Pastry Drawing Novels & Stories

Creighton spoke to the man who removed a tablet of paper from beneath the counter and set it in front of her, speaking with Creighton again. “He said if you draw it, he'll try to make it,” he said. Sandra picked up the pen and drew a double heart, the bottom attached to the top by the right loop at an angle as though swinging on the first. “I’m not an artist, but it was something like this.” She slid the paper around to face the man who quickly redrew the design, making it look very professional and almost three-dimensional. “Is that what you want?” Creighton asked. “Yes. Can he do it in pansy purple?” Creighton asked the man who nodded. “Still want a matching one?” she asked as they followe

Stefany opened the box and took out her painting equipment: pencils, erasers, and a sketchbook. Carefully, Stefany began to draw. Her first stroke was a vast wheat field, blown by the autumn wind. She then added the figures of a young man and a girl running in the middle of the field, depicting herself and Daniel. Every detail was done with love, from the smiles on their faces to the way the wind moved their hair. Stefany stopped for a moment, looking at her almost finished sketch. "Daniel will definitely like this," she murmured softly with a smile. She continued drawing until the sketch was completely finished.

Then she started covering the dough around the filling with a smile. "Your pastry should be beautiful. Make sure your eyes eat before your stomach does. Your dough is your canvas, make your pastry a piece of art." Hermione rolled her eyes at the instructor. She knew a few things about art and had even tried painting a few things in college. It was tasking, she admitted — a craft fit for geniuses. But it wasn't as grueling as trying to mold a ball of watery flour into a heart-shaped pastry. At least the canvas didn't stick to her fingers. The fresh nails she'd done before the honeymoon were all ruined.

Mia’s POV~ I sat at the dining table, the surface buried beneath scattered papers. Scribbled recipes filled one page after another, chocolate tarts, lemon drizzle cakes, rustic sourdoughs. Beside them were rough sketches of logos I had attempted in the margins, lopsided drawings of cupcakes and swirling fonts that never looked quite right. Next to that, clumsy lists of costs stared back at me with unforgiving numbers. Flour, sugar, butter, rent, equipment, the sums never seemed to balance. My fingers drummed against the wood in a restless rhythm, as though the tapping might summon answers I couldn’t find.

She might be nine, and very clever, but he wasn’t sure about letting her deal with hot things. Once she’s done with the cinnamon and sugar and pressed it into the pastry with the back of a spoon he gets her an egg, a mug, a fork and a pastry brush. She cracks the egg and whisks it to make an egg wash. She carefully brushes the clean edge with the mixture and he helps her to roll the pastry up like a Swiss roll. She looks at him a little confused, but he just smiles and waggles his eyebrows at her. He grabs the baking tray and a knife.

This moment was mine. I took a step forward, pulled a small box from my handbag, and opened it. Nestled inside was a carefully crafted pastry, one of my signature creations. I picked it up delicately and turned to Mark, my husband. His face was unreadable, but his eyes gleamed with pride and admiration. This is for you, honey,I said softly, holding the pastry to his lips. Mark leaned forward, taking a bite, his expression instantly lighting up as he savored the flavors.

Adrian had a last-minute meeting but promised to be back by four to help with “anything non-culinary.” “The roast is resting,” Mrs. Patel said, pointing to a covered pan. “The salad components are prepped and chilled separately, dressing on the side, as Mr. Kingsley prefers. The appetizers are in the fridge, ready to be baked. Remember: fifteen minutes at 375, not a minute more, or the puff pastry weeps.” “Weeping pastry. Got it.” I scribbled on my checklist. “You are ready, ma’am,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. Her expression softened. “ It is good to see.”

I answered as I handed the menu back. “Medium rare for you both?” Theresa questioned. "Yes please.” Chastity, and I both said, and Theresa walked away. “Tell me about your drawing class.” I requested of Chastity. “Oh. I’m loving it. Right now they’re teaching us techniques, and the different pencils. We haven’t drawn much yet. Mostly shading, and learning how to properly hold the pencils. It’s neat to see how the different pencils, and different ways to hold it effect how it looks.” Chastity explained excitedly.

I shake my head to forget it, it is one of the usual scenes inside the mansions. I put the fruits on the top after I put some glaze on it and viola! I finished baking some pastries and it didn't take two hours to finish it. I decided to put the pastries in the basket for the knights since there are a lot for them and I put inside the box for Miss Penelope and Aziel.

Priya unfolded it slowly, and laid it on the table. It was, exactly as she’d described, a child’s drawing. Rough lines, the kind only a very young child draws, a square house with a triangle roof, smoke coming from a chimney in careful zigzags, and outside it, standing in a row, six small stick figures, each one slightly different, each one clearly meant to be a specific person even though none of them had faces drawn in. Underneath, in careful, uneven child’s handwriting, the words Priya had quoted.