The Novel Baker Novels & Stories

“Thankfully, while I did burn our eggs because you are wonderfully distracting, these tea biscuits are a recipe from my mom’s chef. She’s a woman from Texas and they are mile high and they bake quick. You can grab a banana or orange if you’re desperate.” “I can wait,” she unwound herself from him and moved to sit back at the island and watched as he loaded a sheet pan up with the pastry. She had never considered a man with his fingers coated in flour performing domesticated tasks as sexy but she was wrong. Ares was attractive as hell with his mussed hair, dirty fingers and the concentrated expression on his face.

The bake let out a heavy sigh, Alec could see the tears filling his eyes, “Sir..” “Ahh, sorry my boy, it just feels heartbreaking to leave my house of seven generations… by now many of us thought Queen Nuri and you would have done something to bring peace to the lands” Th bake got onto his cart and rode off, Alec watched him leave, he kept watching until he could no longer see the cart in the distance. Alec walked further into the village square; what was once his happy hometown, was now a resemblance of a ghost town. Alec could still hear the bakers last words, they rang loud in his head, Alec sat on the fountain edge and held his head.

There is a faint sadness between her eyebrows. Her lips are pursed into a line. Now she has not even collected enough money for Winni's operation. She is struggling to rent a house. She did not had the mood to check her body. She could have finished college, got a high degree, and then like Yvette Hill, she went abroad for further study, or inherited her father's career, and had a brand-new life, but Baker’s leap destroyed her everything. She has never blamed Zora Baker. All this is her own fault. If it was not for her stubbornness or her insistence on pestering Aaron, how could she have left it. She was also a proud person.

Let him stay unaware of the storm pressing its weight against our little word. A storm wearing a dark coat and snow-dusted boots. A stranger who should not have been here. My chest tightened. Strangers didn't belong here. Which meant last night wasn't an accident. --------------------- By seven the bakery was warm again. Heat from the ovens filling the air with the sweet scent of butter and sugar. The village woke slowly, like it always did, quiet and sleepy. Mr Rino hummed as he kneaded dough, flour dusting his beard like powdered snow.

The cold bit him deeper than hunger, but hunger was more louder. It clawed inside Alexei’s stomach, twisting. He had eaten nothing since yesterday—only water stolen from a fountain. Now the bakery’s window mocked him, its rows of bread shining like treasure. His hand moved before his mind caught up. One loaf, warm, stolen in a blink. He ran. The baker’s shout tore through the street. “Thief! Help please.” People turned. Boots pounded. Rough hands grabbed his collar and yanked him back. The bread tumbled into the mud.

Every lead I followed ended in smoke, every whisper turned cold before I could catch it. Then, about a month ago, fate—or maybe luck—finally intervened. A client of mine, a wine merchant from Sicily, mentioned a bakery in his small town. He said their bread reminded him of his late wife’s recipes. He talked about the baker—a quiet, hardworking widow with an American accent and a little boy who could charm anyone. The name of the shop didn’t mean much at first, but something in his story stayed with me. Maybe it was the boy, maybe it was the widow. Either way, the thought refused to leave my mind.

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

She just needed to talk to me through the morning routines. "So, are you having a good time, Ms. Celie?" I faked giggling. "How's the weather?" "You're either crazy or you're having a severe case of amnesia, Miss. Kononovich," she said. "I'm hanging up here like a barbecued chicken, and you're talking about the weather?" "Great! Have you been to the beach?" I said when one of the tenants walked past. "No, I haven't been to the beach! Now listen, when the meat company delivers, weigh everything on our scale, not theirs. They're professional criminals. And when the baker comes, count all the hot dog buns or he might as well rob you blind."

“I mean, damn, who else knows how to purposefully set fire to a kitchen and make it look like an accident?” I smiled a little, his warmth seeping into me. “And who else is able to make friends in an enemy camp just by being themselves? And do I even have to mention the fact that you did not cave even once to that deranged lunatic? You are perfect and resourceful, my brave little baker.” He kissed the top of my head then, a chaste and romantic gesture that sent flutters in my stomach. “Now, please, my little baker… you need to eat before your heat kicks up again.” He handed me a bowl of soup, the aroma of something with poultry and a green vegetable I had not smelled before.

The cobblestone street stretched before us, and I could feel the warmth of the stone through my soles—just enough to remind me of summer, though the air hinted at late autumn. “Morning, travelers!” The baker’s voice came from the same place it had… yesterday? Last time? The stall to the left of the square. He leaned forward with that same cheerful lean, his smile too wide for his face. I frowned. Where have I seen that before? Elias hesitated for the length of a breath, then strode toward him. The baker held out a loaf of bread wrapped in thin linen. Elias took it, sniffed, and tore away a bite.