The Chubby Girl Splashed Water on the Mafia Boss, Thinking He Was a Stranger—He Fell in Love With He
Juny Alvarez possessed an ability she never thought would become a survival skill.
She could read the state of the bakery just by sound.
The faint hum of the air compressor.
The espresso machine’s half-pause.
The subtle vibration emanating from the refrigerated display case.
After four years running Sweet Halloway, she had learned to recognize sounds that others would never even notice.
And that Tuesday morning, the moment she inserted the key into the lock, she knew it wouldn’t be easy.
The air compressor started acting up again.
A intermittent buzzing.
A familiar warning.
Juny sighed, put down her bag, and opened the shop door.
She bought Sweet Halloway four years ago with a small business loan, an almost stubborn belief that she could do it herself, and an outdated system of equipment that constantly tested her patience.
No money from family.
No backer.
No one to hold the door open for her.
Only her hands.
And a determination to prove she could build something of her own.
The neighborhood around Holloway Road used to be bustling.
But in the last two years, the hardware store disappeared.
The dry cleaner closed.
Empty shop windows appeared more and more frequently.
All that remained were plywood cladding on storefronts and rumors of a real estate development company quietly buying up land in the area.
Juny had received two offers to buy Sweet Halloway.
From the same parent company.
The same fake polite tone.
The same message that she should “consider a better opportunity.”
She refused them all.
Not because of how much the shop was worth.
But because it was the first thing in her life she had built without anyone’s permission.
Throughout her twenties, Juny had worked in other people’s kitchens.
She had heard compliments about her skillful hands.
But behind those compliments, there was always something that bothered her.
That she was suited to working behind the scenes.
That she should let someone else represent her.
That customers didn’t necessarily need to know who actually made their favorite pastries.
One manager had told her that her talent was “too precious to be wasted in the spotlight.”
But what he really meant was:
Don’t step into the spotlight.
Don’t make others take notice of you.
So she opened Sweet Halloway.
Not just to sell pastries.
But to have a place where no one could dictate her location.
That morning, she took her usual bucket of ice water from the cold room.
A little trick she’d used dozens of times to get the air compressor working again.
She dragged the bucket toward the front door.
6:30 AM.
Lateer than planned.
But Juny wasn’t the type to stand by and watch a problem unfold.
She unlocked the door before the doorbell had even finished ringing.
She moved on to the next thing in her head.
The espresso machine.
The first batch of powder.
The order list.
As usual.
Until she saw the man standing on the sidewalk.
He was tall.
Broad shoulders.
The phone pressed to his ear.
He stood right in the middle of her path as if the whole street belonged to him.
Juny stopped.
“Excuse me.”
Her voice was clear, not harsh, but clear enough for anyone to understand she didn’t have time.
He didn’t react.
Too focused on the call.
She changed direction.
And at that moment, he turned.
Not fast enough.
Not enough to dodge.
The bucket of ice water in Juny’s hand tilted sharply.
The cold water splashed directly onto him.
His dark coat was instantly soaked.
A moment of silence.
Juny stood frozen.
She had braced herself for a fit of rage.
A reprimand.
Perhaps some powerful man accustomed to having everything obey him.
But what happened next surprised her.
He laughed.
Not a polite laugh.
It wasn’t a fake smile to hide discomfort.
It was a genuine laugh.
A laugh that made the two men in dark coats standing near the sedan behind them relax.
Only then did Juny notice them.
These two men weren’t ordinary passersby.
They’d stepped out too quickly.
Too coordinated.
Her hand, which had been near her coat, now lowered.
And for the first time, she realized…
The man in front of her wasn’t an ordinary pedestrian.
He looked at his wet coat, then at her.
“I have to admit,” he said, still smiling.
“This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all week.”
He wiped the water from his chin.
“Maybe all year.”
Juny put down the bucket.
Confusion began to replace adrenaline.
“Next time you should pay more attention to where you’re going.”
He looked at her for a few seconds.
Then smiled.
“I think that’s a reasonable warning.”
His gaze lingered on the shop behind her.
The aroma of freshly baked coffee and pastries wafted out.
“But I have to say…”
“The coffee here seems worth coming back for.”
Juny didn’t know how to respond.
She just nodded and opened the shop.
Completely unaware that the man she had just doused with ice water…
was someone who had deliberately kept his identity hidden from all eyes in the city.
And little did he know that the two men standing behind him had just nearly had a serious reaction to a bucket of water.
The next morning, at 7 o’clock.
He returned.
This time dry.
Simplely dressed.
But still possessing an air of sophistication that Juny couldn’t ignore.
He sat down on the old bar stool in Sweet Halloway.
“Coffee,” he said.
Then looked at her.
“And anything else you think I should try.”
Juny set the cup down in front of him.
“You came back to apologize for yesterday?”
