#i am Yearning for Sanders Bake Shop Cakes... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teenytinystorage · 4 years

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One Strawberry Shortcake

Summary: A prinxiety bakery AU inspired by a Bakery AU prompt!

Word count: 3,801

Warnings: Multiple detailed food descriptions, one “dying from adorableness” mention

Genre: Fluff, romance, and tons of flirty banter

Pairings: Prinxiety

Enjoy! :)

Imagine the smell of fresh pastries. All of the pastries you can imagine.

Chocolate cakes, raspberry cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies, strawberry eclairs, confectioners sugar, vanilla cakes fresh from the oven.

Imagine the taste of the sweetest, most fruity desserts you can imagine, still warm from the oven, that melt in your mouth.

Or, imagine the feeling of frosting splattered all over your hands. Licking it off to taste the tantalizing flavors of blueberry and strawberry folded together into one fluffy confection. Or even flour caked all over your clothes. Messy indeed, but delightful in an unexplainably nostalgic way. Or the sound of oven dings. Or delectable treats trapped in glass display cases surrounding you in all directions like a tasty little army.

Now imagine all of these sensations every day from 8 to 4 for five days a week. Amazing, right?

Roman Dante would certainly agree.

He worked as a humble cake decorator, sometimes as a server when he was the last resort, at Sanders Bake Shop, a small local bakery with a few locations scattered around Gainesville, Florida.

It had everything you think it would: baby blue striped wallpaper, tiled floor, a delightfully large selection of treats, a modest kitchen, and smiles and kind greetings from the workers upon every customer that entered into the door.

And Roman’s location was managed by a tall, strict fellow by the name of Logan Mortensen. He was the no-nonsense, follow-the-recipe-like-your-life-depends-on-it type. Aka, not a paragon of fun, or anything really that a bakery would call for.

But, he kept the finances in check and he would scarcely run the kitchen, both of which Roman was thankful for. And Logan did admire Roman’s ability to cull the most immaculate designs for desserts from his ever-working mind, which Roman was humbly flattered by. So, overall, certainly not the worst manager he could have.

And all of his other coworkers? They were all just as sweet as the desserts they served. Especially the modest lead baker, Patton Stockton. Gosh, just talking to him gave Roman a brain cavity. A lovely lad with a heart of the purest gold. He was on a three-day vacation right now, but Roman was still overjoyed at the prospect of being able to talk to him again soon.

The oven dinged. Roman slipped two maroon oven mitts onto his hands, and he lifted open the oven door, his face being hit with the fresh scent of chocolate cake and the oven’s radiating warmth. He lifted up the cake pan and set it onto a patch of floral-decorated cloth, surrounded by many other cloth patches across a wide marble counter in the middle of the kitchen.

Roman pranced over to the pastry fridge, his steps following the invigoratingly poppy rhythm of “Don’t Stop Me Now” from Queen that flowed through his left earbud, while his right earbud waited patiently in his red apron pocket.

(The song was on his “Decoration Dancing” playlist, aka a playlist just for decorating cakes and also to jam out to on slow work days. Logan didn’t really approve of listening to music while baking, but it kept Roman productive, albeit in a very extraneous way, but productive nonetheless, so he let Roman listen to music.)

Roman opened the long glass fridge door before he quickly strode back to the cake, raised it up in his arms gently like a newborn, and after sliding back to the pastry fridge, placed it inside and shut the door behind it.

He adored his job and everything about it. He treasured every day that he stepped in the front glass doors and heard the tiny metallic pink bell above him welcome him with an adorable little ding.

But what he most admired were all the patrons of the bakeshop. The shop wasn’t swamped with people very often, so it was facile for Roman to listen to and observe all the different customers from his workspace.

There were the usual groups of small families or pairs looking for a few cookies or cupcakes to snack on, the occasional frazzled man or woman before a wedding frantically trying to pick out an extravagant cake, and, of course, tons of birthday party planners.

A parent or two would come inside with tiny, adorable children and pick out whichever design the child wanted, more than likely a Disney character or a superhero or a Barbie doll dress cake, and Roman’s heart would melt every time he saw their admiring smiles of Roman’s work.

