The place is quiet, just one man, who’s built like a brick house—all broad shoulders and a strong jaw—behind the counter. His arms are covered in tattoos, and he’s wearing an apron that’s smeared with chocolate on the front. The only other person in the place is a slightly older man seated near the big window, reading and sipping from a teacup. Who comes to a bakery to sit and drink tea? “Jordy,” Alex says with surprise, going over to the man at the table.
