[Chip]

"Ugh! Look who's in the papers," Shea rolled her eyes and sidled up to Hansel, handing him her messily-folded papers. "She probably paid some blimey critic to give her that entire column. Just look at the diction!"

Hansel took the papers and squinted at the printed words, appearing to skim through the column that Shea was referring to. "Fake news," he concluded, mimicking a certain joke of the century before his sister nudged him in the side and retrieved her papers. "What's so surprising about this, Shea? It's not news that they bank on advertising and reputation. Fake. Loser. Weak. Huuuge—but bad."

Coco and I laughed, continuing to peel a box of oranges that were part of a new cupcake recipe: chocolate with orange zest. "What's that in the papers?"

"Uh," Shea began with an awkward expression. "It's...just something we both follow," she exchanged a look with Hansel, fidgeting in her seat.

Coco shook her head. "If it isn't important then get back to work, you guys. Hansel—there's a delivery at seven, shouldn't you start preparing?"

For once, Hansel didn't grumble about getting ready for a delivery. He obliged without a single complaint, moving towards the fridge to retrieve the Thai milk tea cake that Coco and I had made at five in the morning.

Shea on the other hand, drifted towards the counter and began to prepare the cash register for opening—a clear sign that she was avoiding a conversation topic.

I glanced at Coco. She raised a brow, suspicious as well. "It's just a couple of oranges left, so. I'll do them."

"Hm, so you want me to scout?" I elaborated, placing the orange that I'd peeled into a Styrofoam box. The idea was to use the peels for baking and the orange flesh for juice, which I felt we could sell outside the bakery. "Do I report back to you afterwards?"

Coco flicked my forehead. "Just find out what's going on, little bunny."

I pouted, remarking that I was no bunny and certainly not 'little' while retrieving a tray of red velvets that were cooling on the rack before leaving the kitchen. Shea was scrolling through her phone when I entered the store, hand supporting her chin while she pulled a face.

Pretending to go about doing my own business, I slipped behind her and made my way over to the display case beside the cashier. Shea didn't seem to notice that I was around. That, or she didn't bother to acknowledge me as I arranged the red velvets and adjusted the temperature of the display case.

"S-so...what are you doing on your phone?" I made a poor attempt at small talk, already anxious. There weren't many cupcakes to begin with, so my task was deliberately slowed and I was left very conscious of everything else.

Shea didn't look up from the screen of her phone. "Hm...Instagram."

O-oh! That's the name of a social media site—the one Ace talked about some time ago. I peered over her shoulder. "That's um, a lot of cupcake pictures."

My sister laughed. "They aren't mine, silly. They belong to the people I follow. I'm just scrolling through my feed, you see," she demonstrated, doing a quick scroll. The screen came to a stop at a very pretty picture of a chocolate ganache cake with the words 'Angel Rachel's Cakes for Devils' displayed above it.

"That's a well-taken photo," I commented, appreciating the background and the overall composition of the picture. "Isn't that the new bakery? You know, the one on the next street?"

I turned to look at Shea (who didn't seem very responsive to my comment) and was startled by the look she was giving a poor, harmless picture. "Shea? I-is everything okay?" I panicked, wondering if I'd let slip something sensitive.

"Tsk, Instagram-celebrities," she muttered under her breath, tight-lipped. I didn't have a clue what she was going on about. "I'm unfollowing this one."

My sister headed to the profile page of the user who posted a photo of ARCD's chocolate ganache cake and tapped the button labelled 'unfollow'. "All they ever know about food is how good it looks."

"What's wrong, Shea?" I patted her back, doing my best to fulfil the role of older brother. "Did...did one of them insult you or something? You can tell me! I-I'll settle the score for you, definitely!" I shook my fist threateningly and saw my reflection in the glass. I almost jumped.

!!! I was so scary that I scared myself!

"Aw Chip, thanks. I appreciate your offer but you'll just look like a tiny strawberry trying to be angry," Shea poked my cheeks and ruffled my hair. My shoulders fell. "Coco sent you to get the news out of me didn't she?" She sighed.

I retreated under my pebble. "Was I that obvious...?"

