Work Text:
“Oh, that smells like unicorn farts wrapped in rainbows!”
At the bakery's front counter, you glance up at the chiming bell above the door. Your first customer of the day... with a really strange comment.
A tall, mottled man stands before you in a grey hoodie holding an equally odd looking dog with a lolling tongue. Definitely not a sight you see every day.
He takes a deep, exaggerated sniff of the air.
“Morning!” you greet with a smile. “Come on in and—”
And just like that, he bolts out the door and back onto the street. His dog licks his face—actually, his open mouth—as they disappear from view.
What the fuck?
The next morning, it happens again.
“Mother of holy Mary and Marvel Jesus, that smells like a threesome between me, a donut, and fuck-me chocolate syrup!”
The man, again in the same coloured hoodie, pauses dramatically, closing his eyes and taking another long whiff as he half-leans into the bakery.
“Would you like to try—?”
But before you can finish, he’s gone again, leaving you standing there in disbelief.
The third morning is not much different.
Same man, same dog, same routine. However, this time, he doesn’t even say a word—just inhales, sighs in contentment, then spins around and exits as quickly as he entered.
It keeps on happening until the end of the week. By then, you've had enough.
Leaning on the counter, arms crossed, you watch from the counter as he comes into view by your window.
His dark maroon hoodie is drawn tight, and in tow as usual is his dog drooling slightly against his shoulder. You brace yourself, eyes narrowing.
The door swings open.
“Wow—”
“You, Mr. Dog Man!” You cut him off and point at him sternly.
He raises an eyebrow, pointing a finger to himself as if saying, “Me?”
“Yes, you,” you confirm, then you jab your finger towards your glass counter. “Kindly get the fuck in here.”
He chuckles, amused. “Did you just tell me to ‘get the fuck in here’?”
“Kindly,” you say, tilting your head with exaggerated politeness, “but yes.”
The man shrugs, complying with a casual stroll to the counter.
“Alright, I'm in. What’s the dealio?” he asks, leaning on the counter with a smile.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“It’s Wade,” the stranger supplies, his smile widening. “Wade Wilson. Is yours ‘The Bitchy Baker Who Didn’t Have a Good Dicking This Morning’?” His words drip with sarcasm, but there’s a playful twinkle in his eyes.
“Ha-ha. So funny,” you reply dryly. “You know, you can't just keep sticking your head in my bakery, make a comment, and then leave.”
“Why not? It's a free country,” he says, feigning innocence.
You roll your eyes. “If you like the smell of my baked goods that much, why don’t you actually buy one? I can assure you that they taste better than they smell.”
Wade smirks. “That’s what many of my ex-girlfriends said, but I could never trust them.”
You ruffle your eyebrows at his offhand comment, but he moves on quickly. “Look, I never carry my wallet on my morning walks. Mary Puppins here would guilt-trip me into buying way more stuff than I need.”
Your gaze drops to his dog, who’s happily panting in his arms and looking up with big eyes. “Her name is Mary Puppins?”
“Yup. Her previous owner—may he rest his soul—named her. Her new baby daddy—that’s me—just kept the tradition going.”
“And she guilt-trips you into buying stuff?” you ask slowly in equal parts disbelief and intrigue.
“Look at this face!” Wade exclaims, holding his dog out closer to you. “Wouldn't you buy her anything she wanted?”
For a few beats, you inspect the dog and its outfit. A little red and black costume that looks awfully similar to something you’ve seen before, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. But yes, her owner was right; she did have something oddly endearing about her.
“Is it okay if I pet her?”
“Oh yeah,” Wade nods enthusiastically, “go right ahead.”
Based on her lack of facial expressions, Mary Puppins seems indifferent to your pats and scritches, but her tail is wagging, so she must be enjoying it slightly. Wade watches you in approval.
You retract your hands, wash them quickly, then grab a tray of goods out from one of the shelves in the counter.
“Well, since you don't have your wallet, have one of these on the house,” you say, placing the tray in front of him.
Wade gasps theatrically, eyes twinkling in delight at all the choices he can possibly have. He takes his time, hovering his free hand over the array of pastries, until he finally decides on a chocolate croissant.
One bite, and his reaction is nothing short of dramatic, but that seems to be this guy’s style.
His eyes flutter to a close, and he lets out a moan that echoes in the quiet bakery. You smile proudly and mentally pat yourself on the back.
“Oh my God, they always talk about having a foodgasm, but my mouth is literally coming with each bite. Oh my fucking God!”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Okay, bring your wallet tomorrow and you can have plenty more foodgasms.”
“What—my handsome features don't get me free baked goods?” Wade leans the rest of his croissant towards Mary Puppins, who’s trying her best to nibble at it, but is mostly just licking it.
“You're cute, but you’re not that cute," you tease. Looking beyond his skin condition, he was a teensy bit handsome, you had to admit.
“I used to wear a wig. I’ll put it on again if it means I get free shit. Would that help?”
It’s hard not to smile in front of him. “No, I don't think so.”
“People say I look like Ryan Reynold’s hotter cousin when I’ve got a full load of hair on me.”
You huff and shake your head in disagreement.
“How about a date?” Wade asks with a wink. “There’s financial compensation in that—that’s gotta count for something.”
A date would count for something, but you didn't want him to be out of the waters yet.
“Come back tomorrow with your wallet and a date could maybe be in your future,” you reply flirtatiously.
Wade nods with a grin and begins to walk backwards towards the door.
“If I’m late though, it’s ‘cause I’m too busy jerking it while fantasizing about having those beauties in my mouth again.”
You sputter a laugh. Feeling brave, you decide to channel his humor and reflect it back at him. “Wow, maybe you’ll be only one minute late, if you can even last that long.”
He gasps in mock horror and jogs back to the counter again to take another baked good.
“This is compensation for that comment…” he says with squinted eyes, stuffing the pastry into his mouth.
“Don’t come too hard tonight, handsome,” you say with a wink.
“I’m legitimately so hard right now,” he says with a full mouth, pointing the half pastry braid towards his crotch. “As the kids say these days, you match my freak, lady. Say bye-bye, Mary Puppins!”
Wade awkwardly adjusts himself to make his dog give a little paw wave, while she simply wags her tail. You laugh and shake your head, amused by his antics.
As he finally exits, you hear him call out, “And if anyone asks, I’m just here for the sweet, sweet baked goods. Totally not because of the hot baker!”
You bite your lip, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, as you watch him and his dog disappear down the street. As you return to work, you replay your interactions with Wade over and over, and realize he’s just as endearing as his quirky dog.
You’re buzzing in anticipation to see Wade and Mary Puppins again tomorrow morning.