Pretty Bluebell

chapter 16

its been a while, but here we are<3

· · ─────── ·♥︎· ─────── · ·
••• let it happen •••

"don't love you yet but probably will,"

[ let it happen | gracie abrams ]

     MARINETTE sighed, going for her third try to tie her hair up into a ponytail secure enough for her shift. She didn't want to be bothered with a hair malfunction.

Once she met with success, she took her box of iron-on patches that she burned the midnight oil to finish in hand before descending down the staircase to the bakery.

She would be offering these limited patches to select customers who seemed interested enough. That way, her hard work wouldn't go to waste.

Those who did take interest were mainly some elderly customers who were fascinated at how the patches worked, but it was mostly people her age who were intrigued by them. Gladly, Marinette gave them all the opportunity to choose one they liked.

By the evening, she was working in the back, preparing pastry cream for tomorrow. She watched the mixer do its job, consistently mixing the cream to ensure it had the smooth consistency it needed.

The sequence of a certain boy's finger swiping across her lips with tissue suddenly flooded her mind.

Breath caught in her throat, she's wondering what had just got into her. Her brain seemed to be working a bit differently as of late.

She didn't want to ponder on her dilemma at the given moment, because then she'd probably mess up the pastry cream.

It was impossible. It just couldn't work.

She couldn't be in love with Adrien Agresté.

He wanted her as a friend. As someone he could talk to normally. He didn't want another fan girl.

Yet, she was afraid that was just what she was. Part of her was questioning all the compliments and the subtle flirting from his end.

That night. That night on call when he hesitated at the word 'friend'. She just couldn't let it go.

Abruptly, she switches the mixer off to officially snap her out of it.

Marinette purposely directs her focus onto the task of bagging the pastry cream, shutting out any thought that tried to provoke another spiralling contemplation turmoil.

Bag after bag, until she had completely cleaned out the giant mixing bowl.

"Honey, could you do the dine-in service now?" Sabine calls just as her daughter exits the chiller.

"Alright," Marinette complies to her instruction, taking off and disposing her plastic gloves and hair net before tending to the tables.

This was good for her. Distractions. She didn't need to think about it. She didn't need to think about him.

➵

     As soon as she sat down on the couch, she felt all her tense muscles relax. Marinette finished up her shift by sundown, and as a reward she had allowed herself to take a long shower. Now, in her pyjamas, she was ready to watch her comfort show to end the day.