Inside, the glass display cases shimmered with golden pastries, crusted buns, honey drizzled rolls, and a rack of dark spiced muffins along with a dozen other pastries that sent steam curling against the windowpanes.
Damien pushed open the door.
A warm wave of air wrapped around them instantly—soft, fragrant, welcoming.
Lyone stepped in behind him, eyes wide.
The woman behind the counter greeted them with a cheerful, "Welcome, loves."
Lyone whispered, "This place smells like heaven."
"No," Damien said, glancing at the nearest tray of warm brioche. "I don't think Heaven smells this good."
They stepped into the bakery, it's warmth wrapping around them like a blanket.
Behind the wooden counter stood a plump woman with chestnut curls wrapped into a loose bun.
Her apron was dusted with flour, and her cheeks were rosy with heat from the ovens. A warm, practiced smile spread across her face as she saw them enter.