“No.”
He looked her straight in the eye.
“I came back because I wanted to know if the feeling from yesterday was real.”
Juny frowned.
“What feeling?”
He was silent for a moment.
“For ten seconds.”
“I couldn’t control anything.”
“No one knows what I’m thinking.”
“No one clears the way for me.”
He chuckled softly.
“No one treats me like a normal person.”
For the first time, Juny looked at him not as a strange guest.
But as a human being.
A person who seemed all too familiar with everything in his life being arranged before he could even speak.
And perhaps that’s why he kept coming back.
Not for the cake.
Not for the coffee.
But because Sweet Halloway was the only place in a long time…
No one knew who he was.
And no one cared.
The next morning, Juny realized there was something more dangerous than a canceled contract.
It was the feeling of peace.
She had never trusted things that came too easily. Things that were too peaceful often made her wait for the moment they would disappear.
Four years running Sweet Halloway had taught her to double-check everything. Check the invoices. Check the suppliers. Check the contracts. Check even the people who said they wanted to help.
Especially those who said they wanted to help.
But Damian still showed up at 7 a.m.
Not earlier. Not later.
He walked through the door in his familiar coat, his hair slightly disheveled by the street wind, and the calm expression of a man who had faced countless boardrooms filled with people wanting to defeat him but still hadn’t learned how to deal with a bakery owner who put too much sugar in his coffee.
“You’re three minutes late,” Juny said.
Damian glanced at his watch.
“7:03.”
“Correct.”
“So that means I arrived within an acceptable margin of error.”
She tried to maintain a serious expression but failed.
“Are you using the language of senior management to justify being late for coffee?”
“No.” He pulled up a chair. “I’m using the language of someone who’s spent years solving complex problems and realized there are arguments I’m sure to lose.”
“Clever.”
“I learn quickly.”
Juny set her coffee cup down in front of him.
And in that brief moment, she realized what she feared most wasn’t Damian leaving.
It was him staying.
Because if he stayed, she wouldn’t have a reason to erect her usual walls anymore.
“Damian.”
He looked up.
“What is it?”
She was silent for a few seconds.
“Have you ever found it strange?”
“What?”
“The fact that someone like you spends so much time here.”
He looked around the bakery.
The old wooden tables. The small potted plants by the window. The menu board that Juny stubbornly refused to change even though the new staff had suggested redesigning it.
“What kind of person am I?”
His question made her stop.
Because she realized he really wanted to know.
Not defensive.
Not challenging.
Just wanted to hear the answer.
“You always have the answer,” she said.
Damian chuckled softly.
“That’s quite a misjudgment.”
“You saved my shop.”
“No. I found the truth. You saved your shop. You built this place up in four years before I came in.”
She looked at him.
It was still the same thing.
The way he always gave her back the credit she was used to having others take away.
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“See me.”
Damian didn’t answer immediately.
For the first time since she’d known him, he didn’t give an immediate answer.
And that made her believe him more than any words.
“Because you’re the first person in a long time who doesn’t care who I am.”
He looked down at his coffee cup.
“You don’t know I run an organization. You don’t know what power I have. You don’t know what I can do for you.”
A moment of silence.
“You only know me as the idiot who spilled ice water on you.”
Juny laughed.
“That’s a terrible impression.”
“But it’s a real impression.”
She looked at the rare smile on his face and understood something.
Perhaps they had both spent too much time proving their worth.
She proved that she didn’t need anyone.
He proved that he could handle everything.
And somehow, they met again in the only place where they didn’t need to prove anything.
A small table in the corner of the bakery.
A cup of coffee every morning.
One person walked in.
One person waited.
“Damian.”
“Yes?”
“If one day you want to change something big in your life…”
He looked at her.
“This time, ask me first.”
He understood immediately.
No further explanation needed.
“Okay.”
“Not because I want to control.”
“I know.”
“But because I need to have a choice.”
Damian nodded.
“And I need to learn how to make other people choose with me.”
Outside the window, Holloway neighborhood was beginning to wake up.
Shops were opening.
Delivery trucks were passing by.
People who once thought this place would disappear were now calling it by its name as a familiar part of the city.
Juny looked at the man in front of her.
The man who had once been a mystery.
A suspicion.
A risk.
And finally, a choice.
“So,” she said, pushing the cookie toward him, “do you still want to come here every morning?”
Damian looked at the cookie.
Then at her.
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“I want to come here because I want to. Not because of a habit.”
A slow smile appeared on her lips.
“Quite progress.”
“I have a good teacher.”
“Are you talking to me?”
“Obviously.”
“You know I could raise the price of your cake?”
“I know.”
“And you still say that?”
“That’s why I say it.”
This time Juny didn’t try to hide her smile.
Because for the first time in so many years, she wasn’t prepared for losing something good.
She was just living in it.