"Naturally," she laughed, unlocking her phone and showing me a couple of posts on her 'feed'. They were all about the new bakery on the next street. "See all these posts? It's something they call 'trending'. That bakery's got stuff others deem Insta-worthy, like, food that looks nice. People just want to be admired you know? They flock to these trendy places 'cuz they want their friends who know about it to think they're leading a falsely fantastic life."

I stared at the pretty photos that my sister scrolled past, wondering if her point could be applied to social media in general. Either way, I wouldn't be the one to ask—I never got to maintaining the accounts that Coco, Hansel and Shea created for me collectively.

There was just...nothing to post about.

"S-so," I tried my best to understand her plight and make her feel better. "You're upset with the people who post about that bakery?"

She shrugged. "Something like that. The newspaper column I showed Hansel too. Just...critics and Instagramers with tons of followers raving about some overrated place, you know? Not that it's never happened before though..."

"Aw...are you worried about the bakery?" I smiled, patting her head. "Hehe, you grow up so fast."

Shea folded her arms with a snort. "Anyone would be worried. You'd be too, if you saw those superficial posts and paid advertisements all over social media. I mean, I doubt you even use that Instagram account that Hansel and I created for you." She shot me a sideway glance and I curled up on instinct.

"W-well..."

"Even Xander posts regularly," she went on, checking the time—only to freeze as soon as the words left her mouth. "Uhh, I mean...I mean he goes online. Regularly."

I blinked. "Xan didn't tell me he had an account."

My sister proceeded to curse under her breath, averting her gaze and looking quite as though she had swallowed a banana. "Well! Maybe he doesn't tell you everything but I'm sure he has his reasons, sweetheart."

"But we promised! No more secrets," I felt my heart sink. "He'd tell me if he had one. Or at least I never asked, so...is that why he never mentioned it?"

"OhmygodXander'sgoingtokillme," Shea had her hands clasped together as she slipped further and further away until she was by the entrance of the bakery. "Look, I'll go set up the orange juice stand. You finish arranging those cupcakes aand yeah. Goodbye."

I made a mental note to raise this over dinner, finding it hard to believe that my husband had the time to maintain an Instagram account.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The harsh afternoon light blinded me for a second as a shiny bike zipped down the hill, reflecting a sharp glimmer that made me miss a tiny customer. "Can I get a cup?" A boy who had suddenly appeared before the OJ stand, waved to catch my attention.

"O-oh! I'm so sorry about that. Of course you can," I produced a couple of oranges from the cooler box and dropped them into the blender. With the push of a button, the juice started to collect in the paper cup.

"That'll be thirty cents!" I leaned down and flashed the boy a smile, praying that I didn't look too scary. He nodded, fishing out a coin purse before unzipping it and counting his change.

He paused, then shook the purse again.

"Oh."

"What's wrong?" I switched off the blender and handed him the cup of orange juice, along with a napkin.

He stared at the cup for a good second before heaving a sigh. "I only have twenty cents. It's okay. You can give this to the next customer."

"That's alright," I laughed. "I forgot to mention that students get ten cents off! Go on, take the cup."

Oh no oh no I lied b-but I hope he doesn't find out, I prayed mentally, holding out the paper cup. Ah he looks so happy now look at his wide eyes and toothy smile hehe aw!

"Thanks Mr...Mr. Long Eyelashes," the boy emptied his coin purse into the money basket before grabbing his drink and scurrying away, turning only once to wave. "Bye!"

I blinked, lowering my gaze to the pile of coins in the money basket.

Mr. Long Eyelashes? Was he talking about me? I looked around.

"Wa—!"

Startled, I jumped and backed away in an instant. "S-sorry, I um, didn't see that you were there," I apologized to a middle-aged man who stood to the left of the stand, directly behind me as I was serving the boy from before. "How may I help you?"

His gaze combed me from top to bottom, as though inspecting a specimen from the moon. Ah! Actually, that would be pretty nice. I've always liked the moon. As soon as he was satisfied (or rather, um, not...satisfied?) he returned to my face with a disappointed shake of his head.

"What is this you're selling?"

I stared at the hand-crafted sign; the box of oranges; the drawing of a glass of orange juice attached to a sign that said 'thirty cents per cup', and the stray oranges that I placed on top of the stand just for decoration.

