Chester Gangfield x Victorian!Reader - SWEET TOOTH

"SWEET TOOTH"

    It’s a quarter to ten when you finish sweeping the front area of your father’s small bakery. You clutch the broom tighter as you wipe your sweaty brow with the back of your hand. Your father’s bakery is the pride and joy of the family, as it is right in the centre of Harbiford and boasts a vast middle-class clientele. The thriving business ensured you had a capable governess growing up and you were always dressed in pretty clothes, but none of that ever really mattered to you. You always felt you were meant for something greater than idle chinwags and charities with the other young ladies your age.

    Lately you have been having a recurring dream that a man with black markings on his arms reaches out his hand to you, telling you he has come to protect you from some unknown danger. He takes you out to sea on a grand adventure. You would fight pirates, discover hidden treasures, and cast magic spells. He would engulf you both in flames that do not harm you, holding your hand in protection against your enemies. You never seem to recall the dream man’s face — only the blur of his dark hair remains burned in your waking mind. That, and the overwhelming sense of safety you felt around him. His presence is the warm embrace of destiny.

    You reflect on this for some time, resting your chin on the top of the broomstick.

    “Daydreaming again, are you?” your father asks as he barges into the front room.

    You jump back into life, laughing nervously. “Oh! Father! I am only resting after sweeping up.”

    “Well, you did a good job today. Spick and span, spick and span!” Your father takes his place behind his spotless counter. He always kept his white apron spotless, obsessed with neatness and cleanliness — and rightly so. He has a reputation for serving the most unadulterated buns in Harbiford, and perhaps in all of Dorset as well.

    The bell tinkles as the store’s front door swings open. It’s your father’s most regular customer and he arrives just like clockwork. Ten o’clock, on the dot, just like every Monday.

    Your heart flutters as you watch the customer stride in. You ruffle your dress and look at the handsome man in front of you, hoping he would notice you.

    He removes his top hat with one deft motion to reveal his full and wavy brown hair. It swims in bangs across his forehead, framing his sultry chocolate eyes.

    “Ah, Mr Gangfield!” your father announces. “You’re very welcome as always.”

    Gangfield raises his sharply sculpted eyebrows, a skew smile spreading above his wide chin. “Charlie, my good man! I shall have a dozen of your finest custard biscuits, if you please, and although it is a little out of character for me, I must say I feel dangerously peckish for some date rolls.”

    Your father places a white bag of custard biscuits on the counter. “I’ve anticipated you with the custard biscuits, but I’m afraid you’ll need to give me a moment to gather up your date rolls.”

    “You shan't hear me complain, my good man.” He taps his stomach. “My appetite, on the other hand...”

    Gangfield stands around for a second before he spots you. He smiles politely. “Miss ________, how do you do?”

    “H-how do you do, Mr Gangfield,” you stammer stupidly. You quickly turn away and carry the broom past the arch and into the back room.

    You catch your breath. You could have sworn that when your eyes met just then, Gangfield stared deep into your soul. You feel vulnerable, but excited. You shake your head as you place the broom against the wall, your heart sighs a lamenting, “If only…”

    A little flustered, but recovering quickly enough, you begin to walk back to the front room. 

    Just as you pass the back pantry, you hear your father claim from the front room, “Oh, apologies, Mr Gangfield. Looks like the wife carried the date rolls to the pantry. I’ll quickly go get them for you.”

    Then something shatters on the floor, probably one of the big, glass sweets bowls on the counter. “Oh, blast! Would you look at that!” your father cries. “What a clumsy fool I am! Let me just step over this and—”

    “Please, sir, no need to rush to serve me,” says Gangfield. “You deal with your mess. I can find my way around. The back pantry, you say? I shall return directly!”

    “Very good, Mr Gangfield. Thank you.”

    Your father’s failure to protest sends your heart into a frenzy. So much so, you don’t even pay attention to the next few lines the men speak to one another.

    Then Gangfield’s footsteps grow nearer and louder, and you freeze.

    What should you do? Should you grab the date rolls and take them out before Gangfield comes in? No, your father would need the broom again, so you would have to walk back deeper into the back room to fetch it. Then you would undoubtedly encounter Gangfield on your way back out.

