Kowalski's Bakery featured some of the most fantastic pastries anybody had seen in years. Queenie knew as much, because it was all anyone ever thought about upon exiting the shop with their little paper bags filled with confectionary occamies and demiguises. Though, being no-majs, they hadn't the foggiest idea what the creative creatures were really called. And from her little spot on the corner across the street from the bakery, Queenie could tell that Jacob was certain he'd dreamt them up. The fact that he thought he'd dreamt them up ––– that all the fantastic beasts were nothing more than a figment of his imagination and the memory of a kiss just out of his reach was nothing more than an amazingly sweet dream ––– was what kept Queenie from stepping into the shop for herself.

That, and the ever-strict Rapport's Law.

A ridiculous law, really. If the wizards and witches and no-majs across the ocean in London were able to marry one another and interact with each other with minimal conflict, then why couldn't the law in America be the same? Sure, some non-wizards were hostile towards that which they couldn't understand, but there were plenty who (in Queenie's experience) were perfectly open to strange phenomenons. Jacob had been one of them before he'd stepped out into the rain.

His wonderment at the magical world was endearing. Everything about him was, really. Especially how he'd thought she was one of the most amazing women ever when she was so used to being underestimated. Where most wizards saw her and thought she was nothing more than a skirt to lust after and get coffee from, Jacob had seemed to think the stars in the sky shone specifically for her. ( His first thoughts of her would've made anyone blush, sure, but once he'd gotten to know her... )

After weeks of just watching, enough was enough.

She left for work before Tina'd even finished breakfast ––– an unusual circumstance given that Queenie usually liked to sleep until the last possible second and then flit around the house trying to be ready in time to apparate over to MACUSA with her sister. One hatsily made and likely not at all believable excuse later, she was out the door and all but running towards the bakery. Her usual pink coat was left in the wardrobe in favor of the simpler solid pink wool one ––– it was less conspicuous amongst the no-majs than the one that shimmered like a sunset with all it's pinks and oranges all woven together.

The shop had been opened for less than half an hour when she walked up to the door, but already it was packed full. No surprise there. The bell tinkled happily as she pushed her way inside the shop – the aroma of freshly baked pastries wafting through the air. The store was a minefield of thoughts, but she navigated it carefully as she quietly explored the little space. He'd have to expand soon if business kept up like this. Or maybe he'd stay put. It was an incredibly homey spot; surely that was a lot of the charm.

She looked around for almost a full fifteen minutes ( she'd be late to work for sure, but it would be worth it ). Listening carefully, Queenie watched out of the corner of her eye as a customer complimented the wondrous shapes –– a demiguise, specifically –– his pastries took on. A smile grew on her lips as Jacob beamed proudly. He's doin' so well...

The lady paid for her treat and stepped away from the counter. As she moved, leaving Queenie in plain view, she turned quickly so he wouldn't spot her just yet. Luckily, his attention had already jumped to his assistant. Suddenly overcome with the feeling that this had been a terrible idea, Queenie started to make her way back to the door to go. She was late for work and already breaking countless rules by simply standing inside the establishment. It'd be better for everyone (even Teenie) if she just went...

Do I know her?

The thought makes her stop dead in her tracks. He had spotted her. Slowly, like she was surrounded by molasses, she turned back to face him. His thoughts drift to the countless dreams he's had ––– the faceless woman with golden blonde curls and the ghost of a kiss that always woke him feeling as though there was something he was forgetting. Someone he was forgetting.

A hand made its way up to the faint scar on his neck. It's her... Memories flooded back. Occamies, the demiguise. Frank... All of it was real. She was real. He was so sure he'd made her up with all the fantastic beasts. But she was real –– she made the the best strudel he'd ever tasted. He loved her.

His thoughts were the loveliest things she'd ever heard and, with her feet firmly rooted in place, she grinned. And Jacob could have sworn that the sun streaming in from the window behind her shone even brighter.