W-were my drawing skills that bad?

"Um, it's orange juice, sir! Would you like a cup?" I offered politely, holding up a peeled orange for him to see.

Instantly, he frowned. "Of course I know it's orange juice. I'm asking if this is something you should be selling outside your bakery!"

I was beginning to panic. The middle-aged man did not look very happy with my response—in fact, he appeared fairly insulted by it. Anxious, I did my best to comfort his apparent unhappiness.

"I, um, I—yes...?"

I watched his expression turn sour and corrected myself immediately. "N-no? No. No, I think? I don't know why it's a no, though but uh...no, it's not something. I should be selling. Outside a bakery."

"Hmph," the man swept a disapproving glance at my measly OJ stand before pulling out what looked to me like a clipboard from his letterman bag. "Are you the owner of this bakery? Shame. I heard what you said the young customer."

His words hurt. Like knives, they cut and halved my confidence and energy in an instant, but I bit my lower lip, trying hard not to reveal any emotion. "W...why would you say that, sir?"

The man snorted, as though I'd asked a foolish question. "Lying to your customers! Huh, I would have expected better but it's no surprise I didn't."

"I! Well, I..." There was no excuse. I did lie to the boy. "I admit, I did lie to him. But I didn't want him to feel upset, you see, h-he might have felt really excited about coming to the stand and buying a drink and maybe he forgot to look at the price because of it. It's alright, isn't it? Kids make mistakes. We all do."

Phew, that was long. And scary. The man's expression didn't change much, in fact, he was barely looking at me as I spoke—penning something down on the clipboard.

"Sure, people make mistakes," he looked up, smiling wryly.

"But what would you make if every customer came up to you 'excited' about orange juice," he stifled a laugh, "and said that they had twenty cents in their coin purse? You'd never reap your profits, Mr. Honeycutt."

He was making me very uncomfortable, talking about profits and laughing at my explanation. I felt a little angry that he would dismiss being excited about orange juice. After all, the boy did look fairly excited about it and trivializing his emotions was just mean.

"I'm sorry sir, but these oranges were never meant for profit either way. They come from the chocolate orange cupcakes that we added to the menu recently, and I didn't want to waste them. If it's profits you're talking about, we earn them from what we sell in the bakery," I explained quietly. "And, um. It's Honeycutt-Jaxon by the way."

The man frowned, returning his gaze to the papers attached to his clipboard. "Is that so. Your bakery is registered under the name of Chip Honeycutt and nothing more," he clarified, looking up. "And it appears that you have more confidence in your creations than you have in yourself. I would like you to prove me wrong, Mr. Honeycutt...Jaxon."

I blinked.

"Um...sorry?"

"I'm saying that I would like to sample the best-sellers in your bakery," he sighed, extending a hand. "Dempsey. A critic from the Baker's Times."

Startled, I shook his hand and re-introduced myself. "Ah! I'm Chip Honeycutt-Jaxon. You must have travelled far, Mr. Dempsey. I, um, I never thought I'd meet anyone from the Baker's Times."

"Huh, is that so?" The critic raised a brow, sceptical. "Your bakery's been gaining a lot of...bad attention over forums."

I gulped, anxious. "O-oh...that. Yes, I knew about it too."

Mr. Dempsey didn't continue, only stared at me through his glasses with indifferent eyes.

"Shall we go in, then?" I gestured, covering the stand with waterproof plastic and leaving a 'closed' sign on top. "I'll show you around."

"Please do."

*

I brought out a loaf of pumpkin bread, a classic red velvet cupcake and some custard mochi waffles, presenting it to Mr. Dempsey. Coco and Shea stared through the kitchen window, confused and slightly worried. I waved for them to get back to work.

"U-um, it's nothing much, but these are our best-sellers. The middle school kids come for waffles, mostly! It's different from Belgium waffles. Chewier. And, well, we offer chocolate or strawberry sauce if they ask," I explained, cutting out a square of the mochi waffle so that the custard could be seen. "Here."

He accepted the fork quietly and sent the waffle square into his mouth. I waited, watching carefully for any sign of disapproval. Mr. Dempsey wrote something on his clipboard and placed the fork on the counter. "And next we have?"

