Chapter Text
“Who the fuck is Bonnet?”
Izzy’s voice rings out through the empty workshop, smoke-dry and disgruntled as ever.
Ed rolls her eyes. She flings herself dramatically back in her chair at the disturbance to her drawings, letting her head loll over the top of the backrest.
She isn’t in the mood.
The clock is barely scraping towards nine o’clock, as though it’s as reluctant to begin the day as Ed is. Ed’s running on roughly three hours of sleep, thanks to the neighbour's new puppy loudly shredding its bed and yowling on the other side of the wall, and two of her usual sugar-laden mugs of coffee aren’t doing much to bring her back to the land of the living, and she doesn’t have the patience for Izzy’s hissy fits on the best of days, let alone today.
“Am I supposed to know the answer to that?” She glances up from her tablet to shoot Izzy a glare as the other woman unceremoniously slaps the morning’s wad of mail on Ed’s desk. “Seriously, was that a genuine question?”
Izzy doesn’t answer. Instead she just scowls and purses her lips like a cat trying to take a shit.
“I’m fucking sick of fuckers not being able to fucking read. Since when have we been Bonnet fucking Bakes?”
With a frown, Ed drops the stylus to the table and picks up the mail for a closer look.
Ed knows every business on this high street. Ed knows every business owner on this high street. There hasn't been a bakery on this side of town for over a decade, and there certainly hasn’t ever been a place that sounds anywhere as sweet as—
“Bonnet Bakes?” Ed mutters under her breath, tracing a fingertip across the paper, testing the taste of the word in her mouth. “Bonnet. Sounds fancy. Like a little Victorian lady.”
Izzy huffs. “This is the third day this week we’ve got their mail with our own. It’s not our fault if whoever the fuck Bonnet is can’t get an address right.” She pops out a hip and crosses her arms over her chest before stating dryly, “I say we burn them.”
On the right day— well, more likely the wrong day, probably— Ed would agree with her. A few years ago she would’ve burned the letters herself, or at the very least opened them up and had a nose at this new business’s finances and affairs, just for the hell of it.
But she’s fucking bored of being like that. Her life has improved massively since she made the conscious decision to not be so much of a dick about things, and so far that approach has served her well in more than just her personal life. They get more sales, for one, which she’d think would be enough to get Iz to crack a smile every now and then considering how much she goes on about profit and loss, and but overall it has done little to shift the perpetual dip in her brow and general distaste for everything that isn’t swearing at teenagers or pretending to hate Fang’s dog.
Plus, there’s something about this particular day, the light breeze in the air and the mood of the town, that renders Ed helpless to the idea of this sweet new bakery opening in this quaint little village. Besides, the insistent heaviness of her eyelids this morning had just had Ed thinking about how much she’d love somewhere to get a coffee in the morning.
Ed doesn’t believe in fate, but she does believe in good cake.
She’s already gathered up her phone and both letters and is making a beeline for the front door when Izzy splutters behind her, exasperated.
“Where are you going?”
Ed turns to her with a grin, waves the letters in the air. “I’m gonna play postie. Say hi to the new neighbours. Might even get a posh little pastry for my trouble.”
If Izzy has a response for her— which, as Ed knows very well, she almost certainly does— it’s drowned out by the bell above the entrance clanging noisily as the door slams behind her.
*
Ed has always loved the way the high street looks, all clean cobblestones and immaculately-kept flowerbeds, with colourful bunting strung high between lampposts, leading the way to the market. It’s especially beautiful on a morning like this, with spring dew covering the flower petals and the sun slowly rising in the sky above the shops. Ed’s boots hit the cobbles with a satisfying thud with each step.
Her and Izzy have had the shop here for a little over eight years, though Ed has lived in the town for twelve. It was only supposed to be a pop-up shop, really, just a test to see if jewellery really was her true calling rather than a serious, well-thought out career decision, but the people loved her work (loved Ed herself, mostly), so she just… never left. She employed Izzy as soon as she realised she couldn’t be fucked with the accounts, actually (around three months after Ed had decided to take on the shop permanently), and Revenge Regalia has been the cornerstone of the high street ever since.