Roman mostly stayed in the back with Patton, though, seeing as the other employees would go serve, and also because he wasn’t too good at keeping track of orders, nor was he very interested in serving anyway.

However, he still enjoyed leaning past the kitchen doorway opening with Patton and seeing all the adorable children pressing their faces against the glass in awe. Both of them cherished the patrons and watched to see what treats they’d have to whip up together.

But, enough with all of that. Roman could go on and on forever about how much he adored his job.

And besides, the bell above the door rang, signaling Roman to turn his head towards Logan, who was on the other side of the counter reading a recipe book and mixing a bowl of cupcake dough together. (Logan had to take the role of baker today, seeing as Patton eventually succumbed to Logan’s rantings about Patton needing to take a break once and awhile from constant working. Roman felt bad for anyone who had to have the drab delicacies baked up by the subpar chef.)

“Hey, Lo,” Roman whispered.

Logan looked up from the recipe, adjusting his charcoal glasses.

Roman quickly tilted his head towards the door. “I gotta answer that?”

Logan nodded. “All the servers are on break.”

“Curses,” Roman grumbled under his breath.

He pressed pause on his bop and stuffed his earbuds into his apron pocket. He took in a deep breath and put on his best Hi-how-can-I-help-you smile as he headed toward the front counter.

And even before getting past the doorway, a wave of ineffable tension struck him over the head like a falling cake tray. The tension cake was frosted with stress and topped off with eloquent piped roses of intimidation.

This dreary dude looked nothing like any of the patrons Roman’s ever observed before. Heck, he’d be more fitting on a metal album cover than at a pastel-hued bakery like this.

The patron was pretty well-sculpted physically, as if constructed out of the finest of fondants. He wore a slim, satiny leather jacket fit with zippers along the sleeve cuffs. He had a distressed purple shirt under the jacket and two chain necklaces strung along his neck, one with a blank black-rimmed dog-tag.

Ripped black jeans and knee-length spiked combat boots with skulls on them both covered his lower half. Black eyeliner and opaque black eyeshadow made the gothic guest’s green eyes even more striking. Dark circular earrings clung onto his ears. A messy tuft of black hair flowed down to his jawline.

Now, all of that raised the intimidation factor up to the extreme (and the gayness factor too, in Roman’s case. What? This grim guy looked fine). All this humdrum human needed now was a shiny black motorbike, and you’d never want to encounter him on a bad day.

But, all the fear factor of this guy with gruesome guise had a few caveats.

The somber shopper was barely 5’1”, and both his hunched-over posture and his leaning against the wall in the far left corner of the store didn’t make him look any taller.

Also, the menacing man appeared uneasy, glancing around the store constantly as if he thought a cake would leap out and attack him. So, the desolate dude’s anxiety himself settled Roman’s nerves a little bit.

But that didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest.

He shook his head and headed out the kitchen door, trying to gather all the courage inside him to go greet the customer. He stood behind the display counter and collected his words.

“Hello, welcome to Sanders Bake Shop!” Roman trilled clearly, despite his quick breaths.

The paranoid patron peered up at Roman, his eyes widening in a snap. He seemed more terrified of Roman than Roman was of him (which, c’mon. Roman was only a few inches taller than him, certainly not as physically fit as him, Roman’s name on his nametag was written in scribbly calligraphy with a star next to it, and Ro wore a bright white sweater under his bright red apron for Pete’s sake. He had nothing to be afraid of with Roman.) Nevertheless, the bleak boy appeared petrified. He frantically set his leaning leg down onto the ground and shamefully waved his hand.

“H… Hi,” the customer responded with a low, gravelly voice. It sounded like the crunching of tires over a rough patch in the road. It made Roman’s heart rate rise quicker.

“How-- how may I help you today?” Roman stumbled over his greeting, which he hoped with all his heart that Logan didn’t hear.

“Uh, yeah,” the cast-down customer shuffled over to the display, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. “Still lookin’, thanks.”

