One Night Stand, Eight Surprises: Pampered by My CEO Husband --- - Chapter 204: Chapter 204

The air was thick with sugar and anticipation.
Banners fluttered across the arched windows of Sweetheart Bakery’s second location like confetti caught in a breeze, bold letters proclaiming: “GRAND OPENING – LOCAL HEART, GLOBAL FLAVOR.”
Elena stood near the door in her favorite cream blazer, flanked by Matteo, both beaming as the ribbon was cut, the crowd erupting into soft applause. Cameramen buzzed like flies, influencers clutched their phones in perfectly angled poses, and the aroma of cardamom, burnt butter, and freshly glazed lemon bars drifted into the spring air.
Inside, chaos danced in controlled pirouettes—staff moving like practiced ballerinas behind the counter, trays of petits fours being replenished, espresso machines singing high notes over the chatter.
And amid it all, Camille and Noah wove through like mismatched magnets.
Camille in her burgundy chef’s coat, hair in a bun that was unraveling by the hour. Noah in a tailored navy shirt, sleeves rolled, a clipboard in one hand and a handkerchief perpetually dabbing his temple.
Their eyes kept meeting.
Their mouths kept saying things like "inventory," and "logistics," and "customer satisfaction," but their expressions said something else entirely.
The kiss from that night still haunted the air between them—still hung like heat in an unventilated kitchen.
Midway through the event, Camille ducked into the back kitchen to retrieve a fresh tray of citrus-rosemary scones. Noah followed, claiming he needed to verify the catering schedule.
They collided in the narrow passage between the proofing racks.
Her tray tipped, and he caught it—one hand under the base, the other pressed to her waist to steady her.
Too close.
Too warm.
Their faces inches apart.
Camille opened her mouth to say something scathing, probably.
Instead, their lips met.
Just like that.
Soft.
Stunned.
A second of weightless surprise.
Then Camille blinked and jerked back, tray rattling in her arms. “Shit.”
Noah straightened slowly, face flushed. “That was—”
“An accident,” she snapped. “Reflex. Proximity. Gravity.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Of course.”
Neither moved.
Neither breathed.
Then someone called Camille’s name from the front and the spell shattered.
She shoved the tray into his chest. “Serve these.”
He blinked. “But—”
She was already gone.
Over the next few hours, whispers began to spread like powdered sugar on chiffon cake.
“She looked flustered.”
“He’s been adjusting his tie every five minutes.”
“I swear they bumped hands and neither of them pulled away.”
Matteo cornered Elena near the coffee bar. “Your kitchen’s heating up, and it’s not the ovens.”
Elena followed his glance toward the two culprits—Noah pretending to fix the signage near the register, Camille aggressively whisking ganache like it had insulted her family.
Elena rubbed her temples. “God help me.”
“They’re adults,” Matteo said.
“They’re my adults,” she muttered. “My team. My investors. My expansion plan. I don’t need a rom-com in my kitchen.”
“But imagine the holiday marketing,” Matteo teased.
She shot him a look that promised violence via cookie cutter.
Still, part of her couldn’t deny what she saw: two people who brought out the worst—and possibly the best—in each other.
Camille found refuge in the walk-in freezer. She leaned against the cold metal shelf, arms crossed, heart still hammering like she’d run a marathon.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not with him.
The man practically bled structure. She lived in a beautiful mess. They argued over everything—thermometers, menu spacing, the ethics of gluten-free puff pastry.
And still, something in him felt like a clean line she could draw her chaos against.
“Get it together,” she whispered to herself.
The door creaked.
Noah stepped in, holding a sample tray.
“Seriously?” she barked. “Following me into the freezer?”
He winced. “Didn’t realize you were in here. I needed to grab more lemon bars.”
“Take them and go.”
He didn’t move.
She exhaled, fogging the cold air. “Look… about earlier—”
“It was… confusing,” he finished. “But not unwelcome.”
That stopped her.
He stepped closer, voice low. “I like working with you, even when you make me question my sanity. I like that you push me. Challenge me. And when you kissed me back—Camille, that wasn’t gravity. That was choice.”
She stared at him.
Then reached behind her, grabbed a container of frozen berries, and pressed it against his chest.
“Cool down,” she said, smirking. “Before someone slips and sues.”
He grinned.
By closing time, the second location had exceeded every sales projection. Influencers raved. Vendors booked new orders. The bakery had not only survived the pressure—it had risen like a perfect soufflé.
Elena locked the front doors and leaned against them, exhausted.
Matteo handed her a pastry box. Inside was a single lemon tart with “To new beginnings” piped in chocolate.
Behind her, Camille and Noah stood shoulder to shoulder at the espresso bar, arguing over which flavored syrup to retire.
Elena watched them, eyes narrowing.
Busin
ess and pleasure.
Chaos and control.
Maybe… maybe every perfect recipe needed a little unpredictable spice.
She took a bite of tart.
And smiled.