Jack Kelly x Plus-Size Baker!Reader

The smell of cinnamon and freshly baked bread wafted through the narrow streets of New York City. The morning sun cast golden light over the bustling market stalls, but Jack Kelly was in his usual spot, perched on a crate near the bakery window, sketchbook open on his lap. Every so often, he'd glance up at the woman behind the counter, her cheeks dusted with flour as she laughed and rolled out dough with practiced ease.

That was you.

The bakery was your pride and joy, tucked between a fruit stand and a tailor's shop. You'd taken it over after your father passed, determined to keep the family business alive. You didn't mind the early mornings or the long hours. What you loved most, though, were the Newsies—the scrappy, energetic boys who made your shop their unofficial headquarters.

"Morning, Miss Sweetheart!" Racetrack called as he pushed the door open, the bell jingling above him. You turned with a smile, hands busy tying up a box of fresh pastries.

"Morning, Race. Chocolate croissants today," you said, sliding the box across the counter. "For you and the boys. On the house."

His grin widened as he peeked inside. "You're a saint, y'know that? The boys'll flip for these."

Jack appeared behind him, his ever-present charm in full effect. "Morning, sugar."

"Morning, Jack," you replied, trying to ignore the warmth that spread across your cheeks. You'd known Jack for a while now—his quick wit and easy smile had drawn you in from the start. But you'd always been hesitant to hope for anything more.

Jack leaned against the counter, his hat pushed back on his head. "You spoil us, y'know that? You're like our fairy godmother or somethin'."

You laughed, a rich, full sound that made Jack's smile soften. "Someone's gotta keep you boys fed."

"Yeah, but why?" He tilted his head, a playful look in his eyes. "I mean, you could sell these for double what you charge us."

Your smile faltered, just for a second. "Because you remind me of family. And because everyone deserves something sweet now and then."

Jack nodded, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary. There was something about the way you spoke—with such care and warmth—that made his chest ache. He wasn't used to people being kind for no reason.

Over the next few weeks, Jack found himself spending more and more time at the bakery. He'd bring his sketchbook, claiming the light was better near your window, or he'd offer to help you carry flour sacks, even though you always insisted you were fine.

One afternoon, after the rush had died down, you caught him staring at one of your pies with a curious look.

"Something wrong with the pie, Jack?" you teased, wiping your hands on your apron.

"Not the pie," he said, meeting your eyes. "Just thinkin' how much care you put into this place. Into us."

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "I like taking care of people. And baking's kinda my love language, I guess."

Jack raised an eyebrow, leaning a little closer. "Love language, huh? So what's it mean when someone sketches pictures of someone else all day?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "Depends on the pictures."

Jack reached into his sketchbook, flipping through pages until he found what he was looking for. He slid the book across the counter, and your breath caught. There you were, surrounded by flowers and pastries, your laugh practically coming off the page.

"I didn't know..." you started, but Jack interrupted.

"You're beautiful, Y/N," he said softly. "Not just in the way you look, but in how you care. How you light up a room. I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you."

Tears pricked your eyes as you looked at the drawing. "Jack, I..."

He reached across the counter, his fingers brushing against yours. "You don't gotta say anything if you don't want to. But I think you're somethin' special."

You smiled, warmth spreading through you. "You're not so bad yourself, Jack Kelly."

From then on, the bakery wasn't just a refuge for the Newsies. It became a place where you and Jack built something sweeter than any pastry—a connection that made the city feel just a little smaller and a lot more like home.