You, Me, and an Orange Zest Scone.

I clap my hands together, trying to get rid of any lingering flour. Sighing, I look down at the fresh dough I made. It's a pale yellowish color, and definitely not my best work. I try to shake my head as a way to clear my foggy mind; a tactic that did little to no help. Today just has not been my day. I wish I could say I didn't know why, but that would simply be a lie. Today is the anniversary of my bakery shop, "Sweet Nothings", grand opening, and business is booming. While I am normally an above average baker, the stress of today's importance is weighing on me heavily. As if the pressure of performing well today wasn't enough, the new bakery down the street has had a line out the door for the past week. I almost broke down a month ago when they opened up, because while I do have my regulars, business itself hasn't been the most steady. Every week is a struggle to stay afloat. The thought of having to knock on my mother's door and see her 'I told you so' look makes bile rise up my throat.

I decide the best way to clear my head is to take fifteen and go for a walk. I hesitantly flip the 'open' sign to 'closed', because while the list of things to-do today are long, the need for fresh air is overpowering.

I step out of the shop and immediately am engulfed in the buzz and life of Times Square during the holidays. Times like these remind me why I risked it all; they remind me why I left my small town in the middle of Nebraska to pursue my dreams. Before coming here I truly felt like I never belonged anywhere. There is something about the pollution-tinted air that makes my cheeks grow rosy and my heart skip a beat. It's the thousands of faces that I pass in a day, and the realization that every one of them lives a life so extraordinary and complex as my own. It's the surreality of it all that makes it worth it.

Lost in my own thoughts, I failed to react soon enough to the figure closing in on me. My thoughts being overcome with reality when my face slams into what quite literally feels like a brick wall.

"Oh my god, ow!" I chirp, rubbing my bruising nose.

"I am terribly sorry, I was in a rush and didn't see you," the annoying voice of my attacker filling my ears.

After collecting myself I get ready to tell the guy off, when my nose is filled with the heavenly scent of orange zest and vanilla. I look down to the hand of the rather large human.

"Orange scone. Was going to treat myself, but perhaps it can be payment for bumping into you", his thick New Yorker accent cutting through the air like a knife.

"S'fine. Was just as much my fault," I grumble.

"Hey! You're the lady from down the street; I've heard lots about you."

That's when it finally clicks. This jerk is the one from the new bakery from down the street. I take the time to take in his appearance. At least six foot with long brown hair, and dark hazel eyes. Strong-build and broad shoulders. He's devilishly handsome, much to my annoyance.

"C'mon, let me treat you to a coffee," he tries again.

I normally would decline but the thought of a free espresso is really appealing right now.

"Fine, but you're paying."

We continue our walk to the nearest Starbucks in silence, nothing but the sound of car horns filling the air.

"Y'know, I've been meaning to come into your shop and introduce myself," he finally breaks the silence.

"Y'know you still haven't." I grumble.

"Ronan." he says and I nod.

"Cool name. Friends call me Poppy."

We finish ordering and go sit at a table nearby. I am dreading this interaction; I can't be seen fraternizing with the enemy. I just want to go back to the bakery, even though my break isn't over for thirty minutes.

"Poppy, I have to say, it would be easier to be your enemy if you weren't so extremely beautiful."

My laughter fills the space between us, and my cheeks turn a color that I'm sure resembles a ripe tomato.

"Ronan, I have to say, it would be easier to be your enemy if you didn't give out compliments like candy to children."

I take a long sip of my drink, and come to the realization that I am surprisingly having a really good time. I take the time to really observe Ronan. His dark brown curls fall in front of his honey colored eyes, and freckles dot his nose like the footprints of little fairies. He is incredibly handsome.

"So Poppy, tell me.. why New York? What's your backstory?" he glances up at me with a look that makes me want to answer any question he asks.

"I'm sure it's no different than the majority of people who relocate here. I came from a small town where big dreams are frowned upon. So I came to the city where they are encouraged."

I surprise myself with how vulnerable I am being. Something about him, his voice, his eyes, the way that his presence just feels safe; it makes me want to spill all my secrets.

*Five Years Later*

"Poppy, c'mon baby we gotta open the shop! It's our first day of business we can't open late."

I hear his voice and the realization sinks in. I'm still here in New York City. I'm still pursuing my dream, and the only difference from now and five years ago is that my dream has now become our dream.

"Pop, what are you thinking about?" Ronan asks as he snakes his arms around my waist and rests his head in the crook of my neck.

"Just thinking about how far we've come. I can't believe we are here," I whisper in almost disbelief.

"Well you better believe it baby. Today you and your adoring husband will be opening up their very own bakery." he kisses my cheek and heads into the backroom.

In these past five years my life has done a complete 180, and sometimes when I am alone I close my eyes and squeeze them as tight as I can. I hold them shut for just a second, only to open them again, and see that it is indeed real life, and not a dream.