Kent sat in the chateau trailer, his desk messy with papers. In front of him was a wooden box, open wide.
Inside were four little treats and four notes. He picked up the newest one—a tiny tart with a note that said, "Hey, Grumpy! Sweeten your day! —A Friend."
The handwriting was all over the place, messy and wild, with a goofy smiley face at the bottom.
Kent stared at it, his eyebrows scrunching up. He knew who wrote it. He just knew.
"Gaesha," he said quietly to himself. "It's gotta be you."
Lately, Kent couldn't stop thinking about her. Her loud laugh by the river stuck in his head.
That day with the broken umbrella in the rain played over and over too. It started with these notes, these little surprises showing up at his work.
But now it was more than that. Gaesha was popping into his thoughts all the time, and he wasn't sure what to do about it.
Did he like it? Did he hate it? He didn't know.
Mark walked in, whistling a tune. "Hey, Kent," he said, stopping by the desk. "Why's your face all twisted up like that?"
"It's nothing," Kent said fast. He shut the box with a little thud. "I'm just thinking."
Mark tilted his head and grinned. "Thinking about her, huh?" he said, pointing at the closed box. "Your mystery girl with the treats?"
Kent frowned. "It's not a mystery anymore," he said. "I'm pretty sure it's Gaesha. I know it's her."
Mark's grin got bigger. "Oh, you figured it out at last?" he said. "What made you so sure?"
Kent tapped the box. "The writing," he said. "It's all messy, just like her. And the way she writes 'Grumpy Kent'—she calls me that to my face."
Mark laughed. "She's not wrong," he said. "You're grumpy a lot."
"I'm not grumpy," Kent said, his voice flat. "Anyway, I'm going to her bakery today."
"Whoa, hold on," Mark said, eyes wide. "You're going to see her? That's a big move for you."
Kent grabbed his coat off the chair. "I'm not making a move," he said. "I just want to check. I need to know for sure it's her."
Mark crossed his arms, still smiling. "Check, huh?" he said. "Sounds like you're curious about her."
"No," Kent said, pulling on his coat. "I'm not curious. I'll be back soon."
"Tell Gaesha hi from me!" Mark shouted as Kent walked out the door.
The walk to Montmartre didn't take long. Kent found her shop, "Gaesha's Sweets," on a skinny street.
It had a bright yellow door and a big window showing off cakes and cookies inside. He stopped outside, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Loud, happy music spilled out from the shop. Kent took a deep breath, then pushed the door open.
The bell above the door jingled, but Gaesha didn't notice. She was behind the counter, dancing like nobody was watching.
Flour was all over her—on her face, her apron, even her hands. She held a spoon up like it was a microphone and sang along with the radio.
"Oh, baby, love me right, love me tight!" she yelled, spinning around.
Kent stood there, not moving. She didn't see him yet. Gaesha twirled again, her hair flying everywhere, and then she bumped a tray with her elbow.
Cookies slid off and hit the floor. "Oh no!" she cried, dropping down to her knees. "My poor babies!"
Kent cleared his throat, loud enough to get her attention. "Gaesha," he said.
She jumped up fast, flour stuck to her nose. "Kent!" she said, her eyes going big. "Hey! When did you sneak in here?"
"Just now," Kent said, stepping closer. "You're… really busy, huh?"
Gaesha laughed and wiped her hands on her apron. "Busy dancing," she said. "And dropping stuff, I guess. Did you see that? Want a cookie? They're floor cookies now, but they're still yummy."
"No thanks," Kent said. He looked at her, then at the mess. "I came here to ask you something."
She leaned on the counter, grinning wide. "Oh, okay!" she said. "What's on your mind, Kent?"
He took a second, then said, "The notes. The ones at my work. It's you leaving them, right?"
Gaesha's grin froze for a moment. "Notes?" she said, blinking. "What are you talking about? What notes?"
Kent crossed his arms. "Don't play dumb," he said. "You know what I mean. The ones that say 'Grumpy Kent.' The ones with pastries. It's you, isn't it?"
Gaesha bit her lip, then let out a big laugh. "Okay, okay, you got me," she said. "Busted! Yeah, it's me. Surprise, Kent!"
He didn't smile back. "Why?" he asked. "Why are you doing that?"
She tilted her head, still smiling. "Well, first, to say sorry," she said. "You know, for that mess with the éclairs a while back. And also 'cause it's fun. Don't you think it's fun?"
"No," Kent said. "It's annoying."
Her face dropped a little. "Oh," she said. "Really? I didn't mean to bug you. I'll stop if you want."
Kent reached into his pocket and pulled out the latest note—the one with the tart.
"This one," he said, holding it up. "You left this today, didn't you?"
Gaesha nodded, her eyes on the paper. "Yeah, that's mine," she said. "I gave it to one of your workers to sneak in. Did you try the tart at least?"
"No," Kent said. "I don't like sweets."
She squinted at him. "Wait a minute," she said. "That's a lie. You drank my tea that day, remember? It had sugar in it."
Kent shrugged. "That's not the same," he said. "I didn't ask for the sugar. You just gave it to me."
Gaesha giggled. "Okay, fair," she said. "You got me there. How about now? Want something from the shop? It's free this time, I promise."
"No," Kent said. "I didn't come for that. I just wanted to know if it was you."
"Well, now you know," Gaesha said, spreading her arms. "It's me! Mystery solved. Are you mad at me?"
Kent shook his head. "No," he said. "Not mad. Just… confused."
She leaned closer, resting her chin on her hand. "Confused about what?" she asked. "About me?"
"Yeah," Kent said. "You're so loud. And messy. Why do you keep bothering with me?"
Gaesha smiled softer this time. "Because you're quiet," she said. "And you're nice, Kent. Even if you don't act like it all the time."
"I'm not nice," he said, looking away.
"Yes, you are," she said. "Think about it. You shared my umbrella that day in the rain. And you're here now, talking to me. That's nice, isn't it?"
Kent didn't say anything. He looked around the shop instead—at the yellow walls, the flour scattered on the floor, her bright eyes watching him.
"This place," he said. "It's like you."
Gaesha perked up. "Yeah?" she said. "How's that? Messy and loud like me?"
"Warm," Kent said. "And busy."
Her smile grew big again. "Aw, thanks, Kent," she said. "That's sweet of you to say. Want to stick around? I'm baking more stuff soon."
"No," he said. "I've got work to do."
"Okay, fair enough," Gaesha said. "But you can come back anytime, you know. My door's always open for you."
Kent nodded once. "Maybe," he said. He turned to leave, then stopped by the door. "The notes," he said, looking back at her. "They're… not so bad."
Gaesha's eyes got bright. "Wait, really?" she said. "You mean that? You kept them?"
"Yeah," Kent said quick, like he didn't want to admit it. "Bye, Gaesha."
"Bye, Kent!" she called, waving as he stepped out.
The bell jingled again, and Gaesha went back to her counter, humming a little tune.
"He kept them," she said to herself, grinning. "Grumpy Kent actually likes me."
Outside, Kent walked fast down the street, the note still in his hand. He didn't toss it in the trash. He didn't smile either—but deep down, he almost wanted to.