.⋆｡⋆🍯˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.
❛ 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞. ❜
blue romero fled to la when she
was eighteen years old, with
absolutely nothing - not even
a name. all of that changes
just by walking into a bakery.
911 S1-5 BUCK...
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A street light flickered across the street, shining against the white and blue tiled floor of Fiona's bakeshop. Beside my arm, a small lantern did the same, but it illuminated the counter well enough for me to work.
A dozen cookies laid across, lined neatly on a cutting board, and perfectly iced to look like daisies. I was putting the finishing touches on the last one when she entered the bakery, signalled by the lock clicking, and the little bell on the door.
"Mariquita." Fiona tutted, switching the lights on, and crossing the table area to reach me. "What are you doing? It's dawn."
"Just a minute." I mumbled back, circling the last yellow centre on my cookie, then pulling away my piping bag.. Once satisfied with my work, I took note of the sun rising behind the other buildings. It was, in fact, dawn.
"I was just finishing this set." I answered, rubbing my tired eyes with the heel of my hand.
The display counter was a few feet away, now stocked with a couple dozen other cookies I completed throughout the night. I was hoping Fiona wouldn't notice the sudden abundance of nature themed sets I'd created.
The woman knew me for two years, yet scolded me like I were her actual child. You don't get enough sleep. No more overtime. Etcetera, etcetera.
Fiona followed my gaze — A strategy I hadn't taken into account — and let her jaw fall at the sight. "You did it again? Blue, we talked about this."
"Inspiration struck!" I defended myself, taking as many supplies that could fit in my arms off the counter. Once situated so they wouldn't just fall, I headed for the kitchen to clean up before the morning shift.
The bakery opened at nine, and it had to be about five then. My shift didn't start until it opened, but I was always early, one way or the other. As of late, that meant all nighters.