    But, oh, the thought of being alone in the back room with Gangfield for just an instant! You, an unmarried young woman in the sole presence of a bachelor, and such a handsome one at that! It makes your knees cave in.

    You gather your mental strength and turn around to fetch the broom, but you hesitate and spin back around without thinking.

    “Uff!” You crash into Gangfield, hitting his nose with your forehead.

    Once you realise what has happened, your eyes grow wide and you don’t even bother thinking about your throbbing head.

    Gangfield holds his nose, his tone jocular and kind. “Ah, Miss ______, just who I wanted to see. Though the close proximity was an unexpected pleasantry.”

    You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Gangfield’s slightly watering eyes glisten in the low light of the back room, drawing you in too much to think of anything to say.

    “Ah, you should be able to point me in the direction of the pantry,” he says, sniffing.

    “F-for a date!” you sputter.

    “For date rolls, yes,” he replies, an amused smile deepening his left dimple.

    “Right! Of course! Follow me, please.”

    You lead him to the left and into the pantry, cursing at yourself under your breath for your stupid behaviour.

    The pantry is a small room, kept dark and cool to preserve the products which go off more quickly. There was an unlit candle on one of the shelves just a few feet away from you, and as you silently reach for the box of matches by the door and ——

    Flick!

    The candle is alight before you could even take a match out of the box.

    You spin to look at Gangfield. In the hazy blur of the lone candle, you recognise him. His dark hair looks all the more familiar to you.

    “You did that, didn’t you?” you ask him, though you demand more than anything else.

    “How could I? When I stood all the way here?” He appeared subtly shocked, but overall composed.

    “Because…” You hesitate, wondering if you should even mention it, but you push on. “Because you can engulf us in flames that cannot harm us. I have seen it.” You cleverly don’t mention that it was only in a dream.

    He lowers his voice. “You are a peculiar one, saying such foolish things.”

    You do feel a little foolish in the moment, sigh, and reply, “Yes, I suppose… I beg your pardon, sir. I have been told I have an active imagination.”

    He smiles. “That is good at least. Not a lot of women these days indulge in their imagination.”

    You smile back, then head for the pantry door to exit.

    But Gangfield blocks the way.

    “Excuse me,” you say.

    “I cannot allow you to leave.”

    You laugh nervously. “Why?”

    The reflection of the candlelight dancing in his eyes illuminates a warmth in him you had never known any man could possess. “Because I want to protect you, Miss _______.”

    You swallow hard, backing up against the shelf behind you.

    A gear in your heart clicks, as though something had fallen in place. Gangfield is the man from your dream! And he has come to protect you from danger — to take you on your adventure.

    Filled with excitement, you ask him, “So, what comes next?”

    “Something extraordinary.” He closes in on you, his chest mere inches away from yours. You can hear him breathe. You can smell his sweet breath. He locks eyes with you and gently reaches his right arm around you.

    He freezes, saying, “Pardon me, Miss _______, for being so forward, but I cannot help it. You have something I want, and it is imperative that I obtain it as soon as possible, lest my body and spirit perish in this most urgent of moments.”

    Your entire body trembles. Your heart soars. You swallow hard and close your eyes, waiting for his lips to draw near.

    Gangfield keeps reaching behind you. He grabs a handful of date rolls and hops back upright, gleefully caressing his sweets and even taking a bite from one. He then spins around to exit the pantry.

    Your jaw drops. You don’t know what to think or do, but you manage to call after him. “Wait! Where are you going? Weren’t you here to protect me from something?”

    His mouth full, Gangfield spits out a matter-of-fact reply. “Oh, yesh. There ish glassh all over the floor.”

    Your father calls from the front room, “No, I managed to get most of it moved to the corner with the spare broom. You can let her come back out now, Mr Gangfield. Thank you!”

    Gangfield smiles, shrugs, and pops the rest of his half-eaten date roll into his mouth. He pays for his treats and leaves the bakery, flipping his top hat back onto his head and trotting past the shop window down Main Street.

    He doesn't even try to hide his excitement at his sweet tooth being sated for the day.