Work Text:
The smell of warm chocolate wafts from the doorway. Lycaon had walked past the building a hundred times before on his way to work, but today something in the window caught his eye. Among the display of croissants, donuts, and cookies, was something even sweeter.
A girl, black cropped hair with dyed red streaks tied back by a bandana, was meticulously organizing the display case. Her eyes scanned the trays for stray crumbs while Lycaon's eyes traced her shape. Intricate tattooed sleeves covered her arms which were more than capable of lifting several bags of flour at once. The apron tied around her waist was cinched tightly. Her black camisole was loose and it was clear she wasn't wearing a bra.
He glanced up at the sign above the bakery which read "Ocean's Delights." As he looked back at the girl, he found her staring at him. Unable to turn away, he watched in horror as her eyes looked him up and down. She was unimpressed.
Lycaon felt he had no choice but to go in and leave a better impression.
"Welcome!" a cheery blue haired woman said from behind the register, "First time? Can I make you any recommendations?"
"Easy," the tattooed baker said, "This one's mine."
"You say that every time," the cashier complained. The two seemed flirtatiously involved, though Lycaon was unable to determine if that was a romantic involvement or simply two coworkers that did not need a Human Resources department. He struggled to make eye contact with the black haired vixen.
"Come on," she said teasingly, "Out with it, what do you want?"
"Uh," Lycaon glanced at the menu, but he was too overwhelmed to understand anything on it, "I will have a croissant."
"Just plain?" she asked, "Or did you want to try something fancier?"
"Chocolate, please," he said, "If you have it."
"I do," she smiled, flicking open a paper bag. Lycaon stood anxiously at the counter while the girl went back to the display case and picked out his order. He could feel the other employee staring at him diligently. For the first time, he felt like a piece of rare tuna on display for auction rather than a man. As she returned, she placed the bag on the counter, "There you are, anything else?"
"No, that is it," he said, fumbling with his wallet and tapping a card to the sales machine. The girl smiled at him as the receipt printed out.
"Actually," she said, snatching the receipt from the printer, "You did forget something." Pulling a pen from her apron, she clicked it three times, and scribbled something onto the receipt. As she handed the receipt to him, Lycaon didn't bother to look. He was too anxious and worried he might say something stupid and make himself out to be more of a fool than he truly was.
"Thank you again," he said, politely bowing his head before ducking back out onto the city streets. The sidewalk was flooded with people on their morning grind, huddled around cups of coffee and wearing grimaced expressions. Lycaon's suit and overcoat offered him plenty of protection from the cold, but right now something else was keeping him warm.
At the bottom of the receipt, right after a call for comments on their service, was a name in cursive and ten digits.
"Ellen," he said, running his thumb along the curve of each letter. He stashed the receipt in his coat pocket and hurried to work.
Ellen leaned against the counter, watching him idolize her name, and smiled to herself. It wasn't every day that she came on to customers, but, for reasons unknown, she had a good feeling about this one.
Despite the initial impression, that of a man who ogles hardworking women in broad daylight, she was impressed that he entered the store and didn't try to come on to her. The thought of a timid, well to do, potentially muscular side piece was tempting.
"You're going to get into trouble one of these days," her coworker, Belle, teased, "What if he's a psychopath?"
"He's not a psychopath," Ellen said, "Not every man in a suit is a psychopath."
"You never saw New Eridu Psycho, then," Belle said.
"I told you," Ellen sighed, "I read the book, and while the movie has merits, they're both satire, not a documentary."
"But it speaks to the psyche of these capitalist swine!" Belle insists. A ringing above the bakery door halted their back and forth as a new customer needed help deciding what sorts of baked treats their church would approve of.
The work day went on slowly after their chance meeting. Lycaon dealt with clients and paperwork as best he could while Ellen kept several different timers in her head. Lycaon thumbed his receipt nervously in the down time between meetings. Ellen didn't think much of their interaction past lunch.
