Ding, ding, ding
The bell above the door jingles, signalling someone's entrance, but I don't bother looking up from the dough I'm kneading on the table. I already know it's Dominic, It’s eight thirty, he’s the only one who shows up this early not a minute or seconds later, for two weeks straight, ever since we met up again. He's been very persistent, showing up everyday with flowers and gifts, trying to make small talk. I hear his foot steps approaching the counter I’m standing behind their sound soft and hush on the hardwood floor but still audible in the quite bakery he stops in front of me I can feel his eyes on me but I refuse to look up and meet them instead I put extra focus on the task at hand