Jily oneshots

The Fabulous Baker Brothers

by Frustrated poet

Lily Evans had no problem walking around London. Her flatmates would always tell her to be careful, take the train, the bus, or even an Uber. Like she could afford to take an Uber every day for goodness sake. Lily had a plan to pay off her student loans before she was thirty, and a tight budget to meet that goal. So she walked nearly everywhere, no matter the weather or the season. That's what waterproofs, big coats, and good shoes were for.

Her favourite was the walk home after finishing a night shift at around 5 am when the sky was just waking up. Not that a person could see much of the sky when walking through the built-up areas of London. The streets would be free of nearly everything but the vans delivering the first edition papers to the newsstands, or the milkmen doing their rounds, milk bottles clinking as the electric carts trundled past her. She hadn't even realised milk was still delivered this way, not since she was a child growing up in the long narrow streets of Cardiff could she remember collecting milk from your door.

She always walked the same way. Turn right from the hospital, then keep going straight across three traffic lights until she came to the rather grand looking Empire Hotel. There, cross the street and take the diagonal alleyway down to the underpass. Putting her foil-wrapped packet of leftovers from the night shift into the outdoor sleeper's donation box, then up along a collection of grubby shops around the kids' play park and then home.

That had been her route for months, it was the shortest she had managed to find. She never worried about muggers or strangers, she knew how to look after herself if anyone did try. Fourteen years of Thai-Kwon-Do training did that to your confidence. But even despite that, wearing her NHS ambulance uniform was like wearing an extra layer of protection anyway. So walk that way she did, every single time without fail. Until one day the alleyway was blocked by a great big orange barrier, stopping her halfway along.

Lily grumbled thinking they could at least put a sign up by the entrance and not make her walk all the way up here first. She disliked the idea of backtracking too far so she got out her phone and let it find her location. The maps on her device were notoriously inaccurate, usually putting her in the general direction of about three different streets, but this time it pinged her straight away and gave her a dotted line to follow. Just a little further down from the blocked off alleyway was another little sidestreet, this one brighter and more welcoming than her usual route. There was also a fantastic smell of baking bread emanating from one of the buildings.

Normally at this hour, the only shops with any sign of activity were the 24hour convenience shops with their harsh strip lighting, lino floors, and soulless self-checkouts. As soon as she saw the front of this place she wished she had found this route sooner.

It looked straight out of a Dickens novel with its small square glass panelled bay window, the outside woodwork and door painted British racing green and with a swinging sign in the shape of a mushroom-like chef's hat. She read the name of the place written in golden cursive lettering, Too Hot to Handle. She nearly laughed out loud. As she stepped closer wondering when they opened she spotted the small side window into the kitchen, where the baker was busy making bread.

Was there anything in the world more satisfying than watching someone knead dough? The way the shoulder blades slid underneath the thin t-shirt, biceps bulging and contracting. Strong hands gliding the dough, fingers sprinkling down the flour.

Perhaps Lily was a little obsessed, perhaps not everyone thought the way she did about bread. The smell alone was making her mouth water, but perhaps if they also happened to walk past a bakery that had a viewing window into the kitchen they would find it equally mesmerising. The muscled back in question that had first caught her eye never faced the window, never even lifted their head from the task. She stepped away reluctantly, promising herself to come back when they were open.