Shen Yue was attaching the last strawberry slice to the side of the cake when her phone buzzed.
She didn't look. The syrup hadn't set yet; one loosened finger would ruin all her work.
Her phone buzzed again. Then a third time, a fourth, one after another, like someone tapping their knuckles against her desk.
Shen Yue sighed, brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear with the back of her hand, and glanced sideways at the screen.
Four messages, all from the same person.
“Are you there?” “Why aren’t you answering?” “Shen Yue.” “I’m counting to ten.”
She couldn't help laughing. After drying her hands, she picked up her phone and typed, “I’m making a cake. My hands are covered in syrup. What happens when you count to ten?”
The reply came almost instantly.
“I’ll come over.”
Looking at those four words, Shen Yue could already imagine the expression on Gu Jingzhou’s face as he said them—probably leaning back in his office chair, his tie loosened by an inch, his brows slightly drawn together, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked as if he were angry, but really, he just missed her and refused to say it properly.
They had been together for eight years. She knew him too well.
“Then come on over,” she replied. “You can be my taste tester.”
Read, but no reply.
Shen Yue set down her phone and continued putting the finishing touches on the cake. The strawberry mousse had been ordered by a customer for the next day. The customer had said it was for a marriage proposal, so she had spent an extra hour adjusting the colors, pulling the gradient from pale pink to rose red, like the last sliver of light on the horizon at sunset.
The studio wasn't large, tucked away in an alley lined with osmanthus trees in the Old Town District. The space was just over sixty ping, with an open display area and a few small seats in front and her baking room in back. It had already closed for the day at six, leaving only the warm yellow light above the work counter glowing, bathing the entire space in the amber warmth of a jewel.
She was carefully moving the cake into the refrigerated display case when the doorbell rang behind her.
“We’re closed—” she called without turning around.
No one answered. But she heard leather shoes stepping across the wooden floor, steady and unhurried, every step landing on a measured beat.
Shen Yue closed the display case and turned around.
Gu Jingzhou stood on the other side of the work counter, his dark gray suit jacket draped over one arm, his shirt cuffs rolled to his forearms. His tie was indeed loosened. He simply looked at her, his eyes holding something no one else ever got to see, like an undercurrent in the depths of the sea. On the surface, there was nothing. Beneath it, everything surged.
“You really came.” Shen Yue leaned against the sink, her eyes curving with a smile.
“You told me to.”
“I thought you were busy.”
“I’m done.”
Whenever he said he was done, Shen Yue knew he had probably compressed all his remaining afternoon meetings—or handed them straight to the vice president. CEO Gu of Gu Group could turn the business world upside down with a wave of his hand, but the moment Shen Yue said, “Come over,” he cleared his schedule faster than he made decisions on any merger.
She was used to it by now, but it still made her heart go soft every time.
Gu Jingzhou walked around the work counter and stopped in front of her, looking down. He was nearly a head taller than she was, leaving her to tilt her face up just slightly at this distance.
“There’s something on your face,” he said.
“Where?”
He didn't answer. He lifted a hand and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. His fingertip was warm, his touch so gentle it was as if he were afraid of breaking something.
“Powdered sugar,” he said, but he didn't take his hand away. Instead, it slid to her chin and tilted her face up.
Shen Yue blinked. “Did you get it?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Looking at you.”
He said those two words in an even tone, as if he were commenting on the nice weather, but there was too much depth in his eyes. Eight years had passed, and the way he looked at her had never changed. From the age of seventeen until now, he had always looked at her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.
Shen Yue reached out and patted his chest. “Cheesy.”
Gu Jingzhou didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth moved. It was a curve only she could recognize. He caught the hand she'd used to pat him and laced their fingers together, tightening his hold.
“Are you hungry?” Shen Yue asked.
“Mm.”
“What do you want to eat?”
“Something you made.”
Shen Yue slipped her hand free and turned to take something from the refrigerator. She had made an extra serving of tiramisu that afternoon. It was supposed to be saved for tomorrow’s tasting, but she had known from the moment she made it that this one was for him. She had sifted the cocoa powder a little finer than usual because he didn't like a coarse texture. She had added a little extra mascarpone because he liked a richer milky flavor.
