They looked like friendly dinosaurs, Sylvia thought as she squatted down in front of the cabinet to look at them more closely. Beautiful, crispy pastry segments each slightly larger than the one before. Only where you might expect to see a head, there was a puff of cream. Red, prickly strawberries placed along the cakes’ spines reminded Sylvia of the dragons she’d fallen in love with watching How to Train Your Dragon cartoons on lazy Saturday mornings.
And this Saturday morning, she hoped Alain would fall in love with her, even if she had to seduce him with French pastries.
My heart swelled as I looked at the beautiful pastries. So much time. So much love.
I wiped my hands on my dusty apron as I gazed out the store window. This was my dream. Baking delicious treats for others to enjoy. I didn't realize how much heartache it would cost me. Moving thousands of miles from the family and friends to chase down an opportunity almost too good to be true. A brief conversation at the end of my culinary class with a visiting professor and here I am - making these gorgeous treats in another country - all on my own.
They said I wouldn't go. They said I was stupid to think he would hold up his part of the deal. They said I would be running home with my tail tucked between my legs in six months.
Six months.
Well, today is my year anniversary. And I am here to stay.
That day that changed my life, I was unaware of how one decision would have such an impact and change me forever. It started with a decision to stop in a bakery along the way. I was really early for my appointment, taking my time meandering through the neighborhood and enjoying the morning sun on my face.
I was already in a pocket of what I like to call ‘found time’, outside of my daily routine, and an opportunity to take a breath, lift my head up and enjoy the world for a moment. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, as usual and the aromas wafting from the bakery were too tempting to resist.
He'd already bought most of the croissants but he wanted more, just four more. When he passed the shop surreptitiously, he noticed there were four left!
Knowing his afternoon tea party would be incomplete is there weren't enough croissants for everyone, it was now or never. He was lost in thought and almost missed noticing the poor urchin asking for a coin or two. He bent down to her level and said:
"I'll give you the money. You have to do something simple for me."
"What?" Asked the child, not convinced.
"Buy all the remaining croissants from that bakery for me."
"Umm, okay!"
So he handed her the money and away she went while he watched her, almost embarrassed that he didn't trust the kid.
She returned with a box and said:
"Here you go. Now my money?"
"Oh, didn't you get any change from the Baker?"
She clucked her tongue and scratched her neck.
Puzzled as he was out of money, he did the next best thing.
He gave her one of the croissants. He would pretend to his guests that he's cutting down on sugar.
My fortune lies wedged between the strawberry and the cream. Sitting pretty in the bakery window, beckoning me to come and claim it. This is no ordinary fortune cookie, it is my reflection through the glass. Twisted in parts, it requires a delicate touch to protect the softness within. Sweetness oozes gently from the broken parts. I cradle the croissant like a newborn, like this fortune was composed just for me. If only I could understand the gold writing, then I might be set free.
Running late to a meeting my friend secured for me, face-to-face with an agent and my manuscript, I passed the window of this new patisserie. This agent was doing our mutual friend a favor, for she didn't typically welcome new writers into her office where she might have to refuse them awkwardly and then usher them out the door before any begging might occur. But she agreed to give me a few minutes and an honest assessment of my opening scene.
My friend had mentioned that the agent didn't smile much, so I should be prepared for a rather no-nonsense encounter, but she loved pastries, and it wouldn't hurt to bring a little gift to "butter her up," pun intended. These delights in the window were all they had left this morning after the mad rush that took all the varieties, but they certainly looked luscious enough. I'll take them.
Sitting across from Ms. Agent Extraordinaire, I watched her scanning my pages. She nibbled a bit of the croissant ever so delicately. Could I do the same? Should I? I tried, but delicate is not my forte, and I couldn't very well use my thumb and finger to wipe my mouth.
After what seemed an interminable span of silence, Ms. Agent looked at me and smiled. I was elated. She liked my work and saw the value, just as I had hoped. Just as I had dared to dream . . . or was it something else?
She then gestured--"You have a little cream on your chin," she managed with a chuckle.
Marvin brought the pastry to Christine's door. He knocked and waited for her to answer. After a few moments and a muffled "Who is it?" he heard the chain slide and deadbolt flip as the door cracked open.
Christine looked at Marvin bleary eyed through small opening she had made with the door. "Oh hi," she said.