Despite that answer, the morbid man still appeared to be stalking for something specific in the glass display. But Roman was just happy he could get a break, even if only for a minute.

“Alright, take your time,” Roman lopsidedly smiled, twirling his hidden earbud wire around his fingers.

A moment coated with apprehension like chocolate mousse over a fresh cake passed, where the spooked searcher uneasily peered through the display case, scanning through it with his finger, and where Roman tried his best to keep the overly cheery smile on his face. The creepy client’s curious expression made him look… strangely adorable.

“Do..” the ill-at-ease individual peered up at Roman innocently through his eyelashes and bushy hair, only raising Roman’s gay panic more, “do you guys have off-menu items here?”

“Huh? Oh,” Roman leapt out of his trance of admiring the fretting fellow. “Well, we have some more treats that aren’t in the display case, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Hm. Why’s that?” The worried wight asked, seemingly to get the conversation off-track on purpose.

Roman shrugged. “That stuff doesn’t sell well normally. People don’t buy it, we don’t display it.”

“Huh,” the stressed soul mused.

“Is there anything, in particular, you were looking for?” Roman tilted his head.

“Uhm..” the perturbed patron looked down. “do you have..” his voice trailed off.

“What was that?”

“strawb..”

Roman leaned over toward him. “Still can’t hear you.”

“S-Strawberry shortcake?” The dude asked, his voice dripping with shame.

And, just like that, all the tension in the room left. This figure of fear and intimidation. Ordering. A strawberry shortcake. The, unarguably, cutest dessert. That the bakery. Could possibly. Offer. A dessert more fit for a small child than for this foreboding fella.

It was precious.

“Strawberry shortcake?” Roman responded, making sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Making sure he wasn’t imagining the charming client being even more adorable. His face sparked with a smile, and he tried his best to keep himself from squealing like the toddlers that saw Roman’s cake creations.

The lovable lad nodded, holding the back of his neck with his hand.

“Yeah, we’ve got that,” Roman responded, still trying to keep himself from awwing loud enough to shake the earth.

And at that response, the fetching fella’s face irradiated with the most effervescent excitement Roman had ever seen. He nodded his head rapidly, a smile coating his pointed lips like a layer of buttercream frosting between two deliciously stacked red velvet cakes.

Roman, trying to stop himself from dying of adorableness right then and there, turned his head toward the doorway of the kitchen. “One strawberry shortcake!” he shouted at Logan, who peered up from his recipe book and gave a quick nod of his head and raised up two fingers.

(The amount of non-verbal communication Logan and Roman had together was incredible. These two could have a whole two hours of conversation without once moving their mouths. Who am I kidding, they probably already have.)

“Alright. We’ve got two in the back.”

The patron’s smile grew massively before he disgracefully let it fade from his lips. He sprawled a scowl back on the sharp lineaments of his cheeks and lowered his head toward the ground. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as his pupils glanced up at Roman through his eyelashes. “Uh, yeah.” He shrugged. “I’ll take one, I guess.”

“Okay shortcake~” Roman playfully teased.

“Ugh.” the dear covered his face with his hands, cowering away from the flirty remark. This dude really is adorable, Roman silently squealed.

“Bring one out!” Roman yelled to Logan.

Logan peered through the doorway and rolled his eyes, headed toward the back freezer.

“So..” Roman leaned on the chilly marble countertop.

“So,” the slender specter raised an eyebrow, his head raising back up.

“Got any plans later this week?” Roman asked, his heart thumping against his ribs, just barely letting his lungs get enough air to attempt to court this devilishly handsome dude.

“Not really,” he shrugged. “Why’d you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” Roman smirked.

The lovely lad narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. “Oookay.” His eyes then opened back to normal, tapping his fingers on his thighs. “Say, y’know, if I come here again,” he swayed back and forth on his heels and toes, “what’d you recommend for me to get?”

“Oh! Great question,” Roman smiled. “I’d say the mini s’mores pies myself. Not the most stunning, to be quite honest, but they certainly make up for it in chewiness and sweetness!” Roman passionately raised a finger into the air, earning a chuckle from his one and only listener. “We only sell them in pairs or more though, but I’m sure you could find someone else to share them with,” Roman winked.

