I Didn't Pray For These Baguettes Mga Nobela at Kwento

It was a ridiculous feeling. A customer asked for a special roll. “Is this bread fresh today?” he asked. “It is fresh. I baked it at four AM,” I replied. I handed him the roll, and he paid me. The transaction was clean and safe. This life was clean and safe, it but was also empty.

Before Father Gabriel could drown him with words of comfort, Andrei nudged the duffel bag under his seat towards him, "I come bearing gifts." Intrigued, Father Gabriel leaned over, unzipped the bag and peeked inside. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, leaving the bag exactly where it was. "I noticed the roof of the Lord's house needs fixing, and with the city cutting funding, you can't run your homeless shelter for much longer." "And this bag is what exactly?" "An act of God. Or an answered prayer. You choose." "I believe an answered prayer is more fitting in this situation. You have no idea how long I've been praying for a miracle."

Carlo stayed in my small city for a whole week. For a solid week, he stubbornly performed for me, one by one, all the gestures he had once reserved only for Ava. Every morning at six sharp, a warm brown paper bag would appear on the doormat. They were the first batch of croissants from the best bakery in town. No nuts, not even a trace of hazelnut in the butter. In the afternoons, if the sky even hinted at rain, a new, long-handled black umbrella would be hanging from the doorknob.

I awoke to the sound of running water and the smell of freshly-baked bread. On the floor, next to the bed, there was a white carrier bag with EATALY printed on the side, and poking out of the top, was a generously-sized olive-topped focaccia that smelled like Heaven, or at least, my idea of it. My stomach, clearly feeling neglected, grumbled angrily. I hadn't eaten a thing since the pastries Ethan had given to me before our trip to the Basilica and I was struck then by the realisation that I had no bloody idea at all how much time had passed since.

Heading back, I saw David was placing two large bags on my counter. “What are those?” A goofy grin covered his face. I handed him his goodies and he took a sip, moaning. Looking over the bags, my fingers traced over the French words. “La Boulangerie Française?” My eyes widened. “Farine des dieux?” My voice rose an octave. Turning, I looked at David. “How the fuck did you get this?” “I pulled some strings. Maybe got on my knees for a few people. It came in this morning and I had to hide it from three different bakers.”

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

And… I actually could not control my smile muscle to react whatever I am thinking. “Okay Icy can you lead the prayer for us?” as I continue that Jeoff shook his head knowing I want to get out from him addressing me insane. Then are we expecting him to lead the prayer? I know he didn’t pray before taking his food before we come to his life. He is a businessman. What do you expect to the man who is greed in his wealth?

I smile at the woman manning the counter as I strode profusely in her direction or rather the direction where the foods are on display. “Good morning ma'am.” The thirty-something woman greeted me as I survey the baked goodness on display. “Morning,” I mumbled in reply. When I finally decided what to get I looked at her with a blinding smile of a starving woman. “Hi, can get a box of croissants and two boxes of bagels, please, and a large chai latte to go.” She nodded her head typing it on the register. “Anything else ma'am?” I shook my head. “That would be all.”

I pushed open the door, and a little bell chimed above me. The woman behind the counter greeted me with a warm smile. “Good morning! What can I get for you?” I looked over the selection, my eyes landing on a flaky croissant that looked too good to pass up. “Just one of those croissants, please,” I said, pointing at it. She wrapped it up in a small paper bag and handed it to me. “Here you go! Have a great day!” I thanked her and paid before stepping back outside. I took a bite as I continued walking, the buttery, flaky layers practically melting in my mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was comforting—a small bit of normalcy in a day that had already felt too overwhelming.

He didn't understand that for people like me, life is a giant jigsaw puzzle where the pieces never quite fit. I walked into a small bread shop on the corner of 5th. It was warm inside, and for a second, the smell of yeast made me want to cry. It felt like home, the home I used to have, not the one with the marble floors. "Looking for help?" I asked the man behind the counter. He looked tired, with flour on his forearms and a kind face. "Always," he said. "Can you shape a baguette?" "I can shape fifty in twenty minutes," I told him.