"Good morning! I brought you this," Marvin said and held up the pastry for Christine to see. "We have a long way to go today and figured you could get a sugar high to help get you going."
"Thanks," she said. "You're sweet."
She reached for the pastry and held the door open a beat longer.
"Meet you downstairs in 10," she said. Marvin nodded and smiled as she closed the door. She looked at the pastry in her hand and walked to the trash basket to throw it away. If the strawberry allergy didn't kill her, the cream and gluten in it would make her sick.
Christine knew Marvin would try to eliminate her at some point. He wanted the loot for himself. She made sure the door was locked and started the shower. She would need all of her wits today.
“I mean, couldn’t we just split one? We are on vacation, after all,” I begged my ultra-fit, calorie-conscious husband. “There’s even fruit!”
“Do you really want to go home bloated and exhausted, having gained 10 pounds while we’re here?” He rolled his eyes at me. But we had stopped walking. Maybe he was actually considering a treat, for once. Or a suggestion from me, instead of everything always being his idea.
“We don’t even have to finish it. Wouldn’t just a taste be so delightful with our cappuccinos?”
“Okay, okay. We’ll share ONE and maybe not even finish it,” he said with a smirk, reaching for his wallet as he made eye contact with the server behind the counter.
I grinned and probably would’ve clapped my hands like a little kid if I hadn’t been holding both of our drinks. The rare instance of getting my way overshadowed any pastry, as far as treats went. This would probably be the last time, on this trip at least.
Rolling their eyes, Martha was a mess. The other three mountains sat majestically on the pan, awaiting the adoration and the photographs that would be taken. But poor Martha they whispered, she was all sagging and seeping in all the wrong places. “Why can’t she just get herself together?” but Martha could hear them and frankly, she didn’t care.
The right person would find her and explore the crevices of her mountain and find the hidden treasures, but only the right person would skip the picture, and just take her home.
I went with my mom to the pastry shop again. It was our little ritual, every Saturday morning before dad woke up. We’d giggle about the things he did, the bad things, while our pastries sat uneaten. We’d take them to go so the people working didn’t notice, but they never made it back to the house.
It was our little secret.
I don’t remember how those pastries tasted, I don’t think I had ever actually eaten one during our chats.
I’m grown now, and the pastry shop is gone, Ma too. But I still remember those pastries, and the silly things we used to talk about as they slowly grew stale on our plates.
I think those pastries must’ve tasted pretty good.
Taj is attending a work conference in South Korea for a few days. It’s day two of the conference and she has no serious duties or commitments for the day. Taj slips out of the conference arena, skipping communal lunch to visit the bakery next to her hotel instead.
She had seen creamy croissants in the window display when they arrived two days before as the shuttle drove her and her colleagues to the hotel from the airport.
Taj loves croissants and makes it her thing to sample different types when visiting different countries.
Edit: I hadn’t read your notes about the photo before writing. So I was so pleased with myself to see that I’d guessed Seoul and some other things right. 🤓
It might not be perfect but it didn't matter. She'd created it from scratch and now it was in the bakery window waiting to be sold. She didn't care that it didn't look exactly like the other three, made by her patisserie master. It didn't matter if it was the last to go, if all the customers picked the prettier ones first. Or if it didn't sell at all - she'd eat it herself at the end of the day. In fact she hoped it didn't sell so she could enjoy the flakey pastry, sweet strawberry and thick cream.
And besides, it didn't look as bad as her apron, which looked more like she worked in a butchers than a bakery, smeared with strawberry juice! Sure the cream was spilling out the side and you could see creamy finger marks where she'd placed it down on the tray. She was sure she had flour in her hair but she was beaming, pride at what she had created glowing out of her. She couldn't wait till tomorrow morning when Yumiko would show her how to make another delicious treat. This little bakery was about to become her life and for the first time in a long time she felt excited.
I missed this one while I was in the hospital so went back and did it. First time the idea started out as one thing and turned into something completely different.
Ronan Rouge
Colm frowns as he notices the time. She’s late, his favourite customer, the one he looks forward to seeing every day at the same time. He knows she’s had a hard life, especially for someone so young, and his shop isn’t in the safest area in town. He’s just about to call one of his employees from the back to cover the front so he can take a walk around the block when the chimes over the door twinkle. It’s her.
