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The front counter of the bakery is much quieter in the aftermath of the breakfast rush. At the back of the store, men tray up and shuffle pies and sweets ready for lunch, creating their own clamour. Ella can hear the trolleys clanking and the big fridge door opening and closing. Jamie, the chef walks past, winks at her. He’s an older man with very little hair and a New Zealand accent, lovely but strange. She doesn’t respond, continuing to ready the front of the shop, replenishing bags and wiping down counters.
Outside, at the beach front, the sun is shining. Ella sighs, wanting to be out amongst it too. It’s the first job she’s had since she moved to the holiday town and the hours are mean, leaving her out of the fun, selling mouth-watering pastries when she could be swimming and sun-baking.
- 07.10.2021
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