Bakery Reading Novels & Stories

he'd asked, those big eyes so much like mine looking up at me with concern. "Yeah, buddy. It's RiRi." "You should say sorry and bring cookies. That's what you tell me to do." So here I was, mid-morning, headed to Erica's house with my crutches awkward under my arms and a peace offering in a paper bag—pastries from Flour & Co., the only bakery in the city that could possibly compete with The Sweet Spot. It was the thought that counted, right?

I can see my father is touched to be included. "To Abigail, she leaves Bread." Our collective confusion shows on our faces, and Mr Thompson continues hurriedly, "Bread is a bakery located in The Lanes." "She left me a bakery? What? How?" I gasp. I look at my parents, and it is clear that neither of them has a clue either.

He pictured it on a Sunday afternoon. He'd been making bread — Sunday bread, the rhythm — and the bread was in its second proof, the dough risen and shaped and waiting for the oven. The kitchen smelled like yeast and flour and the particular warmth of something being made by hand, and he was at the table with the reading — the flavour chemistry text, the section on glutamates and umami, the science of why certain combinations of ingredients tasted the way they did — and somewhere around the third page he'd stopped reading and started thinking.

The bakery is almost as good as Ann’s food 😋 I’m all done for the day so I’ll see you back at the apartment 😘’ I smiled as I sent back ‘See ya 🥰💜’ I put my phone away and turned to Callie. “Did you want a snack or did Easton ask you to feed me every few hours?” I asked suspiciously. “Both.” She smirked. We walked into the bakery and the smell was absolutely delicious. “Mmm. Freshly baked bread is my favorite.” I mumbled. There was such a huge assortment of things to order. Pastries, bread, bagels, donuts, cakes. I knew I would have trouble choosing.

He was taking them to the baking room. The heart of the bakery, the production room, was a bustling hub of activity. This spacious, well-lit room was where the magic happened, where ingredients were transformed into delectable treats. The walls were painted a warm, creamy white, and the floors were made of polished concrete, easy to clean and resistant to the rigours of heavy foot traffic.

“Can I see it?” “Of course.” *** The building stood on a quiet street not far from the main market. Aurora stepped through the doorway. Her eyes immediately widened. The front windows allowed plenty of sunlight inside. The walls were old but sturdy. The kitchen was small compared to the royal kitchen, but large enough to begin with. Aurora slowly walked through the empty space. She could already imagine it. A counter filled with fresh bread. Shelves covered with pastries. Small wooden tables near the windows. Children choosing sweets. People drinking tea while talking to one another. Her bakery.

“For opinions. There are many flavors. And fillings. And frostings. And textures.” I paused. “This feels like a threat.” “It is,” she said sweetly. The bakery was tucked into a quiet street, the kind of place that smelled like sugar and warmth the second you stepped inside. Soft music played in the background. Glass cases gleamed with pastries and sculpted cakes that looked too perfect to eat. Lily’s eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “Andrew. Look at that one.” She pressed closer to the display, pointing at a three-tier cake with delicate sugar flowers cascading down the side. I watched her instead of the cake—watched the way her excitement softened her shoulders, the way sh

Rhythms were woven into mornings. Light sliced in mornings, through mist-veiled, coldly filtered glass and streaming in bars of yellow across floors. The Corner Bakery bread was more in demand when Leya opened the window wide to let cool air in It wasn't done to excess. Old floorboards were groaning everywhere and the ceiling groaned whenever there was a gust of wind. But it was real. Not pretended. There was nothing there covered with plastic over rot and Leya was safe, finally, for the first time in a very, very long time.

They were in it. I strolled out to the bakery, enjoying the warm slice of afternoon sun in the October sky. I said hello to Betty, covered in flour and kneading dough in the back of the shop. She dropped her task to come and help me but I waved her off, "I'm in no rush, Betty! I'll look for a while, don't let the dough go to waste." "Bless you, child," she said running back over to her dough. I took in the glass case before me, the colourful pastries and delicate finger sandwiches. I already knew most of what my order would be, but I was happy to breathe in the rich scent of the freshly made baked goods for a little while longer before returning to the musty library basement.

Alex stopped by the stand that Kiyo had passed, the one with red flags hanging on the front and the glass counter. Turned out that it was a bakery. There was an old lady that was managing the sweets by the counter, arranging them neatly. Since it was already in the afternoon, many of the sweets were sold and that left the counter a bit empty, so arranging the position of the breads is a must because the counter is see-through. “Ato…? Mmmo…?” Shitone asked as she sat straight on his hips. “Iyo?”