiss.

"There's your welcome. But don't think you've distracted me; I've been meaning to do this for a while now, and now that we're doing this thing I mean to do it proper."

"Alright, chef. What's the first step?"

"Got your mixing bowl? Okay now, start with two cups of flour. Wait, stop!"

Newt paused, puzzled. "This is a cup, isn't it? D'you Americans call it something else?"

"No, a cup when you're measuring means up to this line, with the number next to it."

"Ah, okay." Newt poured a bit back in the bag, shook the cup a little to settle the flour, and held it up to eye level. "That's one, that's two cups of flour."

Jacob then held up a set of measuring spoons. "We use these when we need to measure things much smaller than cups. T-s-p is the abbreviation for teaspoon; t-b-s-p for tablespoon. Two teaspoons of baking powder, then half a teaspoon of salt."

Newt hummed thoughtfully as he scooped baking powder from the box. "Seems rather arbitrary, doesn't it? Teaspoons, tablespoons, cups; I've no idea how you keep them all straight."

"Do not get me started, you've not got any right to criticize, with your 29 knuts and 17 sickles and pure gold galleons. Also, that's sugar."

Newt blinked, licked his finger, stuck his finger in the bowl, and licked again. "Oh. Is that bad?"

"It's alright, going salt to sugar's nearly always harmless and these're cookies so it oughta have sugar anyways."

Newt peered at the two boxes of white crystals. "But they haven't got any labels, how can you tell? What happens if it's the other way around?"

"Well, if you've ever swallowed sea water...." Jacob laughed at Newt's grimace. "Truth be told, s'just that the labels on mine've worn off and I've not bothered to replace them, seeing as they look different. See, salt's cubed, and sugar's granular, yeah?"

"Er, right. I'll leave them up to you, then. So now I've the actual salt in, what's next?"

"Teaspoon of cinnamon. And now mix. Easy, słoneczko, you just want it even throughout, save your strength for this next part. Half cup of butter. Easier to use margarine, but most prefer the taste of butter more. Stir till creamy."

Newt grunted as he shoved the wooden spoon through the thick cream. "I'll give you this much, baking's far clearer than any potions class ever was. That was all 'stir counterclockwise seventeen times' or 'heat until periwinkle' or 'handful of Flobberworms'. Figuring those out was a chore and a half, let me tell you. That good?"

"Mmn, now mix in a cup of sugar, slowly. Yes, well, baking was never supposed to be for turning people into other people, or regrowing bones, or making people fall in love. The next step, well, have you ever cracked a raw egg? No? I'll do it this time." Jacob expertly cracked and dropped the egg in one smooth motion with one hand. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of other chances. Everything needs eggs."

He stepped back and tossed the shell in the trash, watched the tip of Newt's tongue as he stirred, the hidden strength in his skinny frame. Reaching out, he tucked back the lock of hair that had flopped over Newt's eyes. Newt turned towards him, leaning into the palm of his hand. He kissed the inside of Jacob's wrist and grinned as he rubbed the ball of his thumb over Jacob's rabbiting pulse.

"Next step, chef?"

"Ah, er. Right, cookies. Cookie dough. Milk. Three-eighths cup of milk, about. You just want enough milk to have the dough stiff enough to roll out. Here's rolling pin, you flatten the dough out on the table, yes, then fold it over and flatten again."

Despite having seemingly regained his composure, the flush of his face betrayed Jacob as he watched the flex of Newt's arms beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

"Now you can portion the dough." Jacob went over the cookies loosely with the sugar spoon as Newt cut chunks out of the dough.

"There you go, and now we bake. See, not so hard is it?"

Newt grinned. "That was fun, yes. What, have I got something on my face?"

Jacob swiped at Newt's face with a floury finger, laughing. "You do now."

"Why, you!" Newt retaliated with a stripe on Jacob's nose, to which Jacob rubbed flour all over Newt's ear, though he took advantage of the opening to leave dusty white tracks over Jacob's eyes. He narrowed them, blinking furiously through the flour, and left a thick swathe under Newt's nose.

He sneezed, held up his hands, "Okay, okay, achoo! You win, let me get this for you..." and proceeded to dump a handful of flour on Jacob's head.

Jacob blinked, then smirked. "Słoneczko, you trickster. At least I can take a loss well. Here, clean yourself up." He handed Newt a soaking wet washcloth.

Newt gratefully used it to scrub his face, then froze. As he lifted his betrayed, horrified face, viscous trails of sticky flour dripped down.

Jacob crowed victoriously, using a perfectly dry washcloth to rub the flour off his own face. "I can't believe you fell for that. Not ten minutes ago we were mixing flour and milk."

Newt pouted. "Yes, oh grand baker, I should never have challenged you. And now I will cheat, unless throwing flour around is a regular baking exercise. Scourgify."

"Oh, you missed a spot. I suppose magic isn't always perfect."

"Here?"

"No, right here." Jacob leaned in and kissed the corner of Newt's mouth. "There you are, słoneczko."

Newt grinned, adoration in his eyes, arms loosely wrapped around Jacob. "But why were you staring, in the beginning?"

Jacob turned his head into Newt's shoulder to hide his blush. "What, I can't admire the person I love?"

Newt kissed him, helplessly.

Abruptly, they both broke apart, remembering the cookies. Seeing that they were ready, Newt put on gloves and took the tray out of the oven. Inhaling the scent, he sighed happily. "You know, you might be wrong about that."

"About?"

"Maybe baking does make people fall in love."