Pastry Drawing Novels & Stories

I said to the man behind the counter. He nodded, and took out a pair of tongs to retrieve a fluffy looking strawberry pastry with cream and edible glitter shimmering on top. I took a bite, mesmerized by the delicate, crisp taste. “I’d like an order for one hundred of these by next Saturday evening, can you do that?” “Oh, of course miss. I’ll get the order form for you.” He turned to the back of the stall and shuffled through a pile of papers.

"Grandmother, I've made some peach pastries for you. Try them." Madam Carter took her by the wrist and pulled her to sit beside her. She pretended to be annoyed and said, "Why are you cooking for the New Year? I'm already happy enough that you came to see an old woman like me." Sylvia smiled and opened the box. The fragrant smell of the pastries instantly wafted out. Although Madam Carter said she did not want to eat, her hand was already holding a piece of pastry. She took a bite and happily praised, "It's delicious."

I drink a glass of water, ignoring the feeling of nausea. We wash our plates and fire up the oven, ready to cook and serve brunch. Most of it is prepared, which will save us a lot of time. Time we can use to get the presentation right. For the pastries, Becca has prepared quite the selection. There were croissants butter, chocolate and plain, chocolate éclairs, kouign amann — which is a round pastry made with a croissant-like dough that’s folded and refolded and baked in rounds. Baking slowly, at a low temperature, the dough puffs to form the many layers, and the sugar caramelises, forming a crispy crust that crackles most delightfully when bitten into. There are opera cakes and macarons of

He stepped inside, eyes flicking automatically over the organized chaos of her desk—journal stacks, a half‑drunk coffee, Park’s latest draft open on the tablet. No stapler. Of course. He turned to leave and saw it. A photo, half‑tucked under a file, edge peeking out just enough to catch the eye. A small hand, smudged with blue and red crayon. A wolf drawing with too many teeth. Curiosity was a reflex he’d never successfully shut off. He reached out and slid the paper the rest of the way clear. Two sheets, actually. On top: the drawing. Three wolves—one with a small, one with bared teeth, one with a crooked leg, and a long line in its paw. Labels in wobbly, determined letters.

Then I went to the kitchen table where Julie had left the drawings, weighted down with a crayon so they wouldn't slide, two pieces of paper in the particular bold lines of a four year old who doesn't yet know to doubt herself. The first was the dragon, which did look somewhat like a dog but had a convincingly fierce expression, and the second was a figure with long dark hair and a smaller figure on either side of her, all three of them holding hands, the sky above them full of yellow circles that might have been stars or might have been suns, Julie having not yet settled on the distinction. I sat down on the kitchen floor with my back against the cabinet, still in the dress, the premiere som

Twenty Chaos smiled widely before letting her know, “They are absolutely divine. The pastry is flaky and buttery, and the filling is a perfect blend of creamy cheese and savory herbs.” He spoke slowly, but not too slow, but he spoke with care and consideration for her. “They are the perfect bite-sized treat to tantalize your taste buds.”

I watch as he bites into it and moans, his lips around the danish do something weird to my body, not to mention the way he is moaning. “Wow, these are delicious, heavenly. Do you have a personal chef who makes them or catering brought in? I need to have these in my hotels for the guests.” He looks like he is in some kind of food heaven. “I have no idea, I will find out from Brigitte.” Xander still hasn’t looked at the drawings. This is a waste of my time and I am beginning to seethe. “The drawings,” I almost shout at him. Damn this man the way he is making a meal out of the pastry, licking his bottom lip and looking into my eyes. I want to turn away but I am transfixed and I am finding it ve

Dominic POV There are six cakes on the table. Six. Three tiers each. Decorative piping. Edible gold leaf. One of them has hand-painted sugar roses that probably required a degree in architecture. My mother looks pleased. The pastry chef looks terrified. Ellie looks like she would rather be audited by the Council. “Vanilla bean with lavender cream,” the chef says, slicing a piece carefully. “A very popular choice for Alpha unions.” Ellie does not even look at it.

The days before the groundbreaking bled together in a blur of flour, phone calls, and tactical flourishes. My kitchen looked like a pie bomb had detonated. Peach, apple-cranberry, and a daring chocolate-pecan streusel (Arthur’s request) cooled on every available surface. The scent of sugar and butter was our war perfume. Arthur was at the dining table, now command central, meticulously crafting The Invitation. He’d sourced thick, cream-laid paper from a local artisan. His fountain pen hovered like a raptor.

“This was from a free-draw session last week. The prompt was ‘My Family at Home.’” I looked down. Katie had drawn our mansion with meticulous detail. There she was, a stick figure with a yellow dress in the center. To her left, a tall stick figure labeled ‘Daddy’ stood at a big box labeled ‘Office.’ Lines came out of the box, like rays. To her right, a smaller stick figure labeled ‘Mommy’ stood at a box labeled ‘Bakery.’ Similar rays. The three figures were connected by dotted lines, not solid ones. In the corner, she’d drawn a small, smiling sun. But between the ‘Office’ and the ‘Bakery,’ she’d drawn a thick, black, scribbled wall.