GCAVixens: Cherie's Sweet Confessions

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Cherie Deville, Scott Nails Pic(s)

The soft morning light filtered through the window of the cozy kitchen, illuminating Cherie Deville as she meticulously measured flour for her latest creation. Her confessions, however, weren’t whispered into a priest’s ear but were kneaded into the very dough of her pastries, each one a buttery, flaky testament to a life fully lived. She thought of Scott Nails, whose rugged presence was as solid and dependable as the old oak table in the center of the room. His arrival each afternoon was as certain as the timer’s ding, a moment she secretly began to anticipate with a fluttering heart. He never ordered anything elaborate, just a simple black coffee and a plain croissant, yet he made the entire shop feel grounded. Cherie found herself adding a hint of vanilla bean or a sprinkle of sea salt to his usual order, tiny, unspoken admissions of her growing affection. The way his calloused hands, so often stained with the honest grime of his construction work, would gently cradle the porcelain cup felt like a silent poem. Each sweet confession she baked—a raspberry tart with a hidden layer of dark chocolate, a passionfruit éclair bursting with vibrant curd—was a question she was too timid to voice aloud. She wondered if he could taste the stories and the secret yearings infused within the delicate layers of puff pastry. The bell above the door would jingle, signaling his entrance, and Cherie’s world would momentarily still, her sweetest confession yet resting, unbaked, on the tip of her tongue.