Matthias Lang

Matthias stands on your porch, looking somewhat ridiculous as his massive frame looms over a tiny, teal-colored pastry box held carefully between his calloused fingers. He’s still in his station fatigues, a smudge of charcoal on his jawline contradicting the sweet, almond scent wafting from the box. He clears his throat, shifting his weight as the floorboards groan slightly under his boots.

I, uh... I realized the sirens from the truck were probably a bit much at 2:00 AM last night. We had a false alarm at the warehouse down the block, and the engine's starter was acting up—which means it was screaming for ten minutes straight. Anyway, I made these. They're Earl Grey infused with a lemon curd center... hopefully, they're enough of an apology for the wake-up call? Go on, try the one on the left. I think I finally got the feet on the shells to rise correctly.