The Novel Baker Novels & Stories

Carter comes out of the bakery with four loaves of bread, two for him, two for his wife, and I think he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in all of Beotown. It’s almost my turn. Inside the bakery, I smell warm, freshly baked bread. Other pastries peek at me from behind the counter, but only the rich people can buy those. The people that run this place, like the mayor, and some of the farmers. Maybe the sheriff. The rest of us only dream of muffins and danishes. Through the fragrance of baked bread, I smell a faint whiff of metal and ignore it. I hope Lenny’s right. They’re not here—are they? Assholes, every one of them.

Leah asked licking her fork. Leah stands up to get flour in the pantry not waiting for my reply. I got up to help bring out all we need to bake a chocolate cake and vanilla cake. “What can I help you with?” Seth asked standing up. “Just watch” Leah replied bringing out a bowl. The kitchen door swung open and someone strolled in, I couldn't remember his name but his face was very familiar. Oh I remember, he is Nathan's best friend. He's probably here to visit Nathan. He was nicer than the rest but he also called me straight figure.

Both of them were beautiful but obviously, Alpha Derek's own was more beautiful than Baker's because of course, he was the Alpha and everything relating to him had to beautiful and grand at the same time. Baker's office also had personal touches here and there. There were a couple of photographs in frames of him and his family and also a mug with his name on it. There were also photographs of landcapes and artwork hung around and it sent an artistic air to the whole place. Over all, the office was beautiful and also pleasing to the eye. "What is wrong, Ariana? Talk to me," Baker said, repeating his question from earlier.

The air was still cool, the streets quieter than I expected—London waking slowly, like it hadn’t fully decided what kind of day it wanted to be. We found a small street vendor not too far from campus. The smell hit me first—warm bread, spice, something fried and comforting. Adeline ordered confidently like she’d done this a hundred times before, while I just watched her with amusement. “Trust me,” she said, handing me a paper tray. “You’ll love it.” I took a bite of the bacon sandwich—crispy bacon tucked between soft bread, dripping slightly with sauce—and froze. “Oh,” I breathed. “Oh wow.”

Baker. He was also a shrewd businessman with a heart of gold, and Mr. Wilson had always looked up to him as a role model. "I don't know what to do," Mr. Wilson admitted. "Lucifer wants me to expose the Quadrillionaire as a fraudster, but I'm not sure that's the right thing to do." Mr. Baker raised an eyebrow. "Lucifer? You mean the Devil himself?" Mr. Wilson nodded gravely. "Yes. He appeared to me this morning and asked me to do this."

Truly trash, for a middle-aged man who already has a grandson like him! "We didn't have any possessions while we were running, but I never let my child get pregnant out of wedlock and drop out of school," Mom said flatly. Terrence chimed in his signature killer style, “Besides, have you never understood the difference between a baker and a business baker? Oh, yeah… maybe you didn't take business economics education so you didn't understand. Listen to my explanation, the baker is the person who makes the cake but the reference is not clear, where will the cake product be passed on. Meanwhile, if a cake entrepreneur, of course, she makes cakes and she already has a market that is her goal. It'

When I’m around him, my emotion is undefinable and, truth be told, makes me unwell. Before the day hits Monday, I took time to research my client’s identity. I found out that Mr. Pier Baker is the heir to Baker Enterprises. He’s an only son and recently graduated from college. Also, I learned that he’s an infamous casanova and had been involved in many scandals. I shook my head, "He could be a challenge for me," and murmured. I felt alarmed by just reading everything that was written about him. I could only wish for a smooth and nice meeting with him.

throw me into the middle of the sea with nothing but a cheap life jacket. Fear gripped her throat as she remembered the pile of her aunt's medical bills waiting back on the mainland. However, when the elevator door chimed and slid open, Harper took a deep breath, puffed out her full chest, and lifted her chin. She was a pastry chef who knew her own worth, not a criminal. "Walk," one of the guards said, gently pushing her back.

I can see my father is touched to be included. "To Abigail, she leaves Bread." Our collective confusion shows on our faces, and Mr Thompson continues hurriedly, "Bread is a bakery located in The Lanes." "She left me a bakery? What? How?" I gasp. I look at my parents, and it is clear that neither of them has a clue either.

Fragile. They rounded the last column and there it was: Baker’s Delight, glass cases gleaming with golden pastries, crusty loaves, plaits lacquered in glaze, rows of soft rolls dusted with flour like fresh snow. Heat burped from the ovens in soft waves, carrying butter and yeast and that impossible smell of bread at the exact second it decides to be bread.