create a dream come true
Things in Westview had, for the first time in your life, become unpredictable.
That being said, it wasn't the town itself that had shifted energies, not even the people living there. The only thing that had changed had been you…and your relationship with a certain green-eyed baker.
You weren't sure how to actually describe your relationship with her, though. It felt strange to call it a friendship considering the age difference between you two and your massive, growing, crush. There was little doubt in your mind that you were doing an awful job at keeping your affection for the older woman a secret, considering the smirk she often wore around you.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say the two of you were dancing around your very obvious feelings. The age gap was definitely something on your mind most of the time but the real thing that held you back were the whispers you heard from other customers when she asked you to go to the back with her.
Even though you both knew you weren't doing anything you shouldn't together, the whispers weighed on her. Sure, she was a completely divorced woman, free to do whatever she wanted, but Westview was a small town. Rumors and reputations mattered more than anything.
And, unfortunately, those rumors had the capacity of ruining the business she'd spent so long creating. She'd poured her all into the bakery and you'd rather keep your feelings a secret from her than do anything to ruin it for her. Some days, it was easier said than done.
Today was one of those days.
You technically weren't working for Wanda, even though you were spending every weekend, and every minute of free time, with her at the café. That didn't mean you didn't love helping her out, though. Whether it was stepping up as a cashier when someone took their break, restocking the cute displays when a pastry was running low, or helping the older woman whip up a new batch of her famous chocolate croissants.
You did it all for free and because you genuinely enjoyed helping her out. Plus, since you insisted she couldn't pay you a thing, she made sure to always make extra cookies for you to take back to New York for the week.
Today, though, there's a different energy in the air. You're not sure what it is exactly, you're simply painfully aware of how much time Wanda's been spending in the backroom baking.
Of course, baking is her job so it's not totally surprising but she's told you many times she bakes more when she's stressed. So, if you had to guess, spending the whole morning back there can't mean anything good.
You've tried to make your way in there to help her out but she'd pushed you out each time. Maybe that should have been your warning to stay away but you're far too stubborn for that.
Or maybe you're just an idiot.
Whatever it is, it makes you step into the back one more time. The morning rush is over, the only people left are the ones finishing up their coffee or having a late breakfast, and you're hoping the older woman will be in a better mood.
"Wands," you call out as you step inside. "How's it going in here?"
You don't even need to hear her answer to know something's wrong. There's a mess on her usually tidy work station, streaks of flour covering far too many counters and even the oven handles. You're not sure what's got her so chaotic and hurried, but she needs a break, and you're going to make her take one, no matter what.
"Everything's fine, sweetheart," she answers despite the mess on her apron that says otherwise.
You step forward into her space, your hands instantly coming up to smooth her stray hair behind her ears.
There's nothing new about the action. You've honestly lost count of how many times you've had to help clean Wanda up after preparing something due to how focused on her own chaos she gets sometimes. It's as frustrating as it is endearing.
This time, however, there's something different. A softness you're not fully used to. The familiarity behind your movements can't stop your breath from catching in your throat.
"I'm okay, y/n," she says again, although her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Don't lie to me," you reply. "You've been holed up in here all morning, that's not good for you. You haven't even told me why."
Wanda just sighs. "It's another special order, that's all."
The frown forms on your face before you can even think to stop it. Your hands move down to cup her face, thumbs rubbing away the bits of flour and icing stuck to her cheeks. "You're doing it again. You don't have to lie to me, you know?"
Your words seem to get through to her a little. Her shoulders slump forward and you move in to rest your forehead against hers.
You know it's a far more intimate action than what you should be doing with her. That the intimacy makes the lines of friendship blur until your head's a fuzzy mess.
It should feel scary, uncertain, wrong. Instead, all you feel is the warmth of her body against yours and the rush that comes from being close to her. The need to be closer that threatens to overwhelm you completely.
Thankfully, she speaks again before you can do something too stupid. Her voice is so soft, you almost miss it. "Yes, I do."
You don't understand the full weight of her words but they still make your heart clench. You can hear her exhaustion, the desperate way she tries to hold herself together even though she's worked herself too hard.
"No, you don't," you try again. "I can help. Let me help."
Even though she doesn't seem too convinced, she allows her eyes to meet yours. The conviction behind your gaze must strong enough to hold her up because she nods. "Okay, come here."
You expect her to pull you toward the half-finished cake she's working on or maybe have you take out a tray of heart cookies and start decorating them like usual. What you get, though, is Wanda leaning in, her hands landing on your waist and pulling you close.
Your mind goes blank, your hands shaking even as you hold them against her face.
You wait, heart in your throat, for her lips to meet yours.
Except they don't.
Instead, they meet your shoulder as she pulls you into her embrace.
The shock quickly turns into an affection you can't quite put into words. Your arms wrap around her shoulders and you pull her impossibly closer to you.
For a while, neither of you say anything. You simply hold her against you, letting her take a moment to catch her breath and come back to herself. While you don't fully know what's wrong, and though you hate seeing her so clearly upset, you don't push or rush her.
You simply wait.
And while you don't know it, it means more to her than you can even imagine.
Wanda pulls away from you when she's ready, her eyes holding traces of her exhaustion despite the soft smile on her face. "Thank you, darling."
You instantly shake your head at her. "You don't have to thank me. I like being here. With you. I like you."
The words are innocent enough for their real meaning to get lost. At least, that's what you assume. Unfortunately, you need to stop assuming things when you're with Wanda, you keep making an ass out of yourself.
"I like you too, y/n."
Before you can even begin to make sense of her words, she leans in. This time, one of her hands moves up, her fingers tilting your chin up so she can connect your lips.
The kiss is slow, unhurried, giving you the chance to melt into her like you never want to leave. And in a way, it's true. You're pretty sure there's no way you'll ever leave her side.
She pulls away much too quickly for your liking, your lips down turning into a pout. "Wands…"
"Don't pout, sweetheart," she tells you. "We still have work to do."
Like the enchantress she is, she takes a step back, suddenly ready to finish tackling the special orders taking up all her time. That only makes you pout more, your hand taking her and pulling her back in.
Wanda lets you, her mouth forming into a smile as you kiss her again. And again. And again.
Her laugh makes your heart swell. "Sweetheart, I'm serious."
All that makes you do is double down. "Go out with me."
The subtle tilt of her head makes you scramble for a better way to put your thoughts into words.
"I mean, on a date. Let me take you out. On a date. With me. Please."
As sweet as she is, she can't stop herself from laughing at you just a bit. Your face burns but you're sure you've never had a bigger smile on your face.
"Okay," she replies. "We can go on a date."
"Together?" You ask, just to see her smile again.
"Together." She nods. "But first, you have to help me with this cake."
And you gladly do.