Today was delivery day, which meant that Ellen's tasks for the end of day were quickly side tracked by unloading several large bags of ingredients, gallons of milk, and several tubs of frosting and whip cream. Any customer would tell you that Ellen made everything in house. Ellen would tell you she didn't have time for that.
As the day began to wind down, Lycaon stood in the hallway outside his offices and stared at the numbers. He had already memorized them and put them into his phone as "Ellen Ask for last name", but still couldn't bring himself to press the call button. The downsides of committing yourself to your job was that the silly and emotionally fruitful habits fell to the wayside.
It had been years since he was in a relationship, several months since he last had a purely social outing, and it was the first time ever a woman had handed over her phone number unprompted. Surveying himself in the reflection of the elevator door, he wondered if he was getting in his own head. People always told him he should be more social, calling him handsome and complimenting his gray fur. He was well spoken, never used contractions unless absolutely necessary, and his smile was soft in spite of his sharp canines.
"If you're too scared to do it," he mumbled to himself, "Do it scared." He pressed the call button.
Ellen laid down the final bag of flour from the delivery truck in the dry ingredients closet. They had enough supplies to last them a good while, assuming there wasn't another weevil infestation. "I'm going to head out," Belle chimed from the front counter, "Need anything before I go?"
"No, you're good," Ellen said, leaning against a rack of ingredients. Despite the lean muscle she had built up over the years of weekly deliveries, she still needed to catch her breath from time to time.
"Your phone is ringing," Belle reported.
"Got it," Ellen sighed, wiping her face with the towel she kept in her back pocket. She wasn't someone who enjoyed sweating, and yet she decided to start a bakery. Standing next to thousand degree ovens all day, lifting heavy things, yelling at ungrateful customers, it all made her regret her career choice.
As always, she then thought about all the people she had made happy with her baking. The smiles, the celebrations, the small treats she gets to hand out to kids with parents that don't have the spare change for an extra special something.
It made it worth it, but she liked to complain about the other parts.
Exiting the ingredient closet, she grabbed her phone. "Ocean's Delights," she said, "How can I help you?"
Lycaon hesitated. She sounded tired. Could that mean she was closing her store for the day? It was already four, most bakeries were closed by three.
"Hello?" she asked.
"Yes, hi," Lycaon said, "Sorry to bother you, I was just calling to-"
"Who is this?" Ellen asked, confused by the voice on the other end. It was familiar to her, and yet the number wasn't saved in her phone.
"My name is Lycaon," he answered, "You gave me your number this morning."
Ellen thought for a moment, then recalled the handsome wolf thiren man who ogled her early this morning. "Right," she smiled, leaning against the counter, "The one with the wandering eyes."
"I assure you, my eyes do not wander," Lycaon said, embarrassed by the impression he left.
"So you were staring at my tits intentionally," Ellen teased.
"I-" Lycaon had to admit defeat, "I am sorry for ogling you."
"Don't," Ellen said, "It was kinda cute."
Being out of practice, he wasn't sure how he should approach her brazen attitude. She sounded war weathered by a dating scene he hadn't been forced to participate in. "Your bakery is very nice," he complimented, "Clean."
"Is it?" Ellen chuckled, "You should tell the health inspector that. They gave us a B+ last time."
"I am sure it was an error on their part," Lycaon said.
Ellen hummed in agreement, "Tell me Lycaon. Why call instead of text?"
"I beg your pardon?" Lycaon asked.
"You called," Ellen said, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder. Untying her apron, she hung it on the hook behind the counter and went to lock the front door.
"It is the proper thing to do," Lycaon answered.
"I see," Ellen said, "Proper."
"Despite the initial impression I gave," Lycaon said, "I assure you, I have no intentions of impropriety. I pride myself on being an upstanding member of society and-"
"Lycaon," Ellen said firmly, halting Lycaon's explanation, "I don't care that you ogled my tits, alright? It's just weird that you didn't text me."
"I fail to see how that is unusual," Lycaon explained.
