Petit Romance

Poppy smiled down at the mess that was slowly being made into a recipe; a recipe for Cinnamon Sticky Buns. The customers loved her Cinnamon Sticky Buns; they were filled with such rich deliciousness that could make one swoon and sway and faint into a dream full of buns with cinnamon and dancing sticky notes. The only problem with the pastry was that they were completely and absolutely irresistible. One bite would leave you wanting more, and then another, until no more could your poor jaw take.

She loved making these for the kids, too. They, especially, would ask for them. They were addicted. As was she, but to making them.

Poppy poured the brown sugar into the small green bowl, and turned to reach for the cinnamon; just the smell of it was driving her crazy. Just as she turned around, a warm body had stepped in the way of her reach, pushing her back against the counter.

She looked up to meet the dark and eerie eyes of her manager. She tried hard not to kick him in the shin again. That would only end in disaster, she decided.

“Um, is there something─”
“─I need? Why, nothing in particular.”
He smiled.
“Why? Did you want to give me something?”
Poppy stared up into his cold eyes, feeling her spine grow stiff.
“No. Not really,” she replied flatly, careful to keep her voice that way.
“Nothing at all? Not even a taste of your rich filling?”
He said it dangerously, almost in a nasty manner. She had a feeling he did not mean the cinnamon sticky bun filling.
“No, nothing,” she told him quickly, turning her back on him.

He stood incredibly still and silent behind her; she could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, making the hairs there stand up and her skin grow goosebumps. These were not the good kind. Poppy exhaled, playing with tools she didn't really need to make the filling. What she needed was behind her, and she sure as hell wasn't going to turn around now. But he was still there, just staring at her. She needed that cinnamon.

Cinnamon...

Sexual harassment...

Cinnamon.

Sexual harassment.

Cin-na-mon.

Se-xu-al ha-rass-ment.

Before she could even make up her mind, he had leaned closer, his cheek suddenly against her ear. Her shoulders hunched up immediately, repulsed by the feel of his skin on hers. She struggled not to throw a kick backwards into his crotch.

“Oh, Poppy dear?” he whispered into her ear.
“Y─yes?” she stuttered, looking intently down at the brown sugar residue on her arm.
“Wanna know what I have for you?
No, not really. “U─um, sure...?”
“Your last paycheck. You're fired.”