Characters: reader, Bucky (Jimmy), Clint, Wanda.

Summary: Discovering the cute guy you just flirted with is the heir of a rival bakery, you suddenly find yourself running into him all over the city. Can your small boutique bakery compete? And how do you deal with the guy who seems determined to make your life a living hell? Luckily you're distracted by a secret admirer...But who is he? (Inspired by "You've Got Mail", Enemies to Lovers)

Warnings: none! Mild swearing?

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Aahh!!! I'm so grateful and elated that you all loved part one!! This baking fic is kind of my heart and soul and I'm so glad you're loving it and love the idea of it. There's so much more to come and a lot of snarky banter mixed with sweetness! I love you all. Please let me know your thoughts! I love to hear from you!! :)

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The drive back to your bakery was a blur after your interactions with Clint and Jimmy. How could a regular morning take such a sharp turn for the worst? Parking in your designated spot in front of your building, you walked through the store front and offered a smile to a few customers being helped by Wanda. Setting down your coat and bag on the chair in your tiny back office where you did paperwork, you then rolled your shoulders and neck to release tension that had gathered there.

Somehow you had finished your morning baking, done your deliveries, discovered that the competition was moving into the neighborhood, and flirted badly with a cute guy who happened to work for the rival bakery. It wasn't even 9am.

A deep breath and a few more stretches later, you decided to shake off this morning and get your hands in some some dough. That's when you were most comfortable and in control, when you were baking. Tying an apron around your waist and washing your hands, you punched down the growing yeast dough one more time before dumping it out onto the floured wooden surface.

It all became muscle memory then, rolling out the dough and spreading your special cinnamon filling over the whole surface. Sprinkling a few chopped pecans on top, you then rolled the dough into one long log and began to cut the dough evenly before placing each roll on a cookie sheet. Your cinnamon rolls were one of our top sellers, so you made them fresh almost every day. You also received special orders where customers would asked for a dozen at a time.

You were just cleaning off your table when Wanda hollered back that she needed a few different types of cookies. Reaching into the two-door freezer, you placed the cookie dough balls on sheet pans and slid them into the oven. It was more efficient to make a large amount of dough at a time and freeze it to be baked fresh when needed.

Later you brought the cookies up front and Wanda restocked the case filled with baked goods. You checked that the self-serve coffee pots were filled and creamers were still cold. Restocking a few of the sweeteners, you then took one last look around, satisfied that everything was in its place.

"Wanda, I'll be in the office if you need me," you told the long-haired brunette.

"You got it, boss," Wanda smiled.

Wanda had been with you from the very beginning. It had only been a year since you had turned in your business proposal and were approved for a loan, allowing you to open the bakery. Renting retail space in New York City was ridiculously expensive, but you did have one saving grace. Your landlord was willing to lower the rent slightly because it was also the building you lived in, up one floor. You had agreed to serve as superintendent, since he lived outside the city. It was a lot to take on with your business and also getting random calls in the middle of the night about broken thermostats and clogged toilets, but somehow you made it work.

You had just taken a seat in your office with coffee and a muffin when your phone chirped. Fishing it out of your apron, you saw a text message and swiped to open it.

Hey dillweed, you messed up our order again. That's the third time this month, dude. Get back here and fix it.

B.

Staring down at your phone, you blinked a few times and read the words once more. Well, clearly that message wasn't meant for you. Normally, you'd just ignore it, but it seemed important, so drafted a message and hit send.

Excuse me? I think you have the wrong number. I am not a dude. And what kind of insult is dillweed anyway?

FG

Three dots appeared as the other person was typing and seconds later another message arrived.

Oh, I'm sorry. I must have typed the number in wrong. My mistake. Sorry to bother you. Also dillweed is a perfectly acceptable insult, thank you very much.

B.

The response made you laugh. You were about to delete the messages and forget all about the exchange when you changed your mind and started typing. After this morning, you could use a little harmless entertainment.

FG: You typed in the number? What're you, 90? If you know someone well enough to insult them, wouldn't they be saved in your contacts?

A few more seconds later, you saw their response.

B: Well, Ms. Judge-y Stranger, if you must know, I have a bad track record with cell phones and rarely have them for long so I memorize most numbers or keep them in a notebook. Happy?

Another snort before you responded.

FG: Ecstatic. You're right, I don't know you at all and have no right to judge. It's impressive that you can memorize numbers. My generation has completely lost the ability.

B: How do you know we're not the same generation?

Grinning, you shot back a quick reply.

FG: You never refuted my claims that you were 90.

B: Oh. Well, I'm not. I'm 24, for your information. And you?

You hesitated then, unsure about telling a stranger anything about yourself. This was just harmless fun. After thinking a moment, you sent out a vague reply.

FG: I'm somewhere around there.

B: What's your name?

That was a hard stop right there. Nope.

FG: I think that's enough chatting with a random stranger for today. I'll keep my personal info to myself, thank you.

B: Well, I might know more about you than you might think. I know you are not a dude and from the area code, I know you're a New Yorker.

Huh. Well, he wasn't wrong. Before you could reply another message appeared.

B: I've already offered more info than you have, but I'm a giver. I am, in fact, a dude and also a New Yorker. See? Not that difficult.

Another laugh escaped your lips. You then noticed the clock and felt foolish to spend so much precious time on this silly conversation, entertaining as it was.

FG: Well, dude. I have to get back to work. Nice chatting with you.

B: Oh? What do you do? Is FG your initials? Fiona Gale? Franny George?

You couldn't help yourself and sent a laughing emoji with tears.

FG: Nice try. Later, dude.

Back at work, you couldn't help but think about that absurd text conversation. It was probably just a one-time thing, but it definitely turned your whole day around. Pulling out the ingredients to make tart dough, you couldn't help but hum to yourself. Thank you, dude.

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  Oooooh, intrigue!!! Who's this mysterious texter?? Also, cinnamon rolls. *drools* I'd apologize about making you all hungry, but I'm kind of not sorry. :D Mondays and Thursdays might just be days we all give up on our diets. ha!! Would you have texted back? Do you think she's smart to keep her information to herself? Never can be too careful!! I hope you're excited for part 3 on Monday!! I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter!! I adore you all. Thank you for reading.