It takes Ed a few minutes to find the place she’s looking for, but there was only one empty shop on the high street this time last week, and making a beeline for that shop proves to be a solid and rather clever idea.
The storefront itself is still mostly bare, save for some fairy lights adorning the windows and a freshly-painted lilac sign above the door. When she peeks through the doorway, propped open by moving boxes, Ed can just about make out some pastel-pink chairs stacked in the corner of the room, presumably in preparation to be arranged into seating areas. The radio is playing a pop song she's never heard before, upbeat and joyful, lyrics about feelin’ myself and can’t bring me down ringing through the empty shop.
“Hello?” Ed calls, cautiously sneaking around boxes and stepping over wires to get into the room.
There’s a commotion in the back room immediately, followed by a soft thud and an “Oh bugger!”
A few more seconds and a little shuffling later, the mystery person reveals themselves, and Ed knows instantly, with a certainty she rarely feels, that she is completely and utterly fucked.
The woman is tall-ish, can’t be far from Ed’s height, and blonde, with thick waves settling comfortably at her shoulders. She’s wearing a baby-blue blouse patterned with cherries and fitted white jeans that hug her thighs and hips like they were tailor-made. She has to shift even more moving boxes out of the way to clear a path from the back room to get to Ed, and her arms flex temptingly with each movement.
God, but she would have strong arms, wouldn't she? If she’s the baker, as the store name suggests, she’d be working with her hands all the time, rolling and kneading and whisking. And it would be that quiet strength, wouldn’t it? She’s all softness and sugar to look at her, with muscles of steel beneath.
Ed has never claimed to have a type, didn’t even realise she had one, but apparently she does, and her name is—
“Hi there!” The woman calls. “Are you looking for me? I’m Stede.”
It takes a moment for Ed’s brain to come back online, but when it does she throws herself into showing off her charm, because all of a sudden she’s painfully aware of how much she needs to impress this woman. She might die if she doesn’t.
“Yeah. Hi,” Ed says, adding a little huskiness to her voice and slipping one hand into her front pocket. Casual as fuck. “S’not a big deal or anything. Just got these sent to us by mistake.” She waves the letter as a little. “Thought I’d drop them back over to you.”
The confusion on Stede’s face clears, and she gasps like Ed’s just told her she’s holding a cheque for fifty grand.
“Oh, how kind of you!” Stede exclaims. She’s almost face-to-face with Ed now, and every step closer she takes has something fizzy and exciting stirring in Ed’s chest. “I was wondering why I hadn’t received anything yet. I assumed the bank was just taking its sweet time. You know how they are about these things.”
Stede takes the letters from her with a smile, and she might be saying something else but Ed can’t be certain– she’s looking at her up close now, drinking Stede in, and Ed’s mind is filled with static, the air around her fizzing like champagne sparkling in her ears.
Stede’s eyes flit across the front of the letters, hazel gleaming like suncatchers when the light streaming through the windows hits them just right, and her thin lips purse slightly in concentration as she reads, her brows furrowing in thought. Ed can’t take her in quickly enough, her own gaze flicking from one gorgeous feature to another as her breath leaves her lungs.
To Ed’s great distress, Stede isn’t just beautiful; she smells good, too, like strawberries and vanilla and something indescribable that’s a little too soapy to be natural but still makes Ed’s mouth water like a dessert.
“Number 52,” Stede mumbles aloud, before her frown suddenly clears and she gasps, loud and horrified. Fuck, she’s a dramatic one. Ed’s a big fan. “Oh god, I know what happened!”
Ed’s got a pretty good idea herself. There aren’t many possible explanations. But frankly, she’s having a fucking fantastic time listening to Stede speak, brief and casual as the few words she spoke were, and she isn’t ready to stop her just yet.
