#their bakery is like a pseudo cafe for the purposes of this fic

[gins-potter]

🖊 Romitri, bakery

This ended up double the length it was supposed to be because i couldn't stop writing... whoops? Enjoy x

The moan Rose lets out as she steps into the bakery and inhales the aroma of delicious scents is practically indecent if the judgemental looks from the people waiting in line are any indication.  But she ignores them, along with their grumbling, as she skips past on her way to the counter where she boosts herself right up onto it.

“Olena,” she sings, receiving an indulgent smile in return as she leans in to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Hello, Roza.”  Olena peers past her.  “No Lissa today?”

“Nah, she had an early class.”

Rose waits, somewhat impatiently, as Olena takes an order, ringing it through the register and accepting the customer’s money, before throwing her a pleading look, the silent question accentuated by a loud growl from her stomach.

It makes Olena laugh as she gestures behind her.  “Go, your breakfast is waiting.”

“I love you,” Rose declares, sliding off the counter and leaving her to her next impatient customer.  

She squeezes past Sonya behind the coffee machine, calling a hello as she does, and receives something mumbled in return, a response that’s practically friendly coming from her so early in the morning.  She’s forced to dodge Yeva, who’s coming the opposite way with a tray of hot blini and who snaps something distinctly less friendly in Russian, before she can finally throw herself at the waiting plate of bread with another borderline lewd moan.  To watch Rose take her first bite of the black bread, that’s so fresh it's still steaming, one might think it’s a heavenly experience, what with the way she closes her eyes and tilts her head back.

“Roza!” Viktoria calls, coming out from the kitchen.  “I thought I heard you.”

Rose waves at her friend, savouring the mouthful of bread, but her chewing slows and her nose crinkles as she notices something.

“It’s different,” she says without swallowing, and it all comes out a little garbled.  “The bread tastes different.”

Olena hands the last customer their order in a brown paper bag and bids them a good day before turning to Rose with a raised eyebrow.  Rose is half expecting her to chastise her for talking with her mouth full - something so motherly that Rose still isn’t quite used to it - but instead Olena just asks curiously, “Bad?”

Rose shoots her an indignant look in return and swallows.  “Of course not bad, it could never be bad, just different.  Did you change the recipe or something?” she asks, knowing full well Olena doesn’t follow recipes.

“No.  My son baked the bread this morning.”

Rose, in the process of taking another bite, pauses, and feels her eyebrows rise.  She knows of the Belikov’s only son of course, but in the year she’s become a permanent fixture in their bakery, she’s never laid eyes on him.  She thinks she remembers hearing once that he’s away at school in New York.

Rose’s thoughtful hum turns delighted as she bites into the bread again; she would never admit it to Olena but she thinks she might almost enjoy the tangier flavour of today’s bread more than she usually does.

She hears the door to the kitchen swing open again and Viktoria lets out a crow of laughter.  “Hey Dimka, apparently your bread tastes weird.”

Rose swallows roughly and gestures in surrender so emphatically that she almost loses the rest of her breakfast.  “Woah, hey, I did not say it was weird, I said it was diff-”  Her words die in her throat as she turns to the newcomer and catches sight of quite possibly the hottest guy she’s ever laid eyes on.

Olena’s son has to have nearly a foot of height on Rose, his arms, exposed by his rolled up sleeves, are corded with muscle, and his shoulder-length hair is tied back in a ponytail that Rose has a wild urge to free from its band and runs her fingers through.

“I’ve never had anyone describe my bread as weird before,” he says, cocking his head with a slight smirk.

Rose ignores the cute dimple that’s appeared in his cheek and levels him with a pointed finger, followed by a glare at Viktoria.  “Different, not weird,” she reiterates.

“Different good?”  He folds his arm across his chest and Rose forcibly drags her eyes away from them.

“That’s yet to be determined,” she shoots back coyly.

“You must be the infamous Roza.”  He offers her a hand to shake.  “Dimitri.”

Rose isn’t too sure about the use of the word ‘infamous’ but accepts the proffered hand regardless; it’s big, and callused, and warm, and she doesn’t want to let go.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dimitri.  And I guess I’ll just have to try your bread again tomorrow to decide.”

“Yes,” Dimitri says, with a slight chuckle, finally, regrettably, releasing her hand.  “I’ve already been told to expect you most mornings.”

Rose levels a glare around at the Belikova women who are watching their exchange with thinly veiled amusement; even Karolina has appeared in the kitchen doorway to observe.  Dimitri moves to his mother’s side and ducks to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m going to meet Ivan for a couple hours, Mama, but I’ll be back for the lunch rush.”

Olena reaches up and pats his cheek, smoothing away a stray streak of flour that’s found its way there.

“It was nice to meet you, Roza,” Dimitri says, before lifting his hand in farewell to his family as he heads for the door.

“He called me Roza,” Rose says faintly, once he’s out of earshot.

Viktoria shoots her a bemused look.  “We all call you Roza.”

“Yeah, but not like that.”  Rose snatches up her breakfast and hurries after him, ignoring Yeva’s bark of Russian that follows her, no doubt a warning of the perils she’ll face if she doesn’t return her plate.  “Hey,” she says, catching up with Dimitri at the door.

Dimitri looks amused to see her, but holds the door open for her to step through.

“So, when are you heading back to New York?”

“I’m not.  I finished my degree last semester, I’d moved back home to help out for a few months before I worked out my next move, but…”

“But…” Rose prods.

Dimitri’s eyes trace over her face.  “But maybe there’s more here for me than I thought.  I’ll see you around, Roza.”

Rose grins, “See ya, comrade.”