I wondered idly if he had dimples I couldn’t see from this far away. The baker had a messy brown bun on top of his head and a short beard with dark brown eyebrows over an expressive face. The man’s face broke into a wide, white grin as his hips began to sway, and his whole body moved with the music as he went about his work. He had headphones on and nodded his head to a silent beat.
Whatever it was, I couldn’t look away.Īfter standing still a few moments, I realized he was singing. Maybe it was the way his big hands kneaded the dough with such total competence that shivers danced up my spine. Maybe it was the way he fit the landscape-solid as the mountains, warm as sunlight, simple and magnificent at the same time. Maybe it was the rhythm of his movements or the fact he seemed to be talking to himself. A little longer than was probably polite. Something about the sight stopped me in my tracks and caused me to watch him a little longer than I should have. A large plate-glass window revealed the baker himself kneading a giant blob of dough on a well-worn wooden table in the back of the shop. I found a parking spot on a side street and walked up the shoveled sidewalk to the bakery. That I was a tourist, for heaven’s sake, and I was already dealing with a ridiculous number of new people in my life on top of all my work stress at home. That I didn’t know a thing about this man. I tried to tell myself firmly that this baker was none of my business. My palms went sweaty, and I had to swallow past a lump in my throat. I could hear the clank of metal sheet pans, and I spotted a glimpse of the baker’s denim sleeve rolled up over his thick forearm. While the young lady behind the counter began filling a bakery box, I moved to the side to try and catch a peek through the arched doorway into the back of the bakery. But I was still focused on something far more tempting than sweets. I had no problem believing that they’d sell out quickly, considering how tempting the pastries looked and smelled. It was a good excuse to come grab what I wanted before the crowds turn up and take all the good stuff.” And yes, he’s teething, so he’s been up for hours.
“The baby’s name is Conley, dammit, Hannah,” she said with a laugh. The lady who’d brought me into the shop groaned.
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