The Baker 소설 & 이야기

"Honey, you are going to have to call me Edith if you don't want to call me mom." She blushed and bit into her delicious pastry. "This is good mom. Did you bake it?" "No Barbara Annette did." Barbara Annette inclined her head in Ashleigh's direction. "Barbara Annette has her own bakery shop and is a real pastry chef." Another woman scowled playfully. "I still make the best berry cobbler." Barbara Annette bristled. "That is not an authentic cobbler." The women bickered back and forth while Ashleigh watched and ate her pastry. She drank a glass of milk and then helped to crack about a hundred eggs.

Penna yells to me. I wait on a grubby-looking bench. I play on my phone. After a while, my boredom takes me to the display case. I see dozens of clown-shaped cookies and sweet, glazed donut holes. That's when I realize I can't work here. Bakeries sell food. Food and hunger equal a meal, and a meal equals fat. I head into the bathroom of the bakery. I open the stall door. I lock the door behind me and shove my pointer and middle fingers down my throat. The vomit starts to come. The alcohol and lunch I ate all fall out of me. I don't feel well. My head is dizzy. This is stupid.

I make mistakes with the words. He sits down across from me but says nothing. …And now that he does something nice, I remember why I stopped saying thank you in the first place. "Let's go!" The baker displays a platter filled with miniature cakes. "I'll let you two test everything out on your own. Feel free to call me if you need anything. She runs off once more. I scan the tray while my mouth starts to water. Do you have a favorite type of cake you'd like to try first? Whatever you want is acceptable. He takes out his phone and begins to browse his emails.

Baker still did not give up, "Of course, I can be sure of the Davis family's treatment. It's just that, I've come here from thousands of miles away and I still need to see one thing to be convinced." Mr. Baker, who repeatedly asked to meet Celeste, made Dean even more convinced that he had a hidden purpose, "Mr. Baker is really sorry that Celeste will not be able to see the guest this time. If there is a chance to meet, Mr. Baker does not need to rush." Mr. Baker's face was already gloomy enough to explode at this very moment. But Dean still intended to stop the man's path and interrupted him, "This old man wants to know what it means that you want to stop Celeste from seeing me?"

--Alyssa-- Today was the day I was opening my bakery, "Bakery and More." This was a monumental occasion, not just for me personally, but for my entire pack. I was the first Luna to start a business, especially one that involved baking. The day was filled with a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration that I could hardly contain. My heart raced with excitement, knowing that my grandmother was coming tomorrow. She had always been my biggest supporter, and her approval meant the world to me. Knowing she would be here to witness this milestone added a layer of joy to an already thrilling day.

She couldn't say for sure, but she wanted to trust Shadow , so she relaxed her resistance and let him tug her across the street, right up until they were inside the shop. The sweet, warm scents of freshly-baked pastries and bread filled the air, and Scar's stomach growled in anticipation. She looked around at the rows upon rows of baked goods, feeling overwhelmed by all the choices, everything from muffins, croissants, and chocolate-filled sweets. She turned towards the cheerful baker behind the counter , who beamed at them with a welcoming smile. "What can I get for you lovely folks today?" he asked jovially, wiping his hands on his apron as he settled onto one of the stools in front of the

I smiled widely as I thought of all the effort he must have taken to do this. “Did you make these?” I asked and he scoffed. “I am a good cook but a terrible baker,” he whispered as if it were a secret. “I had to enlist help from a friend who makes the best pastries in the pack. Maybe one day I can take you to her shop.” “I would like that very much.”

He was in the middle of closing his shop. The burly baker replied, “Yes Miss, how can I help you?” “I want to buy something, do you still have bread or cake.” She added, “Oh, and it’s Mrs. Whitewood to you, I’m married now.” She proudly showed the baker her wedding ring. “I’m sorry Ma’am, I didn't know.” The baker apologized and let her in, “I still have baguettes, some rye bread, an apple pie, and cheesecakes,” he informed his late customer while showing the food display.

“This bread could make a man believe in miracles.” “Let me know if it works,” I tease. He laughs, tossing the loaf into his basket before heading out. The door swings shut, and for a moment, the bakery is quiet again, except for the sound of my son coloring behind the counter. It’s a good morning. A peaceful one. I wipe my hands on my apron and greet the next customer. Each smile, each small chat keeps me grounded in this life I built. To everyone here, I’m Samantha Jones—the kind baker with a sweet smile and a little boy who loves biscotti.

"Your precious kitchen isn't going to collapse into the ocean in a single hour." "But she's right, Kael," Tristan interjected without even bothering to look up from his device. He adjusted his glasses, his tone analytical and entirely composed. "She is the Head Pastry Chef now. That title comes with immense pressure. She has to be fully responsible for the dinner dessert service, especially given tonight's high-profile clientele."