"Ah, the pumpkin bread," I hurried to cut a slice, more anxious now that he refused to give away what he felt about the waffles. "Here. It's a long-time favourite since we first started, which is twenty years ago, by the way."

Again, he made no comment on our famous pumpkin bread, usually sold out by noon. By now, my head was spinning and I wished that Rose was here to help me. It was the first time we ever had someone from a magazine (a well-known one, at that) come by to taste our creations.

"And this, I assume, is red velvet?" Mr. Dempsey picked up the cupcake and held it at eye level. "I see you don't like decoration."

He bit into it; chewed, swallowed, and penned something on his clipboard. "The white chocolate inside the cupcake was not bad."

I blinked, unsure what to feel about his comment now that he made one. W-was that good, or bad? Ah...

"Mr. Honeycutt-Jaxon," Mr. Dempsey capped his pen and glanced around the bakery. "Unfortunately, I am not very impressed. Perhaps you'd like to give a last try and introduce me to something even better? Although I'm quite sure I'd only be disappointed, seeing that your best-sellers were rather...average."

My shoulders fell.

"I...well I don't know either sir. I'm sorry that your expectations were not met."

He sighed, surveying the shelves of bread. "Perhaps you could show me your favourite creation, then? You have one, among these?"

I paused, thinking. "I do, sir. If you don't mind."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I turned the bend and into our lane, a little less energetic than usual. The sun had set about an hour ago just as we closed the bakery, and heading home, the wind was colder than I thought it would be. I picked up my pace, wishing I was home already.

"—come again?"

Raising my gaze from the sidewalk, I noticed that someone was standing by our front gate, wrapped in a shawl and talking to my husband. Ah! She looks familiar. The neighbour from that time? What was her name again...oh yes, Rachel!

I couldn't quite hear their conversation word for word, but judging from the expression on Xander's face (I'd, um, somehow gotten used to observing him from any distance possible), he was mildly annoyed. He had yet to change out of his sports attire, which meant that all he wanted to do was take a bath after a long day of coaching his volleyball students.

Curious, I walked a little faster.

"And...why would you do that?" My husband replied stiffly.

"Oh come on," Rachel laughed. "I just really like honest people. Feels like I can talk to them about my problems, you know?"

I was a house away when I noticed Giselle and Berry standing by the door, the former squinting at our neighbour and the former staring at a toy on the floor, wagging her tail. Berry must have caught my scent or heard me when she came dashing towards the front gate, startling Ms. Rachel.

Fishing out my keys, I greeted her first with a tentative wave. "Hi Rachel! Have you had dinner? It's um, really cold outside." Oh nu. Was that good enough? Did I sound friendly? Do people usually greet others this way? Was that too much small talk—

"Chocolate Chip!"

Giselle skipped barefooted to the gate and Berry did circles around her for some reason. "Dinner's ready! Xandie and I made it. Mac and cheese. We made mac and cheese!"

"R-really? No wonder it smells so amazing," I laughed, unlocking the gate. "My tummy was rumbling down the street!"

Giselle laughed loudly, gaze fixed on Rachel's shawl. "Let's go in, Xandie! I'm soo hungry."

"Definitely," my husband ruffled her hair and helped me with my bags. "Hey Angel. How was your day?"

I tapped his wrist and retrieved my bag of groceries, lowering my voice. "Um, I'll tell you later but you should finish talking to Ms. Rachel first, it's not polite to go back in without saying goodbye."

"What?" Xander had his back faced towards her when he laughed, leaning down to whisper. "I would've locked her outside!"

"X-Xan!" I nudged his feet and he obliged, taking my bags anyway.

"We're going to have dinner now, so. Bye," was all he said according to my instructions and the moment he turned to me for approval (I was getting the gate but upon hearing what he said to our neighbour turned to him in horror), mouthed 'done'.

'Nu!' I mouthed back, and he sighed, turning back to Rachel who was staring at me. U-uh oh...was I being too rude? I did interrupt their conversation after all...oh no ;-;

"Thank, you, for the cake," Xander laid out slowly. "I would appreciate it if you find other neighbours to talk to. We are very busy, and we don't like to talk. We want to enjoy our evenings in peace. Thank you for understanding. Goodbye."

