Bakery Reading Novels & Stories

The first time back in the bakery was both a relief and a bittersweet experience. The familiar scent of flour and sugar greeted her as she stepped through the door, Ryker lingering out of sight near the shadows of a nearby alley. Sarai rolled up her sleeves, her hands remembering the motions as though no time had passed. Dough was kneaded, trays filled, and the oven hummed its usual tune.

over there' I pointed to a metal bench. We sat in silence watching before he broke it, 'I am yet to know the purpose of this.' I smiled ' The purpose of this is to know why the bakery had not had a good sale for the past five years. Looking at the bakery from here what do you notice?' 'Nothing really, I still don't get it.' ' Fine, looking at the bakery from here no one notices it, they are baking but you could hardly perceive it in the air.' 'And?'

My stomach growled again, betraying my prolonged hunger. Inside, the sun-kissed bricks and rustic wooden beams of the bakery interior created a feeling of home. Little golden loaves sat neatly behind glass counters while pastries of all shapes and colors tempted patrons. Mrs. Abernathy, the rotund and rosy-cheeked bakery owner, stood behind the counter, kneading dough and humming a tune. The moment she caught sight of me, her eyes lit up. “Olivia! Come, come. It’s been a while.”

This interview was too important to mess up. Abeni stepped out of her uber and took a deep breath as she looked up at the Haven Bakery sign. The building was painted a warm, buttery yellow and had large windows that showcased the various baked goods inside. She smoothed down her black trousers and adjusted her white blouse before walking confidently into the bakery. The smell of fresh bread and pastries filled her nose, making her stomach growl. The bakery was bustling with activity as employees worked quickly to fill orders and serve customers. A young woman with blonde curls and a bright smile approached Abeni at the counter. "Welcome to Haven Bakery! My name is Emily. I'm the assistant ma

I just texted that I was glad to know he was a loyal customer, and he responded with a smiley emoji and nothing there after. I was busy sorting out some orders when one of my staff members came in carrying a small cake box from Erica’s bakery, and I thought she had sent me a treat. Kim, with a broad grin on her face, said that there was a 'hottie' out front who asked if I was willing to share what was in the box with him. I took a peak and saw that there were two slices of Erica’s famous chocolate cake. She then described him, I knew who it was and laughed lightly, and told her to send him through. He apologized for the unannounced visit. He explained that he only found out today that his fa

, says Dominique, taking the trolley and pushing it to the elevator, followed by me. “Are we going to the casino?”, I ask. “No, not yet. Let's get her something decent to eat first”, Dominique is serious. I nod in agreement. The bakery's atmosphere combines classic European with modern touches. The shelves are filled with artisan breads and croissants, while the marble counter displays a tempting array of viennoiseries. The sweets display is a spectacle in itself, with fruit tarts, éclairs and colorful macaroons that look like works of art. The staff are always attentive and friendly and you can see the bakers at work through a glass window, which adds a special charm to the place. I was int

I said softly but there was silence on the other end of the phone before a voice rang out "Please am I onto Miss, Matilda Miller?" A lady's voice rang out making my brow crease together. I stared up at my friend who was staring back at me "What?" Julia mouthed, I shook my head, clearing up my throat "Yes, this is she, who is this?" I asked, my brows creasing together "I'm calling on behalf of the Empire Culinary Association NYC. You've been selected as one of the lucky bakers to compete in our Elite Baking Showcase. Congratulations,"

The bakery kept them in sourdough and marshmallow buns, and sometimes, in the mornings before anyone else stirred, Carolina and Xander would sneak down to the still-dark storefront and lean against the warm metal of the ovens, listening to the soft, yeasty crackle of the proofing loaves. The oldest baker, Gregor, always showed up at six but never complained about the two squatters, just shook his head and told them, “If you break it, you buy it.” In time, Carolina learned to braid the morning rolls the way Gregor did, and Xander started doing the preps: weighing flour, lining sheets, frosting the donut cakes with a speed that won him grudging respect. It was the closest he’d ever been to a f

He simply followed behind Hannah as she led the way to the place with the supposedly great food. Eventually, they arrived at a bakery. “We’re here.” Kevin frowned as he read the sign that said The Daily Knead in a rather tacky font. “Here? Just bread?” he complained. “What’s wrong with bread? The bread here is pretty good.” Hannah grabbed Kevin by the wrist and pulled him inside. A bell chimed as they entered. The bakery wasn’t very busy, as usual for this hour. Hannah looked around, noticing that the place hadn’t changed much since she left. Not that she expected anything different since it had only been a few weeks.

Narlene asked with a smile. "Good morning, Narlene. I'd like two chocolate croissant rolls, please." "Alright. Coming right up." She disappeared into the back. I stood waiting. My eyes wandered around the bakery. Rows of fresh bread. Cakes. Pastries. Everything smelled so good that my stomach twisted painfully. A few moments later, she returned carrying a plastic bag. "Here you go." She handed it over. "Thanks." I paid and turned to leave. "How is Andre?" she suddenly asked.