She never said any of this out loud, but over the past eight years, she had remembered every detail bit by bit.
She set the tiramisu in front of him and handed him a small fork.
Gu Jingzhou looked down at it, then at her.
“You made it for me?”
“There just happened to be extra in the fridge.”
He didn't call her out. He took a bite, chewed slowly, and then said, “It’s good.”
“Of course it’s good. I made it.”
Watching her act as if that were self-evident, Gu Jingzhou finally gave a genuine smile. It wasn't the polite smile he wore at social events, the one that made people’s backs go cold. This smile relaxed his entire face, belonging only to him in this tiny dessert studio.
Shen Yue leaned over the work counter, resting her chin on her arms as she watched him eat. The warm yellow light fell over him, softening all the sharp lines that belonged to the CEO of Gu Group during the day. At times like this, he wasn't Gu Jingzhou, and he wasn't CEO Gu. He was simply her boyfriend—a slightly childish boyfriend who sent four messages in a row when she didn't answer right away.
“Why did you come so early today?” she asked.
Gu Jingzhou finished the last bite and set down the fork, then wiped his fingers with a napkin. He moved so slowly that Shen Yue felt he was working up to something.
“Zhou Jiahao,” he said, giving a name.
Shen Yue froze for a moment. “Yeah?”
“Did he come by today?”
It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Shen Yue remembered. That afternoon, her college senior Zhou Jiahao had been passing through the Old Town District and stopped by the studio for a while. He bought two boxes of handmade cookies, chatted for a little over ten minutes, and left. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
“He came to buy cookies,” Shen Yue said. “He sat for a bit and then left.”
“How long did he sit?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Seventeen minutes.”
Shen Yue: “…”
She straightened and looked at Gu Jingzhou’s expressionless face. Suddenly, she understood.
“Gu Jingzhou, you had someone watching my shop?”
“Not watching you,” he said naturally. “Watching the security situation around you.”
“Then how do you know he was here for seventeen minutes?”
Gu Jingzhou was silent for two seconds before saying, “It was in the security report.”
Shen Yue drew in a deep breath, then let it out. She knew arguing with him about this was useless. Ever since college, he had arranged discreet security detail around her. She had protested and given him the cold shoulder, but eventually she had compromised—because he had said, “It’s not that I don’t trust you. This world just isn’t safe enough, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” When he said it, she had seen a vulnerability in his eyes that rarely appeared.
After that, she stopped bringing it up.
But she still had to deal with his jealousy.
“Senior Zhou has a girlfriend. He’s getting married next month.” Shen Yue walked up to him and pinched his cheek. “He came to buy cookies for his fiancée. Do you hear yourself? You’re jealous of that?”
With her fingers still pinching his cheek, Gu Jingzhou didn't pull away. He simply lowered his eyes to look at her.
“I know,” he said.
“You knew and you still got this jealous?”
“I didn't know when I saw the report.”
Shen Yue stared at him for three seconds, then burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking. She stepped forward and buried her face against his chest, mumbling, “Gu Jingzhou, you’re really childish.”
He said nothing, but his arms came around her, enclosing her completely. His chin rested on top of her head, and he held her so tightly it was as if he wanted to knead her into his bones.
Outside the studio, the fragrance of osmanthus drifted in on the evening breeze, mingling with the lingering sweet scent of butter from the baking room.
Shen Yue closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat—steady and strong, exactly the same as it had been eight years ago, the first time she leaned against his chest.
Back then, they had been seventeen. On the school rooftop, he had taken her hand for the first time. His palm had been covered in sweat, but he had refused to let go even if it killed him.
Eight years had passed. His hands no longer sweated, but he held on even tighter than he had then.
“Are we going home?” His voice rumbled down from above her, low and vibrating.
“Mm.” Shen Yue’s voice was muffled against his chest. “Let me turn off the lights.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
When he said those three words, Shen Yue knew he wasn't only talking about now.
From seventeen to twenty-five, from school uniforms to suits, from the rooftop to this tiny dessert studio—he had waited for her for eight years, and he would keep waiting.
And she wasn't going anywhere.