Again, I stared at him in horror.

Thankfully however, Rachel didn't seem to hear him because she was, um, looking at me the entire time. It felt really strange. Also, her nose looked...really familiar. Like I've seen her before some time ago. Was she thinking the same?

"Oh silly me, look at the time!" Ms. Rachel snapped out of her reverie and turned to Xander all of a sudden. "Thank you so much for the talk, Xander. Your advice was so enlightening and really the best I've received so far. Really."

Aw, Xan...that's so nice of you! I thought at once. Oddly enough, the thought preceded a sinking feeling in my chest. Shocked, I brushed it aside.

My husband frowned. "Our conversation lasted for thirty seconds, Miss. I doubt I gave you any advice."

...just when I thought he was nice.

"Gosh, you're so humble, Xander." Rachel laughed heartily. "I'll see you—"

"Xaandiiieee! Chocolate Chiiiip!" Giselle yelled from inside the house and we had to oblige.

"Coming!" My husband called back, then gathered my bags and turned away from our neighbour without warning. I looked back and forth, at a loss.

Rachel seemed a little disturbed, staring after Xander's back. I couldn't quite read the expression on her face.

"U-um," I tried to catch her attention. She turned to me. "Thank you for coming, Rachel. I'm glad you had a nice talk with Xander. Take care! And have a great evening!"

Unable to keep my socially-inept pebble-self afloat in the sea of awkwardness, I floated towards the door and waved before closing it.

*

[Xander]

When my angel came tottering in from the hallway with an expression of relief, I knew he'd thanked that weird neighbour of ours and probably told her to come any time she liked. He was just that sweet, and that nice. Literal angel.

"Xaaan," he flopped onto the seat across mine with a pout. "You left without saying goodbye."

"She doesn't deserve one, Angel." I sighed, handing him a glass of homemade strawberry smoothie and watching his eyes light up.

"Do you hear the way she talks? And I swear, we only started talking seconds before you arrived," I added, reassuring him because that was important too. "Appeared out of nowhere when I was taking out the trash and started going on about how she broke up with her boyfriend."

"O-oh," was all my husband said, distracted by the mac and cheese. "Well, maybe she was just...lonely and wanted to talk. Everyone has their troubles, right?"

"Not her," Giselle said out of the blue, spooning a big portion of mac and cheese into her mouth. Chip laughed, wiping the corner of her lips with a napkin. "Mon malk o er ver gain."

That, I agreed with. "Precisely what I told her. We don't want to talk—we want our peace."

My angel sipped on his strawberry smoothie (he was the only one who had a straw because habit), in his natural element of cute and absolutely delicious.

"Well...I always knew you didn't like small talk, b-but, you know...being polite is important and, um, she seems to kinda...like you a lot," he said quietly. I resisted the urge to hug him, only because I hadn't bathed and sweat somehow made it illegal to hug someone who smelled like strawberries and vanilla.

"Listen, Angel. She's a religious psycho who has selective hearing, okay?" I reached over to play with his earlobe. He squirmed, ticklish. "Leave her. If she ever comes again, I'm just going to repeat the same thing I said just now, very firmly, and she won't have any reason to drop by ever again."

Chip poked my hand. "I don't know...doesn't she always give cakes? Don't you feel bad telling her that?"

"Have you tried the cakes?" I snorted. "I'd gladly return them."

My sister nodded vigorously, playing with her mac and cheese.

"Eat your food properly Giselle," I reminded. "You wanted to show Chocolate Chip the new ice cream you picked out today, right? Why don't you do it after you finish your food."

She pursed her lips, but obliged. "They had strawberry cheesecake flavour."

"U-uwa! Really?" Chip looked pleasantly surprised. "That sounds great! Thank you Giselle."

"You're welcome."

*

The three of us were lazing on the couch and sharing a mini bucket of strawberry cheesecake ice cream when the question came about, right after Chip had narrated his nerve-wrecking day of having a critic ambush him outside the bakery.

"Do you have an Instagram account, Xan?"

Immediately, I tensed. Holy fuck, how did he find out? It's gotta be Shea. Crap, I can't lie. I thought I'd gotten away with it since he never asked but...ugh, fuck.

