There’s no need to rush to the next destination. The aroma of wheat wafting from the corner bakery is enough to keep the entire afternoon filled with tenderness. At around 2:30 under the sycamore tree, he was holding a paper bag in his hand. Seeing you arrive, he took out the freshly baked croissants from inside: “It’s still warm, and it has your favorite butter flavor.”
First, he went into the small flower shop next to the bakery. Hydrangeas were piled up at the entrance, pink and blue like clouds. He picked up a bunch of pale purple forget-me-nots and whispered in your ear, “This pair of flowers matches your dress perfectly, doesn’t it?” You smiled and nodded. After paying the bill, he handed the flowers to you, and the petals still had the small water droplets left by the watering can.
Back to the outdoor seat of the bakery, the sunlight filtered through the willow leaves, casting a patchwork of shadows. He went to buy two cups of hot latte, with a layer of milk foam on the cup rims. You broke a half piece of croissant and gave it to him. The crispy crust fell onto the table, and he reached out to wipe the crumbs off your mouth with his fingers, the tips of his fingers gently touching your cheek, warmer than the latte itself. We talked about the movie we watched last week. He imitated the funny lines from the movie, and you laughed so hard that you couldn’t straighten up. The forget-me-nots in your hand swayed along with it.
At around three o’clock, the bakery launched freshly baked cranberry scones. He ran over and bought two, handing you one: “Try this. It’s softer than the last one.” The cranberry pieces in the scones were sweet and sour, complemented by the rich aroma of the latte. Even the breeze carried a hint of sweetness. Suddenly, he pointed to the old post office across the way and said, “Next time, let’s go and send postcards. Write to yourself next month.”
As the sun began to set, the sky was tinted orange. You carried the remaining bread and forget-me-nots back home. He draped his coat over your shoulders and said, “Come again next week. I heard they’re going to make cherry blossom bread.” You nodded, and the flowers gently brushed against his arm. Suddenly, you realized that a wasted afternoon spent with the one you like is more reassuring than any carefully planned date.