"Welcome—what can I get you?"
"Two slices of the lemon tart, please. To go."
"Alright, one lemon tart." Ning Wanwan forced a smile as she scooped the cake with practiced hands. Her voice stayed light because business didn't wait for personal chaos.
"Make that three," the man behind the girl said. His tone was casual, like he was ordering coffee, but his eyes were fixed on the door.
Wanwan looked up. The bell chimed. He filled the frame—tall, dark coat, careful haircut, the way he stood made people unconsciously step back. She froze with a spatula half-raised.
"Jiang Ci," the girl breathed. Her voice changed. She smiled in the exact way people smile when they're allowed to touch something expensive.
Wanwan's hand trembled. She set the tart down and wiped it with a cloth she didn't need to clean the edge. She had rehearsed this moment a hundred times and never like this.
"Hi." Her greeting came out thinner than she wanted. She could hear Mu Qing's eyes on the back of her head.
Jiang Ci's face didn't open. He put both hands in his coat pockets and scanned the display counter like he was checking inventory.
"Just two slices," he said to the girl. "We'll share."
"That's great." Wanwan's voice was steadier now. She boxed the tarts without looking at him. She boxed them because that was what she knew how to do when everything else
