Bakery Reading Novels & Stories

They left in a warm tangle of bickering and laughter, and Denise leaned against the counter, watching the door swing shut behind them with an approving hum. "I like her," she declared. "Way too good for him, obviously, but I like her." "She seems sweet." I shrugged "She seems like she actually wants to be here, which is more than I can say for half the brides I have catered for." Denise shot me a sideways look. "Speaking of people who actually want to be here." "Do not start." I warned "I did not say anything." She laughed "You were about to." I exclaimed The bell above the door chimed before she could answer, and I did not need to turn around to know who it was, the way the air in the baker

Penna yells to me. I wait on a grubby-looking bench. I play on my phone. After a while, my boredom takes me to the display case. I see dozens of clown-shaped cookies and sweet, glazed donut holes. That's when I realize I can't work here. Bakeries sell food. Food and hunger equal a meal, and a meal equals fat. I head into the bathroom of the bakery. I open the stall door. I lock the door behind me and shove my pointer and middle fingers down my throat. The vomit starts to come. The alcohol and lunch I ate all fall out of me. I don't feel well. My head is dizzy. This is stupid.

“Little Loaf Bakery – Home of Fresh Beginnings!” Axel stared at it. Then he stared some more as if the words might rearrange themselves into something that made sense. Without a word, he stormed inside, and I scrambled after him. The bakery was... modest at best. The air smelled like yeast and sugar. Old wooden counters lined the room, some cracked at the edges. A few racks held simple pastries—croissants, muffins, plain cakes with uneven icing. Faded wallpaper peeled at the corners. It wasn’t high-end; it wasn’t even trying to be. It was the exact opposite of the polished, billion-dollar company Axel had built here.

The display cases were filled with sugar and flour-decorated buns, adorned with colorful pastries and mouth-watering delicacies. Their eyes sparkled with excitement as they approached a charming bakery, with a display case adorned with a variety of breads and desserts. The warm scent of cinnamon and sugar danced seductively in the air, beckoning them to come closer. The sight of perfectly frosted cupcakes, crispy croissants, and crusty baguettes made their mouths water. "Looks like the bread will be good!" Nicolas exclaimed, his eyes wide with anticipation. Dianne nodded in agreement, her heart pounding at the thought of enjoying Aunt Bianca's favorite food. They stepped inside the bakery, t

Then said, flatly, “No comment.” And kept walking. Behind him, Vanessa’s smile didn’t falter. Not once. *** The bakery smelled like butter and sugar. Warm. Familiar. Safe. Or at least it used to be. Lydia stood behind the counter. Her hands dusted lightly with flour as she checked the morning batches. Croissants. Brioche. Everything in order. Everything controlled. The way she liked it. The way she needed it. The bell above the door chimed. She didn’t look up immediately. “Morning, we’re—”

Mia's eyes sparkled with excitement as she glanced around, taking in the colorful display of pastries and cakes that lined the shelves. We made our way to the counter, where an array of bread and a variety of beverages were waiting to be devoured. “Hi and welcome, what can I get you both?”, The friendly bakery attendant greeted us warmly, ready to fulfill our cravings. “Chocolate banana bread!”, “Okay, I'll be right back, kindly wait for a few minutes while it gets ready,” the attendant said then disappeared to get our order As we waited for our order to be prepared, Mia kept glancing at her phone, so I playfully snatched it from her hands.

Obviously, I got a driver to drop me wherever I want but it doesn't matter because I had only one place to go. The bakery shop. Once again I was sitting on the customer chair, sipping my tea and smiling at Amy who was talking if I hadn't visited her last week. Auntie was busy inside the kitchen. It was Monday but still, the bakery had no rush of people. On normal days people mostly come for cookies and cakes but recent crime rates prevent them all from stepping out of their houses even during the day. Only working people were visible out, I can imagine at night what type of silence would be swathing around.

Richard has the same blocky handwriting. The card says: Emma, This is the recipe. The recipe is the recipe of the grandmother of the man. The recipe is the recipe of the small shortbread the grandmother of the man used to make at Christmas. The grandmother of the man used to make the small shortbread at Christmas in the small kitchen in Boston. The grandmother of the man used to make the small shortbread at Christmas in the small kitchen in Boston in the way that grandmothers of men used to make the small shortbread at Christmas in the small kitchens in Boston when the grandmothers of the men are the kind of grandmothers of the men who are the kind of grandmothers of the men who used to make

"Good morning, Barb." She pushed the glass door open, and the smell of garlic bread hit her like a door to the face. She's going to have a hard time picking breakfast again. Not that it was new. Maybe she'll buy some for Wynn and Ethan. It was 7am. The bakery was basically empty, with just three customers—including her—present. Her eyes scanned the deserts seated neat and pretty in the display glasses. "Do you have any recommendations?" The voice sounded like thunder, a low pitched baritone—pulling her from her focus on bread, to the tall man standing next to her. He was huge. How the heck did he sneak up on her? Was she drooling that much over bread?

Victoria's POV I could hardly contain my excitement as I unlocked the door to my brand-new bakery. The sign outside read "The Cookie Jar," and the interior was just as lively and whimsical as I had imagined. The walls were painted in pastel colors, and there were shelves filled with jars of cookies of all shapes and sizes. The smell of freshly baked goods wafted through the air, making my stomach grumble with anticipation.