“Oh my gosh,” the menacing man put his hand over his face once more. (Roman would have to rethink his flirting if the guy got this flustered every time he made a cute remark. It was fun to tease him though, Roman would admit.) “Yeah, I’m sure I could,” he considered as he lowered his hand, “maybe he’d like to share ‘em with me after his shift?” he smirked.

“Maybe he would,” Roman leaned with his elbows on the countertop, staring dreamily at the pleasing patron.

Roman then felt a sharp jab in his ribs, and he looked over to see that Logan was looming over him like an ominous spirit and had elbowed him to get his attention. “One eight-inch strawberry shortcake,” he calmly stated, holding a cardboard cake box in his other hand with the Sanders Bake Shop logo printed across the lid.

“Ah, right,” Roman stood back up, scratching the back of his neck with his hand and grabbing the box. “Uh, thank you.”

“Remember, flirting comes after work,” Logan flatly reminded Roman, leading to Roman audibly fake-cough to cover up his flustered expression with his hand. The customer chuckled.

Logan wandered back into the kitchen, arms crossed.

“So, uh, your total’s gonna be thirty-two ninety-five,” Roman displayed the total on the register. “Cash or credit?”

“Credit. I’ll save my cash for something else,” the patron gave Roman an equivocal smile.

“Alright, just swipe on the side,” Roman added. “And hey, what’s this ‘something else’ you’re talking about? I thought you said you were free this week.” Roman arched his back upward, sassily holding his hands on his hips.

“Oh, it just kinda came up now,” he furrowed his brows, “Might be going somewhere with a dude I don’t really know. And wow,” he emphasized the interjection immensely, “I think his name’s Roman too.”

“Man, what I’d give to be this guy.”

The charming client chuckled, swiping his card. “Yep.”

“Just sign here and you’ll be good to go, shortstack.”

“Hey, glass houses, you’re not that tall either,” the pretty patron noted as he grabbed the attached pen and signed his name on the screen.

Roman gasped noisily, holding a hand over his heart.

The sweetie, who Roman now saw his signature on the computer and decoded from the sharp lettering that his name was Virgil Heath, blew a quick chuckle out his nose.

“Hey wait, you’re Virgil?” Roman glanced up from the screen, his expression becoming curious.

“Yep. Always have been.”

“My last name’s Dante, like that Dante guy from The Inferno,” Roman looked at Virgil and smiled longingly.

“Hm. And Virgil was a Roman poet too. Cool,” Virgil shrugged.

“Fate must’ve brought us together,” Roman cooed.

“Gosh, you really are like a Disney prince,” he shook his head. “All ya need is a flock of woodland creatures to brush your hair for you every morning.”

“Bold of you to assume that I don’t already have birds sing me awake and deer prepare a bubble bath for me every morning at sunrise,” Roman teased.

The sweetheart burst out with laughter, making Roman’s heart flutter. “Well, then. Nice to meet ya, mister Dante.”

“Pleasure to meet you too, mister Heath,” Roman nodded with a grin spread across his lips, sliding the cardboard cake box over to Virgil and tearing a receipt from the printer.

“Just Virge is fine, I’m not that professional,” Virgil mentioned.

“Then honey-buns is just fine for me,” Roman playfully winked and let the tip of his tongue slide out of his mouth, causing Virgil to shield his eyes once more.

Roman quickly uncapped a marker and scribbled a message onto the receipt. “Okay, you are good to… go,” Roman smiled, placing the receipt face-up onto the box.

Virgil uncovered his eyes. “Alrighty,” he grabbed onto the box, lifted it from the table, and started to tread out toward the door.

“Bye-bye dear Virgil!” Roman cheerfully cried out.

“Seeya,” Virgil turned his head. “And Ro?”

Roman kept his eyes glued onto him.

“Thanks for the cake,” he smiled.

“You’re welcome,” Roman nodded, sweetly smiling at Virgil.

Virgil switched the box to one hand, the receipt still balanced on the top of the box, and opened the door. The bell dinged once more, and once Virgil left, it chimed its own sweet farewell.