“Oh?”
“This building is number 25,” Stede explains, as though Ed wouldn’t know this already, having trekked down the high street and located the shop herself. “I must’ve got mixed up with 52 while filling out the paperwork. Either that or it’s been misread. I’ve always been told my handwriting is dreadful.”
I don’t think anything about you could be dreadful, Ed thinks, unbidden, before willing herself vehemently to get a fucking grip.
“Well, all sorted now, isn’t it?” Ed says warmly, giving Stede a smile she hopes is reassuring. She isn’t quite close enough to give her shoulder a pat without leaning awkwardly into Stede’s space, and she instantly mourns the missed opportunity for touch. “I’ve found you. You’ve got your stuff. No harm done.”
Stede nods, parrots, “No harm done,” before fixing Ed with a smile of her own, earnest and grateful. “Thank you again, Ed. You have absolutely saved the day.”
A rush of pride surges through Ed at that, tingling across her scalp, down her spine and right to the tips of her toes.
“Ah, s’nothing, really. No trouble at all—”
“That must mean that you have a business down here too, yes?” Stede asks, and Ed would assume it to be a joke if she didn’t look so fucking genuine about it.
This isn’t the way these introductions normally go; normally, new businesses are crawling to Revenge’s door, eager to make Ed’s acquaintance. She has a reputation in the town— and for good reason, even if Ed says so herself— and it’s almost a guarantee of success if any other business can be endorsed by her. In eight years, Ed has never been the first person to introduce herself.
“Uh, yeah,” Ed says, hoping desperately that she doesn’t sound too confused. “I’m a jeweller.” And then she pauses, waiting for the recognition to light up Stede’s face.
It doesn’t come.
“Oh, how lovely!” Stede gasps instead, clasping her hands together with delight like some kind of Disney Princess. “Are you close by? Where…” She trails off, instead just points both hands in opposite directions, indicating both possible ends of the high street.
“Up there.” Ed points up the street, east of the bakery. “Almost right at the top, other side of the street from you.” And then she pauses. It’s been nice to speak to someone who doesn’t immediately know who she is or what she does. Would it be selfish if she didn’t want to reveal herself just yet? Still, Ed reasons, Stede will likely ask her anyway. Ed may as well be the one to bring it up and break the spell. “We’re called Revenge Regalia.”
Once again, Ed braces herself for the recognition, and once again, Stede seems none the wiser.
“Revenge,” Stede repeats, sounding awestruck. “What a wonderful name! Sounds like a pirate ship. The Revenge.” Fucking hell. “How did you come up with it?”
Ed blinks.
In just shy of a decade, no one has asked that question. No one ever really asks Ed about herself, these days. It’s all ‘Do you have the monthly figures’ and ‘Can you watch the dog for me this weekend’ and ‘Do you have a bathroom here I could use?’ She isn’t quite sure if she likes it. It suddenly feels incredibly personal.
“Boring story, sorry.” Ed grimaces. “The shop was already called that before we moved in. I think it was a punk clothing stop or something beforehand, and I didn't feel like changing the sign. I just added a fancy name that sounded like posh jewellery and left it at that.”
Despite the dog-shit excuse for an answer, Stede looks at Ed wide-eyed, somehow still fascinated.
“Oh, how wonderful! I must come and visit some time!”
"Yeah, come over any time!” Ed grins, before wondering whether she looks a little too eager. “Well, when we're open.” And then, worrying she’s being too dismissive— she really does want to see Stede again soon— she adds, “Or I could even stay open a bit longer one day. Y'know, if you close after we do. So you can visit.”
Great, Ed. Wonderful. Very cool. Very smooth.
Thankfully, Stede is either incredibly gracious or completely oblivious, because she sails past Ed’s stuttering smoothly, giving her a sweet, earnest smile. Ed’s a goner.