Ellen rolled her eyes. Grabbing her hoodie as she slipped out the back door of the bakery, she prepared herself to brave the cold. "See normally when a hot girl gives her number to a guy in a suit," she explains, "She is likely to receive no less than five dick pics before lunch."
"I see," Lycaon muttered.
"Yet, you send me none," Ellen continued, "So is it me?"
"It definitely is not you," Lycaon assured, "If you will remember what I said about propriety. Sending someone pictures of my genitals, regardless of their beauty, is not something I would ever feel comfortable with."
"Lycaon, it's alright," Ellen chuckled, shivering as the wind pierced her hoodie, "We're both adults, we're allowed to partake in the carnal."
"I am not-"
"Just admit it," Ellen teased, "You want a piece of this, a break from the hoity-toity cunny you're used to."
"I want to take you to dinner," Lycaon said.
Ellen blinked twice.
"There is a steak house off 23rd street," Lycaon continued, "It is secluded and-"
"You're serious?" Ellen asked.
"I am," Lycaon assured.
Ellen chuckled, "You think I have steak house money?"
"Seeing as you work at a small business in an industry with thin margins, I am positive you do not," Lycaon said, "But it would be rude of me to expect you to pay for your own dinner when I am the one asking you out on a date."
"A date," Ellen said, incredulous.
"Yes," Lycaon said firmly, "I can get you around six? We can walk there together."
"You said 23rd?" Ellen confirmed, "That's more than a walk from my place."
"I do not mind," Lycaon assured.
"I do," Ellen chuckled, "Text me the address and I'll meet you there."
"Understood," Lycaon said, smiling to himself, "One last thing. The steakhouse has a dress code."
"Oh brother," Ellen teased, "Let me guess, I need to rent a tux?"
"No," Lycaon chuckled, "Something with long sleeves and nothing revealing and they should allow you in."
"I hope you understand," Ellen warned, "These restrictions, you're practically clipping my wings."
"I apologize for the inconvenience," he said, "But I am sure you can overcome them."
"What time?" Ellen asked.
"How does seven sound?" Lycaon offered.
"Seven it is," Ellen said, "See you then."
Before Lycaon could pass on his admiration for her agreeing to go on a date with him, the phone clicked and told him the call had ended. He would have to admit that it was for the best.
It was only a few hours to prepare, but Lycaon managed it easily. He stood outside the steak house and checked his watch for the fifteenth time. He arrived promptly at 6:45, confirmed his reservation for 7, and then stood on the sidewalk out of the way of the valet. It wasn't easy to get a reservation for the same night, but seeing as Lycaon had spent an exorbitant amount of money bringing clients to what was essentially a hole in the wall, he was extended special privileges.
He wore a trustworthy suit, black tie, and a white button up. Passersby would call him calm and poised. But a glimpse inside his mind would reveal the tumultuous anxiety that fueled his stoicism.
It was 6:59.
Being late, especially for reservations, was not something Lycaon did. He also didn't allow for a woman, let alone a date, to enter a restaurant on her own, unaccompanied and forced to search the tables for the person they were meeting with. Sadly, these two rules of his were in contrast with each other. As he contemplated walking back in the restaurant, a small black beater that was clearly not passing any regulations screeched to a halt.
"I'm here!" Ellen shouted through the passenger window, "Don't leave!"
"I wouldn't dream of it," Lycaon replied. A young man in a red vest approached the car, narrowly dodging the driver door as it swung open.
"Sorry, been meaning to fix that," Ellen assured the youth, "Where should I park?"
"You should give him the keys," Lycaon said.
"Right," Ellen rolled her eyes, "How much?"
The valet looked to Lycaon, who nodded. "Already taken care of," the valet informed.
"Oh," she narrowed her eyes, and stepped out of the car. Her dress was gorgeous. Long sleeves that came to the knuckle of her thumb, a high neck line, and a body con fit that carefully toed the line between elegance and succulence.
"You're ogling again," she warned.
"Apologies," Lycaon said, offering his arm, "Shall we?"