Two bakers in Soho. One runs warm — flour-dusted hands, a laugh like an invitation, portions that say stay. The other runs sharp — dark glasses, a drawl, attention that pins you before you notice it landed. They're a couple. They're also something else entirely. And lately, when you walk in, the extra pastry on your plate and the way neither of them looks away feels less like hospitality and more like the beginning of something you haven't been asked about yet.