Before she can spiral too much, however, she makes a quick assessment, letting her eyes trail swiftly down Stede’s body.
Short nails, but that could be a personal preference or a professional choice. No jewellery— no wedding ring, Ed’s brain provides— but clear tan lines where rings would be, including a thumb ring on both hands. Delicate dangly pearl earrings, which Ed would normally consider a fucking neon sign screaming ‘LIKES WOMEN’ but is suddenly uncertain about.
None of that matters, though. Not really. Ed knows. She can feel it.
There isn’t a god out there who would be cruel enough to put the woman of Ed’s dreams directly in her path like this and make her straight.
“Anyway, I should probably let you go,” Stede says, glancing down at her watch, dainty gold sparkling around a freckled wrist. “I expect you’ll be opening soon.”
Frowning, Ed checks her phone. She finds a screen displaying 9:14am and three missed messages from Izzy. She curses under her breath.
“Yeah, you’re right. I should probably go.”
And then they stand there smiling awkwardly at each other for a moment longer, saying absolutely nothing until Ed gets distracted by the piles of boxes and abundance of tables yet to be arranged.
“Do you…” She frowns, points around the room. “Are you gonna be alright, doing all this by yourself? I could give you a hand, if you like? When I’m free?”
But Stede is already answering before Ed can finish the question, shaking her head with a gentle smile.
“Oh no, please don’t worry about me! You have a business to run, I wouldn’t ask you to put yourself out like that for me.” Ed prepares herself to argue that it wouldn’t be a hardship, she could spare an hour or something at least, or six maybe, when Stede adds cheerfully, “Plus, Lucius will be here in a moment. I’m sure he’ll help with most of the heavy lifting, albeit reluctantly.”
A sour taste begins to form in Ed’s mouth, layering over her tongue and settling at the back of her throat. It doesn’t make sense to feel this way— Ed wouldn’t usually call herself a jealous person, truly, just… territorial— but as much as she’s overjoyed that Stede won’t be doing this alone (and as convinced as she is that Stede is, at the very least, the tiniest bit gay), she can’t say she’s thrilled at the idea of her new crush having a mysterious, hunky man at her beck and call.
“Right,” Ed manages, trying not to sound too bitter. “Cool. Nice, that’s… nice. Good.”
They hover for a moment longer, looking at each other.
“Yeah, so um— I’m just down the road. Drop in some time, yeah?”
“Thank you, Ed. I definitely will.” A beat. “And thank you again for the…” Stede holds up the letters, and Ed waves dismissively, smiling as she turns to leave.
“Oh, and Ed?”
This is it. This is the moment.
This is where Ed will turn around, and Stede will already be smiling at her, and she’ll say something smooth, like “How do you fancy going out to dinner? You can pick me up at 8.” And Ed will grin like she always knew this was going to happen, because Ed is irresistible and wears leather and Stede could never have resisted, and she’ll reply with something sexy, like “Sure thing, sugar” before shooting her a wink and striding back up the road, swaying her hips with each step because she knows Stede will be watching her walk away.
This is the moment Ed will think of in a few years as she watches Stede walk down the aisle to meet her, this brief yet magical encounter over mis-delivered post that delivered Ed straight to the love of her life, to love and to cherish till death do they part.
Ed turns. Stede is smiling.
“If you come back when I’m all fully established, there’ll be a free cake waiting for you.” She looks shy now, Ed thinks, and she didn’t know better, she’d say there was a gentle blush dusting Stede’s cheeks. “Whenever you like. As a thank you.”
It isn’t quite what she just imagined, admittedly, but it’s somehow even sweeter than the fantasy.
It’s not looking likely that Ed will be able to reply without her voice doing something squeaky and humiliating, so she gives Stede a smile instead, punctuating it with a wink she’s sure looks far cooler than she feels.
She can feel Stede’s gaze resting on her back as she leaves, warm and heavy, and it stays latched to her leather for the entire length of the high street.