Bakery Reading Novels & Stories

It was just another day. We were all working at our family business. Phebe was working in the back of the bakery with mom, while Isaiah and dad were bringing in the wild flowers that mom needed for her next cake order. Phebe had gotten so well at baking bread that mom let her do cakes now. She had made a few, and messed up alot. She had only made one cake correct out of her 7 tries. I was at the register, greeting people who came in to buy stuff. Even though I could cook and make wine, I was the only one in my family that was great at math, reading, and writing. My dad was okay at it, but he said I was better at it than him. I was standing there listening to mom and Phebe talk to each other,

isn't that what Lee had always called her? Cinnamon buns from the corner bakery were as decadent as any gateaux. Each one was as large as a side plate with gooey cinnamon filling. Cream cheese icing covered the golden tops so heavily that it was tough to take a bite without getting an icing moustache. Every morning around ten saw Eve walking to buy just one bun. If it wasn't fresh baked she felt cheated somehow; only with it being decked to the nines with cream and sugar could she resist treats for the rest of the day. When the baker saw her cross the threshold of the store he picked up the bun he'd been saving just for her. "Eve!" he would say, "this one is a monster! I've never seen a cinn

Jeff savored the sweetness in his mouth and commented with a smile, "The banana bread from this bakery is sweet but not greasy. The taste hasn't changed after all these years." "Yes, it truly hasn't changed." Matthew agreed, holding an unfinished piece of bread. "Dad, the bakery has been around for decades, hasn't it? Maintaining the original taste is no easy feat." However, sitting beside him, Melissa rolled her eyes. 'Isn't it just a piece of banana bread? What's the big deal?'

Nyra reading a ledger. Like nothing had happened. “Let’s start,” I said. I didn’t know why. It just came out. No one reacted. Outside, someone called a greeting. The baker waved at us from his shop. He handed Elias a loaf of honeyed bread. The sign above the gate creaked in the wind: Welcome to Orlimmere. A Place to Begin Again.

Will she kill me for not texting first? It’s not too late to shove Cam out of the car and stop for flowers. Just as I start seriously considering it — maybe lilies, or those weird purple ones she pretends not to like — the cab takes the last turn. We slow. Pull up. The bakery. The windows are fogged at the corners from the heat inside, that soft golden glow spilling through the glass like honey. I can already smell vanilla and cinnamon — maybe nutmeg too. The little chalkboard out front reads:

"From 2019. Have you read it?" "Twice," I said. "The chapter on laminated dough is the best thing written on the subject." He put it back. Pulled out another. We were standing side by side in the food writing aisle of the Court Street bookstore, two people who had been going to this particular store for years doing the Saturday morning thing, and it was unremarkable in all the ways that mattered and entirely remarkable in the ones that didn't. "What have you been reading?" I said. "Novels mostly," he said. "I went through a long period of only reading work-adjacent things and I'm trying to correct it."