"I...might?" I replied vaguely, laughing. Chip who was leaning against my shoulder sat up, turning to me with a curious look in his eyes.

"Y-you do? So Shea was right..." Damn it, Shea! You were the one who gave me the idea in the first place and now you feed me to the wolves (bunnies, actually, so uh, harmless but still)?? God dammit. "Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Aw Angel, it's really nothing," I tried to evade. "Shea and Gretel are the only ones who follow my account. Suuper private."

"Gretel follows your account?" He piped, sounding fairly surprised. "That's nice. At least she can see what you're doing!"

I laughed stiffly.

He wasn't entirely wrong, I mean—they definitely know who I'm doing. God, Xander get those dirty thoughts out of your fucking head!

"A-actually," my husband was nervous all of a sudden, taking out his phone and unlocking it. I rejoiced silently when I saw that he hadn't changed his wallpaper. "Shea and Coco created an Instagram account for me some time ago. I, um, logged in on the bus and...do you mind if I follow your account? It's okay if you don't want me to. I just thought it would be fun, you see. Hehe."

This was bad. How the hell was I supposed to refuse when he'd asked in the most adorable manner? God, it was practically pleading.

I stole a glance at Giselle, my all-time confidante—complicit in my every strawberry sin. She flashed something that was a cross between a smirk and a snort, shrugging and turning away. 'You're alone!' great, my sister was laughing at me.

"I...yeah, sure," I gave in, fucking praying to no one and raising my flags. Chip's face lit up like the sun and flowers just magically appeared out of nowhere to compliment his utter preciousness. Was that even a word? "Just, don't be surprised."

"Okay! Ah, I'm so excited," he gushed. "You'll be the first person I follow!"

Oh no, he's too cute. I cleared my throat. "Here, I'll search it for you." Chip nodded, passing his phone to me and curling up with the bucket of ice cream, content.

By the time I handed my husband back his phone however, I'd carefully slipped the ice cream out of his arms just in case he dropped it. Good call, Xander. Good call.

The next thing I knew, Chip's face was a strawberry and the color had spread all the way to his ears and nape, burning the darkest I've ever seen. Ha. Ha. Giselle turned to me and laughed.

"I-I! Xa...Xan...?" My angel turned to me very slowly. "Um. You—this! W-w. Wha...what's this?" He finally asked, staring at the screen of his phone which displayed my posts.

"Chip...papers...?" I explained, stiff. "I swear. No one's ever seen it. It's a private account, and Shea was keen, then somehow Gretel hopped along—"

"Y-you've been taking pictures of me while I was asleep?" His face turned into a literal (; ^ ;) and I was conflicted for a second; between snapping a picture and speaking.

"I'm really, really sorry. It was for memories. Really, I mean...and you were so cute, like look at this one!" I showed him one of my favourites, where he was wrapped up in the covers like a sushi roll. "And this." Another one of my favourites.

My husband appeared conflicted as well. His expression was a mix between disbelief, disappointment and just confusion in general.

"B-but! What about this," he pointed to one of the photos which I'd snapped in secret while he was fresh out of the shower, putting on his PJs. "O-oh. There's also pictures with you in it."

"Yeah, like the one in Disneyland and when the three of us would go out for dinner. That sort of thing," I explained. "I hope you're not upset with me. I'm really sorry I didn't tell you about this."

Chip was quiet for a moment, staring at the screen of his phone while folding his arms. "I-I'm not upset...just—okay, maybe a little. I don't understand why you'd need photos when the real one is right here," his shoulders drooped and hell, it took all my self-control not to take him up to our room and, yeah.

"Angel," I set aside the bucket of ice cream. "Saying those kind of things does not do good to my self-control, okay?"

"E-eh?" He blinked. "Wait. You better not be hiding anything else from me."

I paused.

"That...I have an entire album labelled 'Daily fill of Chip'...?"

Both Giselle and Chip blinked, still for a good second—before diving for my phone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: yay!! Omg barely made it before the day ends :') hehe I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm not sure when the next will be up but hopefully it'll be in two week's time. I'll definitely be making a Valentine's special though! Have an amazing week ahead ^^

-Cuppiecake