Canvas & Crumbs

VIII

Flour and Canvas

The bakery buzzes with the familiar sounds of the morning—a symphony of clattering pans, the hum of the ovens, and the gentle murmur of customers enjoying their breakfast.

I move through it all with a sense of purpose, my hands deftly shaping dough and arranging pastries with a precision born from years of practice. Yet, there's a lightness in my step, a quiet joy that has only g r o w n since North and I confessed our feelings to each other.

It's been a few weeks since that evening by the river, and our relationship has deepened in the days that followed. We've found a rhythm together, balancing our passions with our shared moments. North has become a fixture at the bakery, often spending his mornings here, sketching or helping out when things get busy.

I love having him close; his quiet presence is a constant source of comfort and warmth.

This morning is no different.

As I wipe my hands on my apron and look up from the counter, my gaze immediately finds North, seated at his usual table by the window. He's engrossed in his sketchbook, his brow furrowed in concentration as he works.

The light streaming through the window bathes him in a golden glow, making him look almost ethereal. I can't help but smile, my heart swelling with affection for the man who has become such an i n t e g r a l part of my life.

As if sensing my gaze, North looks up and catches my eye, a slow smile spreading across his face. He sets down his pencil and closes the sketchbook, rising from his seat to join me behind the counter.

"Busy morning again, huh?" he asks, his voice warm and familiar as he leans against the counter, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Always," I reply with a grin, wiping my flour-dusted hands on my apron. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

North chuckles softly, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he glances around the bustling bakery. "You've built something amazing here," he says, his voice filled with admiration. "It's more than just a place to buy bread and pastries. It's. . . a home. For you, for your customers. Even for me."

I feel a warmth spread through me at his words, my smile softening. "That's exactly what I wanted it to be," I admit, my voice quiet. "A place where people feel welcome, where they can find a little comfort, a little joy. I'm glad you feel that way too."

North reaches out and takes my hand, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. "I do," he says, his voice low and sincere. "And I'm grateful to be a part of it."