“Hi Colm,” she says, her smile bright and genuine, as always. Her red curls are escaping from the hair clip and she shifts his favourite person from her hip to a chair at a table in the corner. “Sorry we’re a little late. Little Miss Princess didn’t want to put on clothes after her nap.”
“That’s fine, my dear,” he smiles at her, waiting until she’s settled at the table with her daughter, his granddaughter. Wren rolls her eyes when he sets one of his famous strawberry croissants on the table, already cut to share, though there is a slight smile on her lips. His granddaughter hadn’t waited for permission, Samantha already has a whipped cream upper lip from the corner piece he’d cut for her.
The café is empty, at least of customers. His employees are cleaning in the back after the lunch rush, getting ready to close the shop. He’d made the decision just over a year ago to close the shop mid-afternoon. It was never busy enough to stay open and it gave him the chance to help Wren with Sammy after the death of his son. She’s a strong young woman, and Colm knows she can handle it herself, but she’s nice to allow him to feel useful and connected to them.
Wren picks at her larger part of the croissant, eyes sad as she watches her daughter finish her part. Colm understands. There are times he gets sad when he’s preparing the croissants, early in the mornings, missing the second pair of hands that would hand him what he needed to decorate the treat. It’s the reason the name went from Strawberry Croissant to Ronan Rouge, in his son’s honor.
“Mommy? More?” Sammy’s sweet voice asks, the same as every week. And, the same as every week, Wren pushes her portion toward her child. Colm hasn’t missed that Wren hasn’t eaten a Ronan Rouge since Ronan’s death. She used to love them but Colm isn’t going to push her. She’ll eat one when she’s ready. Baking them is his way of coping with the loss, and not eating them is hers. It can’t be rushed. He’s learned that from when his wife passed.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says to Sammy, who now has strawberry juice smeared on both cheeks and somehow her forehead. He’s an expert now, not even flinching when Sammy buries her sticky face into his neck after he scoops her into his arms. He brings her to the staff bathroom, pausing to let her say hello to the employees she knows, and within a few minutes he’s bringing her back to Wren all cleaned up.
“Pop Pop come too?” Sammy asks as Wren takes her from him. It’s the same thing every week after their visit. Wren takes her to a park closer to his house while he closes down the shop before meeting them there, usually with a few day-old pastries that has Wren sighing and smiling at him.
“Yes, Pop Pop comes too,” Wren tells her. “See you in a bit,” she directs at him.
I should also tell you that I really look forward to reading your stories every time you write one, Trista. You’re so good at capturing the depths of characters and their emotions in such a short space.
"You're got a little something right .. there." He took his napkin and dabbed the corner of my mouth as I blushed profusely. "Oh, thanks." "No worries." He flashed me that beautiful smile and my heart settled as I stared into his warm, chocolate eyes. I let out a chuckle and continued indulging in my treat, a tasty croissant filled with a delicious yet messy berries and cream filling. Best. Date. Ever.
"I hope he comes back today, I made these strawberry croissants just for him".
Alicia had been working at the boulangerie for just under a year and yesterday was the first time she had seen him. She had been working the register when she spotted him outside with an adorable Maltese terrier. She noticed the name Ziggy sewn into its bright pink harness. He tied the puppy to the rail under the shop window and Alicia heard the doorbell jingle as he entered the store.
Alicia had moved to Korea two years prior. She had transformed herself to disconnect from her past in Australia, changing her hair colour, losing a little weight (a stress diet will do that for you), and having a minor rhinoplasty to fix that awkward bump on her nose.
"Do you have any croissants with fresh strawberries?" he asked, pulling her out of her reverie. She quickly studied him. No signs of recognition fluttered across his face.
I'm going to get away with this, she thought. I'll have Ziggy back before the end of the week.
Best I've got in 5 minutes
They looked like friendly dinosaurs, Sylvia thought as she squatted down in front of the cabinet to look at them more closely. Beautiful, crispy pastry segments each slightly larger than the one before. Only where you might expect to see a head, there was a puff of cream. Red, prickly strawberries placed along the cakes’ spines reminded Sylvia of the dragons she’d fallen in love with watching How to Train Your Dragon cartoons on lazy Saturday mornings.
