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Dust motes danced in the shafts of golden

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morning sunlight that streamed through the front glass,

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illuminating the cozy atmosphere of the little artisan

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bakery.

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Before the bell above the door had even

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chimed its first customer of the day,

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the air was already thick with the rich,

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buttery promise of the morning's labor.

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Behind the worn wooden shelves and the flour

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-dusted baker counter,

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Julian stood wiping his hands on a linen

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apron, inhaling deeply.

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Every surface groaned with the delicious food display.

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Rows of heavy, crackling sourdough boule and dark

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-crusted ryes

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stood shoulder to shoulder with trays of golden

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pastries.

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At the very front sat the pride of

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the morning,

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flaky croissants with detailed, honeycomb textures that seemed

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to catch the light like polished amber.

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The bell chimed cheerfully, and a gust of

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crisp autumn air swept in,

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carrying a shivering young woman wrapped in a

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woolen scarf.

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She paused by the door, her eyes widening

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as the wave of warmth and yeast enveloped

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her.

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A soft smile broke across her face, chasing

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away the chill of the morning.

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Julian smiled back, resting his palms on the

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counter,

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ready to hand her a piece of perfection

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straight from the oven.