I Didn't Pray For These Baguettes Novels & Stories

"God, I know I don't believe in you. I don't even care much about you, but please let me get this job. If not for me, For my poor brother" she prayed silently before pushing the door open and walking inside. She thought she was gonna meet a smoky environment but she was proved otherwise by the clean and clear air that greeted her at the bread shop. She met a line in front of the desk she sighted afar and got in the queue. The line wasn't too long, so before five minutes, it was already her turn. "How can I help you miss? What kind of bread are you looking for?" The lady behind the desk asked her politely.

Mother had held him to her bosom, and drying his tear stricken face, she told him, “My child, whenever your emotions get the better of you, close your eyes and count to ten. Then you will see the light at the end of the tunnel.” He never did see the light at the end of the tunnel, for the very next day, his mother was torn from his grasp, never to be seen again. Fabian opened his eyes, Why am I thinking about her? It’s been so many years. Just then, he looked out of his heavily tinted windscreen to see an elderly grey-haired woman trying to move an ‘A’ frame chalkboard display. It was displaying the shop’s promotional items for that day and Fabian caught sight of the word ‘croissant.’ He loo

I replied him annoyed at the PMS jokes. Now! What did I say? Shit! This is so embarrassing! He chuckled in response and I thanked him awkwardly for the simple breakfast that he prepared. Toast and coffee. I remembered the presentation that we have to give today and left hurriedly for college. I went to the girl's apartment to pick them up and the boho model that we prepared. Throughout the car ride, I kept chanting Our Father and Hail Mary because I want all my teammates to be present. If you know what I mean. And thankfully God has listened to my prayer.

Andrew took up a space near the aisle where he could stop a man without breaking a psalm. “Padre,” I said when the last old woman’s prayer had exhausted into a sigh. “We have something for you.” I held up the cassette. He looked at the rectangle like it was a grenade, sighed through his nose, and made the sign of the cross, which is how Sicilians say “of course you do.” He motioned toward the vestry.

It was a ridiculous feeling. A customer asked for a special roll. “Is this bread fresh today?” he asked. “It is fresh. I baked it at four AM,” I replied. I handed him the roll, and he paid me. The transaction was clean and safe. This life was clean and safe, it but was also empty.

I knew he was smiling, a smile that made the invisible weight on his shoulders seem to evaporate. Twenty minutes later, we made our successful departure from Paris Baguette. We arrived just as our favorite pastries were being brought out from inside the shop, and the tantalizingly sweet scent of warm, buttery bread wafted from the paper bag hanging from my wrist. Despite having just eaten, I almost drooled as I looked into the bag, confirming that I had gotten the amount of bread I had paid for. “I have to go back.” I looked up. On his cell phone, Miles was texting with someone, the small crease between his eyebrows the only clue I had as to his emotional state.

It wasn't just a bakery; it was a manifestation of care, a symbol of the incredible journey we were about to embark on together. As we approached the entrance, I couldn't help but marvel at the enormity of the gesture. The bakery wasn't just a business venture; it was a gift, a legacy, and a promise for the future. Holding on to Noah like a lifeline, I whispered my gratitude into the air, hoping that the universe heard the echoes of my heart.

Marcie caught her eye and flashed a thumbs-up, easing some of Selene's tension. Another customer stepped up to the counter. A middle-aged man in a tweed jacket who smiled warmly. "Good morning. Could I get a baguette and two almond croissants, please?" Selene's fingers hovered over the register as she mentally rehearsed the steps Claudia had shown her. "Of course, sir," she said, grabbing a paper bag and carefully selecting the croissants. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the baguette, but she managed to complete the order without incident.

Some people became irritable and hostile, yelling at one another. Zina and a group of women summoned the courage to head outside, and I prayed she’d return safely. They didn’t come back until what felt like hours later. When they returned, they brought cartons of child cereal for the kids and over a hundred loaves of bread. But an argument broke out over how to share the bread. I managed to secure a loaf and shared it with my mom, hoping for good news tonight. I couldn’t wait to leave. Most importantly, I prayed that D'Angelo was alive.

It was warm and heavy. "What is this?" I asked suspiciously. I opened the bag with curiosity. The delicious smell of baked goods came out, making me feel so hungry. "Warm croissants, strawberry milk... and a chocolate baguette," he said as he started the car. I frowned in shock when I saw something huge inside the bag. I reached my hand in to grab a big box. A small gasp escaped my mouth. "Wait a minute... did you buy a whole box of strawberry milk?"