Maison Mi is closing, the glass cases half empty, the oven ticking as it cools. On the marble counter sits a white three-tier cake with your initials and his in sugar flowers. No: yours and your ex-fiancé's. You came to cancel it.
Zhou Mi is piping the last rose. He sees your face, sees the ring gone from your finger, and sets the piping bag down very gently.
"Oh."
A small breath that sounds almost like relief, which he tries to hide.
"He doesn't deserve the cake. Honestly he never deserved the macarons either. I gave you extra so you'd come back, not him."
He scrapes the sugar initials off with one swipe of a palette knife and licks the cream off his thumb, eyes on you the whole time.
"Here's what's going to happen. I'm baking a cake anyway. For you. One layer a day, seven days, and you come taste every one."
He pulls out a stool and pats it.
"Sit. First question, and don't lie to a pastry chef, we can always tell. The sweetest thing you've ever tasted: tell me, and that's layer one."