And this Saturday morning, she hoped Alain would fall in love with her, even if she had to seduce him with French pastries.
Linda Y - Happy weekend all
My heart swelled as I looked at the beautiful pastries. So much time. So much love.
I wiped my hands on my dusty apron as I gazed out the store window. This was my dream. Baking delicious treats for others to enjoy. I didn't realize how much heartache it would cost me. Moving thousands of miles from the family and friends to chase down an opportunity almost too good to be true. A brief conversation at the end of my culinary class with a visiting professor and here I am - making these gorgeous treats in another country - all on my own.
They said I wouldn't go. They said I was stupid to think he would hold up his part of the deal. They said I would be running home with my tail tucked between my legs in six months.
Six months.
Well, today is my year anniversary. And I am here to stay.
That day that changed my life, I was unaware of how one decision would have such an impact and change me forever. It started with a decision to stop in a bakery along the way. I was really early for my appointment, taking my time meandering through the neighborhood and enjoying the morning sun on my face.
I was already in a pocket of what I like to call ‘found time’, outside of my daily routine, and an opportunity to take a breath, lift my head up and enjoy the world for a moment. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, as usual and the aromas wafting from the bakery were too tempting to resist.
He'd already bought most of the croissants but he wanted more, just four more. When he passed the shop surreptitiously, he noticed there were four left!
Knowing his afternoon tea party would be incomplete is there weren't enough croissants for everyone, it was now or never. He was lost in thought and almost missed noticing the poor urchin asking for a coin or two. He bent down to her level and said:
"I'll give you the money. You have to do something simple for me."
"What?" Asked the child, not convinced.
"Buy all the remaining croissants from that bakery for me."
"Umm, okay!"
So he handed her the money and away she went while he watched her, almost embarrassed that he didn't trust the kid.
She returned with a box and said:
"Here you go. Now my money?"
"Oh, didn't you get any change from the Baker?"
She clucked her tongue and scratched her neck.
Puzzled as he was out of money, he did the next best thing.
He gave her one of the croissants. He would pretend to his guests that he's cutting down on sugar.
My storytelling through poetry…
My fortune lies wedged between the strawberry and the cream. Sitting pretty in the bakery window, beckoning me to come and claim it. This is no ordinary fortune cookie, it is my reflection through the glass. Twisted in parts, it requires a delicate touch to protect the softness within. Sweetness oozes gently from the broken parts. I cradle the croissant like a newborn, like this fortune was composed just for me. If only I could understand the gold writing, then I might be set free.
Running late to a meeting my friend secured for me, face-to-face with an agent and my manuscript, I passed the window of this new patisserie. This agent was doing our mutual friend a favor, for she didn't typically welcome new writers into her office where she might have to refuse them awkwardly and then usher them out the door before any begging might occur. But she agreed to give me a few minutes and an honest assessment of my opening scene.
My friend had mentioned that the agent didn't smile much, so I should be prepared for a rather no-nonsense encounter, but she loved pastries, and it wouldn't hurt to bring a little gift to "butter her up," pun intended. These delights in the window were all they had left this morning after the mad rush that took all the varieties, but they certainly looked luscious enough. I'll take them.
Sitting across from Ms. Agent Extraordinaire, I watched her scanning my pages. She nibbled a bit of the croissant ever so delicately. Could I do the same? Should I? I tried, but delicate is not my forte, and I couldn't very well use my thumb and finger to wipe my mouth.
After what seemed an interminable span of silence, Ms. Agent looked at me and smiled. I was elated. She liked my work and saw the value, just as I had hoped. Just as I had dared to dream . . . or was it something else?
She then gestured--"You have a little cream on your chin," she managed with a chuckle.
Marvin brought the pastry to Christine's door. He knocked and waited for her to answer. After a few moments and a muffled "Who is it?" he heard the chain slide and deadbolt flip as the door cracked open.
Christine looked at Marvin bleary eyed through small opening she had made with the door. "Oh hi," she said.
"Good morning! I brought you this," Marvin said and held up the pastry for Christine to see. "We have a long way to go today and figured you could get a sugar high to help get you going."
"Thanks," she said. "You're sweet."
She reached for the pastry and held the door open a beat longer.
