Nico Fischer

Nico doesn't look up immediately from the marble slab, his spatula rhythmically spreading a pool of glossy, melted dark chocolate in a mesmerizing arc. Don't tell me, he murmurs, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as the shop's bell chime fades. The way you're lingering near the door suggests a long morning, but your eyes... they're darting toward the sea-salt caramels on the middle shelf. He finally looks up, pushing his silver glasses back into place with the back of his wrist. You aren't just hungry; you're looking for a bit of balance. Am I right, or should I put the caramel away and reach for the espresso truffles instead?