Pastry Drawing Novels & Stories

Never once did she bake or draw due to her focus in ballerina back then so everything looks foreign to her. “You can just start from any side you want. It’s up to you,” Jack said, before looking at how Brianna held the cream. “Or maybe… You can just start by testing it on some paper. There should be some baking paper on the box or the cupboard if you didn’t find one.” “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Brianna said, putting down the cream as she walked to the box and retrieved one. Or maybe two. “Three to be safe,” Brianna decided. Taking the three pieces of baking paper to the table before deciding to try drawing some.

Her ears burned as she whispered, “Mr. Walker…” Calvin casually picked up an almond pastry and placed it on Adriana’s dessert plate. “This is the most famous pastry in New York, handmade by a renowned pastry chef. Try it, Lawyer Clarke.” Adriana, still trapped by his grip, instinctively reached for her pen, ready to poke him with it.

“Not margarine. Not ‘buttery spread.’ I want the real deal. And sourdough—not white bread pretending to be artisan. If the eggs aren’t golden-yolked and happy, I don’t want them.” Liam squinted at the list. “You’re lucky I love you. You know that?” I kissed his cheek. “Don’t come back with powdered sugar when I asked for icing. Or I will cry.” Christian was still asleep when Liam left—finally resting properly—so I slipped into the kitchen, tying my hair up and preheating the oven like I was about to compete on an episode of Pastry Wars: Emotional Edition. My first mission: chocolate-strawberry ganache tarts with pistachio dust. It was rich, it was romantic and very well slightly slutty.

Outside, the sky was gray, waiting for the day to start. Celeste looked up from her laptop and watched Nao unpack without hurry. He moved with the same care he used when handling cables or handing over a glass of water. His fingers untied the knot patiently. When he opened the bag, the smell of butter and sugar grew stronger, like a warm kitchen in the early morning. The scent filled the space, easing everyone’s fatigue. He placed the pastries on the counter with care—a croissant here, a danish there, and a single kouign-amann shining with sugar. The counter felt like a display of small treats, and even those trying not to look found their interest growing.

A minute later Keyla heard cupboard doors opening in the kitchen. Leo, at the table with paper and crayons, was drawing something he'd been working on since breakfast. Three figures in a house — the same round heads and stick bodies he always used, circles for heads, lines for bodies, and a square structure around them with a door. He'd labeled none of them, which was unusual; Usually there would already be letters beside each figure. Something seemed to occur to him. He switched crayons and went back to the drawing. Only then did Keyla look away from the contract. She leaned slightly toward the drawing. "Who's that?"

Melody was opening soon, her dream was becoming a reality and he wasn't going to be part of it. He's really screwed up his life at this point. Daniel continued. “Tara said she’s been testing new recipes for weeks. These are the signature ones.” He set the bag on the desk and pulled out a small box. The faint scent of butter and sugar filled the office. Logan looked at it without touching it. “I don’t think she’d be thrilled knowing you’re sharing those,” he said evenly. Daniel shrugged. “She doesn’t have to know.” He opened the box. Inside were neatly arranged pastries, mini fruit tarts, chocolate éclairs, and something dusted lightly with powdered sugar.

"Promise?" "Pinky promise." She linked her little finger with his. Only then did Jack smile and say, "Okay. I will have some pastries." Natasha breathed out a sigh in secret. She smiled as she stood up. "Come on." She held his hand and went into the shop. Jack's eyes sparkled as he looked at the different kinds of pastries in the glass case on the counter. "Which one do you like to eat?" Natasha asked. "That one." He pointed to a rectangular, moist, and fluffy pastry with yellow and white layers and a cherry on top.

I look down at the bowl in my hands with wide eyes. Noelle appears first then Lucia, I can see a slight smile on her face. Their eyes rake over the counter; brownies, muffins–cappuccino, vanilla and chocolate– ravioli, apple dumplings. Now currently in the ovens, mixed flavors cookies, blueberry pie and a cake. Xander appears and looks at the counter too, "Is it too much?" I ask, I'll just share some with everyone. The girls reach out to the pastries but I stop them, "after breakfast," I tell them, Lucia gives me this look that says hypocrite but I ignore it.

It was Saturday, his favorite day of the week, and he already looked excited for his birthday tomorrow. While Oliver settled with his homework and cartoons, Cassia and I transformed the kitchen into a festival. The scent of vanilla, chocolate, and butter filled the air as we baked a large layered cake, mini cupcakes, and trays of small chops. Flour dusted our faces and aprons, and Cassia, in her usual dramatic fashion, declared herself the “Pastry Queen of Canada.”

he asked, "‌specif⁠ica​l‍ly. Not b‌aking‌ generally. Pastry." "Bec‍a‌use past​ry is math a‌nd feeli‍ng at t⁠he same ti​me," I said, folding butter i‍nto dou⁠gh t​he way my moth‍er taught me. "Eve​ryone thinks it's jus‌t following a recip‍e‍, but it's not. To‍o muc‍h heat​ and the butter melts wr‍o⁠ng. Too little a‍nd i‍t never rises⁠.‌ You have to a‍ctua⁠l‍ly pay attention to w⁠ha⁠t's in​ fron‌t o‌f​ you, not just the instruct​ions."