"Meet you downstairs in 10," she said. Marvin nodded and smiled as she closed the door. She looked at the pastry in her hand and walked to the trash basket to throw it away. If the strawberry allergy didn't kill her, the cream and gluten in it would make her sick.
Christine knew Marvin would try to eliminate her at some point. He wanted the loot for himself. She made sure the door was locked and started the shower. She would need all of her wits today.
Interesting twist! 🙂
“I mean, couldn’t we just split one? We are on vacation, after all,” I begged my ultra-fit, calorie-conscious husband. “There’s even fruit!”
“Do you really want to go home bloated and exhausted, having gained 10 pounds while we’re here?” He rolled his eyes at me. But we had stopped walking. Maybe he was actually considering a treat, for once. Or a suggestion from me, instead of everything always being his idea.
“We don’t even have to finish it. Wouldn’t just a taste be so delightful with our cappuccinos?”
“Okay, okay. We’ll share ONE and maybe not even finish it,” he said with a smirk, reaching for his wallet as he made eye contact with the server behind the counter.
I grinned and probably would’ve clapped my hands like a little kid if I hadn’t been holding both of our drinks. The rare instance of getting my way overshadowed any pastry, as far as treats went. This would probably be the last time, on this trip at least.
If I could live in an edible treat, this would be it.
I would scale the strawberries and look at the bright sun and breath the fresh air.
I would lie in the soft cream and look up at the blue skies, with the hope of seeing birds fly by.
The folds of the croissant would protect me. Surround me with a hug that's soft, but firm with its layers of refuge.
Here, smiling with its sweetness and softness, I’d find the simplest joy of just being—complete, safe, and utterly at peace.
Rolling their eyes, Martha was a mess. The other three mountains sat majestically on the pan, awaiting the adoration and the photographs that would be taken. But poor Martha they whispered, she was all sagging and seeping in all the wrong places. “Why can’t she just get herself together?” but Martha could hear them and frankly, she didn’t care.
The right person would find her and explore the crevices of her mountain and find the hidden treasures, but only the right person would skip the picture, and just take her home.
She was willing to wait.
I went with my mom to the pastry shop again. It was our little ritual, every Saturday morning before dad woke up. We’d giggle about the things he did, the bad things, while our pastries sat uneaten. We’d take them to go so the people working didn’t notice, but they never made it back to the house.
It was our little secret.
I don’t remember how those pastries tasted, I don’t think I had ever actually eaten one during our chats.
I’m grown now, and the pastry shop is gone, Ma too. But I still remember those pastries, and the silly things we used to talk about as they slowly grew stale on our plates.
I think those pastries must’ve tasted pretty good.
I hope they did.
That’s a fun prompt. Here’s mine:
Taj is attending a work conference in South Korea for a few days. It’s day two of the conference and she has no serious duties or commitments for the day. Taj slips out of the conference arena, skipping communal lunch to visit the bakery next to her hotel instead.
She had seen creamy croissants in the window display when they arrived two days before as the shuttle drove her and her colleagues to the hotel from the airport.
Taj loves croissants and makes it her thing to sample different types when visiting different countries.
Edit: I hadn’t read your notes about the photo before writing. So I was so pleased with myself to see that I’d guessed Seoul and some other things right. 🤓
It might not be perfect but it didn't matter. She'd created it from scratch and now it was in the bakery window waiting to be sold. She didn't care that it didn't look exactly like the other three, made by her patisserie master. It didn't matter if it was the last to go, if all the customers picked the prettier ones first. Or if it didn't sell at all - she'd eat it herself at the end of the day. In fact she hoped it didn't sell so she could enjoy the flakey pastry, sweet strawberry and thick cream.
And besides, it didn't look as bad as her apron, which looked more like she worked in a butchers than a bakery, smeared with strawberry juice! Sure the cream was spilling out the side and you could see creamy finger marks where she'd placed it down on the tray. She was sure she had flour in her hair but she was beaming, pride at what she had created glowing out of her. She couldn't wait till tomorrow morning when Yumiko would show her how to make another delicious treat. This little bakery was about to become her life and for the first time in a long time she felt excited.
I missed this one while I was in the hospital so went back and did it. First time the idea started out as one thing and turned into something completely different.
