But now... if you want... I wouldn't mind a bread making ficlet 👀
Emma pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she stood before the giant window in the bakery that overlooked the kitchen. Transfixed, she watched as large hands worked the soft dough. Nimble fingers manipulated the pillowing proofs while strong forearms pushed and pulled the mixture, kneading it with equal measure of delicate and rough motions until it formed into a satiny ball.
She followed one of the hands as it raised, the back of it running along the brow of baker and leaving a dusting of flour in its wake. It then reached into the container beside him where he pulled out a handful of the unbleached milled wheat, before spreading it over the stainless steel surface of his work table with precise flicks of his wrist. Flecks of the white ingredient hung in the air and swirled around the man before coming to rest on his person. In his artfully tussled dark brown hair, along his auburn tinted jawline, upon his cheek, now flushed a rosy hue from the exertion of his occupation, and speckling his tight, grey, v-neck t-shirt and the wisps of chest hair peeking out from the top.
He peeled back a cloth and palmed a fresh mound of unworked dough, throwing it down hard upon the newly floured surface before leaning into it with the weight of his entire body. His biceps flexed, his pecs and shoulders tightening as he stretched the dough with an ebb and flow rhythm Emma found mesmerizing. The blue of his eyes stayed focused on the task before him and every so often his tongue would drag across his lips, a motion she found herself mimicking almost involuntarily.
“Number eighteen,” the young woman behind the bakery counter called out, snapping Emma from her wanton appreciation of the man before her musings took a turn and she began imagining those hands and efforts applied to her and not the would-be loaves of bread.
Emma stepped forward and placed her order, hers eyes casting furtive glances back towards the window as the woman filled it. A wave of disappointment washed over her when her final peek in the baker’s direction fell void. He must have finished his task, seeing as he was no longer in view.
The bakery assistance handed Emma her change and receipt and wished her a good day before calling out the next number. Gathering her items in her arms, Emma turned towards the exit and nearly dropped the boxed confections. Leaning against the open doorway was the handsome baker. He’d removed his apron, revealing the tight fit of his shirt and jeans. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, highlighting the muscles she’d been admiring earlier, and a teasing tilt was set on his lips with a mischievous glint being cast her way from beneath his arched brows.
“Morning, love,” he greeted with a deep, warm lilt that made her skin prickle. “I saw you watching through the kitchen window and thought you might like a sample.”
Emma’s brow rose as she took in his lack of a sample tray. “You seem to have forgotten to bring out this promised sample,” she informed him.
A wide grin broke over his face as he pushed himself off the doorway and swaggered into her personal space. “Did I?”
