RARE! corbyn besson ✓

02

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*ೃ༄ CHAPTER TWO:
THE BAKERY.
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FLORENCE ANDERS hated her opening shift at 5am.

It meant she had to get up at an ungodly hour, get ready, and drive fifteen minutes to the bakery she works at—all to have no customers come in until at least 6 or 7 in the morning.

Don't get her wrong, Florence is absolutely in love with working at the bakery—just not so much with getting up at 4am. But the job paid superbly, and considering she's a college student, Florence couldn't say no when her boss asked her to work the opening shift for a raise.

The blonde twenty-one year old girl had just begun putting the fresh pastries into the display case when the bell rang and a customer stepped inside.

She quickly glanced at her watch and read that it was only 5:02 in the morning. The fuck?

During the entire year that Florence has worked at this bakery, she has never once encountered a customer this early in the morning.

"H-hey, excuse me? Can I get a fresh cinnamon roll please?"

The blue eyed girl turned around, only to meet eyes with even brighter eyes than her own, but they looked sleepless and as though he had just been crying.

"Of course," Florence replied softly, looking at him cautiously and wondering whether he was the type of customer who liked small talk.

"Thanks," he gave her a small smile as he paid for the pastry.

"My pleasure," she smiled back before going back to stocking the display case.

Florence watched as the boy sat down at a table furthest away from the windows and began eating his cinnamon roll slowly, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

She felt the urge to ask him if he was okay, but fought against it, for he looked like he wanted to be alone.

A good ten minutes pass before the blonde boy finishes his pastry and sighs as he gets up and walks to the door.

"Hope your day gets better," Florence says as he passes by.

He stops walking and turns around to look at her, "Is it that obvious?"

"Oh sorry! I didn't mean to offend—" her eyes widen in fear that she had offended him by suggesting he was having a bad day.

"No no, you're right. My day has been pretty shitty so far and it's only 5am," he sighs.

"Well, I know we just met but if you want to rant to a stranger, I'm here."

He hesitates for a moment, wondering if he could trust her. Looking into her bright blue eyes that look so kind, he decides to take the risk. He needed someone to talk to who wouldn't start asking him about things like management and his career.

"My girlfriend and I just broke up—like four hours ago," he admits.

"Oh so the wound is still fresh, huh? That's the worst, I'm so sorry."

He tells her a bit more about his breakup, but stays cautious and fairly vague with his words.

"You're strong, I can tell. You're gonna get through this! It's gonna hurt for a while but I promise you'll heal."

Her voice comforted him and for some reason, it made him feel as though he could trust her with anything. So he began to open up and rant freely.

By now, they're both leaning over the counter and he's got his head resting in his palm as he talks. Florence listens intently and with a sympathetic expression on her face the entire time.

"It's my first time being heartbroken. She was my first girlfriend."

"Your first love? Oh god, that must be a terrible feeling. I can't imagine how hurt you must be right now."

"You've never been heartbroken?"

"No, I've never even been in a relationship."

"Really? But you're so—uh, how do you give such good advice then?"

"I dunno. Just natural instincts, I guess. I've been told I give great advice though."

"You really do."

A ding! comes from a timer that she had set earlier for the pastries baking in the oven and Florence gasps, "Oh shit, has it really been 45 minutes already? Be right back, I need to get the bread out of the oven."

"Oh, it's fine. I should probably go anyways." he says with a small smile. "Thanks for listening, I really needed that."

"Of course! Glad I could help."

They're about to part ways (her to the oven and him out the door) but before Corbyn walks out, he realizes he doesn't want to be just strangers.

He quickly spins around and introduces himself officially, "Oh! I'm Corbyn, by the way."

The blonde girl spins around to grin at him, "I'm Florence."

And with that, Corbyn leaves the warmth of the bakery feeling much better than he had before.