Ronan Rouge
Colm frowns as he notices the time. She’s late, his favourite customer, the one he looks forward to seeing every day at the same time. He knows she’s had a hard life, especially for someone so young, and his shop isn’t in the safest area in town. He’s just about to call one of his employees from the back to cover the front so he can take a walk around the block when the chimes over the door twinkle. It’s her.
“Hi Colm,” she says, her smile bright and genuine, as always. Her red curls are escaping from the hair clip and she shifts his favourite person from her hip to a chair at a table in the corner. “Sorry we’re a little late. Little Miss Princess didn’t want to put on clothes after her nap.”
“That’s fine, my dear,” he smiles at her, waiting until she’s settled at the table with her daughter, his granddaughter. Wren rolls her eyes when he sets one of his famous strawberry croissants on the table, already cut to share, though there is a slight smile on her lips. His granddaughter hadn’t waited for permission, Samantha already has a whipped cream upper lip from the corner piece he’d cut for her.
The café is empty, at least of customers. His employees are cleaning in the back after the lunch rush, getting ready to close the shop. He’d made the decision just over a year ago to close the shop mid-afternoon. It was never busy enough to stay open and it gave him the chance to help Wren with Sammy after the death of his son. She’s a strong young woman, and Colm knows she can handle it herself, but she’s nice to allow him to feel useful and connected to them.
Wren picks at her larger part of the croissant, eyes sad as she watches her daughter finish her part. Colm understands. There are times he gets sad when he’s preparing the croissants, early in the mornings, missing the second pair of hands that would hand him what he needed to decorate the treat. It’s the reason the name went from Strawberry Croissant to Ronan Rouge, in his son’s honor.
“Mommy? More?” Sammy’s sweet voice asks, the same as every week. And, the same as every week, Wren pushes her portion toward her child. Colm hasn’t missed that Wren hasn’t eaten a Ronan Rouge since Ronan’s death. She used to love them but Colm isn’t going to push her. She’ll eat one when she’s ready. Baking them is his way of coping with the loss, and not eating them is hers. It can’t be rushed. He’s learned that from when his wife passed.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says to Sammy, who now has strawberry juice smeared on both cheeks and somehow her forehead. He’s an expert now, not even flinching when Sammy buries her sticky face into his neck after he scoops her into his arms. He brings her to the staff bathroom, pausing to let her say hello to the employees she knows, and within a few minutes he’s bringing her back to Wren all cleaned up.
“Pop Pop come too?” Sammy asks as Wren takes her from him. It’s the same thing every week after their visit. Wren takes her to a park closer to his house while he closes down the shop before meeting them there, usually with a few day-old pastries that has Wren sighing and smiling at him.
“Yes, Pop Pop comes too,” Wren tells her. “See you in a bit,” she directs at him.
I should also tell you that I really look forward to reading your stories every time you write one, Trista. You’re so good at capturing the depths of characters and their emotions in such a short space.
Thank you so much. It helps that you post such beautiful pictures each month.
Oh no, I’m so sorry you were in the hospital recently, Trista! I am glad you’re well enough now to write this story. 💛
Thank you❤️
Better late than never?
"You're got a little something right .. there." He took his napkin and dabbed the corner of my mouth as I blushed profusely. "Oh, thanks." "No worries." He flashed me that beautiful smile and my heart settled as I stared into his warm, chocolate eyes. I let out a chuckle and continued indulging in my treat, a tasty croissant filled with a delicious yet messy berries and cream filling. Best. Date. Ever.
"I hope he comes back today, I made these strawberry croissants just for him".
Alicia had been working at the boulangerie for just under a year and yesterday was the first time she had seen him. She had been working the register when she spotted him outside with an adorable Maltese terrier. She noticed the name Ziggy sewn into its bright pink harness. He tied the puppy to the rail under the shop window and Alicia heard the doorbell jingle as he entered the store.
Alicia had moved to Korea two years prior. She had transformed herself to disconnect from her past in Australia, changing her hair colour, losing a little weight (a stress diet will do that for you), and having a minor rhinoplasty to fix that awkward bump on her nose.
"Do you have any croissants with fresh strawberries?" he asked, pulling her out of her reverie. She quickly studied him. No signs of recognition fluttered across his face.
I'm going to get away with this, she thought. I'll have Ziggy back before the end of the week.