Roman watched Virgil intently with his heart racing as Virgil headed back toward his car, the receipt still on the box, thankfully not flying or blowing off.

Once the dude got away from the windows, Roman let out a massive sigh and leaned against the wall. That was a lot.

But as Roman’s heart sank below the crashing tides of adoration, he hoped Virgil would see what he wrote on the receipt before tossing it.. and that Virge would hopefully have some way to respond to it.

A few minutes later, Roman was in the kitchen, piping extravagant curls and swirls onto a cake while the contagiously catchy “Hello” by The Cat Empire rippled through his earbuds, when the bakery’s bright red mounted phone rang through the room.

“Logan? Can you get that please?” Roman tilted his head toward the supply closet, where Logan strolled through the door and toward the phone.

“It’s ‘could I get that,’ and yes, I shall.”

Roman let out an irritated exhale. Who was Logan if he wasn’t always annoyingly correcting your grammar like an English teacher?

“Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get frosting all over the phone,” Logan declared. He strolled to the phone and lifted it from its holder and up to his ear. “Sanders Bake Shop. I’m Logan, how may I help you?”

Roman watched Logan’s face become mildly surprised upon hearing the caller. “Oh, you want to talk to Roman? Sure. I’ll put him on.”

Logan looked at Roman and tilted his head toward the phone.

Roman picked up a towel and wiped off his frosting-covered hands while he wandered over. He threw the towel onto the counter as he answered the phone and paused his music. “Hello?”

“Oh, hey, you answered,” a familiar gravelly voice responded. It was Virgil. (Huh.. using the bakery’s phone number to talk to Roman.. smart.)

Roman’s lips curled into a smirk as his fingers started twirling the phone wire. “My my my, why, isn't this the Virgil who I just met today?”

“Sure is. And I saw your note.”

Roman’s heart fluttered in his chest. He had signed the back of the receipt with a calligraphy message:

Meet me @ Prince park 4:30 this Friday? <3

Yes, he did just ask this random dude on a date, and yes, that does make him even more of a Disney prince.

“It sounds great. Frozen yogurt after?”

Roman nodded excitedly, his face igniting with a smile not unlike that of an excited child’s, which received a perplexed observing Logan in response. “Yes! Yes, perfect.”

“Nice. I’m sure it’ll be a real slice.” Roman could hear Virgil smirking over the phone.

Roman smiled at the Hercules reference. “Absolutely! I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Roman hung the phone back onto the wall.

“Let me guess. Virgil?”

“How do you know his name?” Roman pursed his lips.

“You’re not exactly quiet when you’re head-over-heels obsessed with someone,” Logan noted.

“Uh, rude! This is not an,” Roman mocked with air-quotes, “‘obsession,’ this is the start of a lifelong romance!” Roman offendedly corrected him.

“Sure it is,” Logan monotonically responded as he averted his gaze up to the ceiling. He then looked back at Roman. “Anyway, I thought I’d inform you that your shift’s over now.”

“Wait, really?” Roman glanced at the clock, seeing that it was indeed 4 PM, the end of his shift. “Oh! It is!”

“Yes,” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Glad you got that door then, huh?”

“I sure am.” Roman chuckled. “Huh.. Logan, the sealer of fate, and the ultimate wingman.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Apparently.”

“Well, I guess I’ll get going now,” Roman untied his apron and pulled it off his neck, strolling over to the apron hangers. He pulled his phone and car keys out of his apron pocket and hung his apron on the rack. He stuffed his phone into his denim jeans pocket.

“Goodbye Logan!”

“Farewell,” Logan waved.

“Thanks for getting me a date,” Roman smiled.

“Don’t mention it,” Logan lowered his hand. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yep!” Roman called out, parading backwards out of the kitchen doorway and turning around to cheerfully promenade out of the store, turning on “Livin’ On A Prayer” from his drive home playlist and letting the contagiously poppy beats fill his ears.

Wow. He just got a date from a day at work, and yet he’s still just listening to his tunes and making his usual commute home.

Yep, that’s Roman Dante for you.

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