The Pastry and the Promise
Language: en
The first person I saw from my old life after leaving Northwood was Rosalind. It was a heavy snow day. She walked into my little bakeshop, her belly slightly rounded with pregnancy, and ordered a slice of matcha mousse. The reunion was so sudden it stunned us both into silence. We stared at each other for a long moment before finally managing a greeting. She asked me why I’d gotten into baking. I told her it was something I loved. She took the neatly packaged cake box from my hands but didn’t leave, her figure hesitating by the door. The snow fell in a quiet, thick blanket outside. I…