The Apartment Above the Bakery
13FRANCESHORT STORY
Inès
1/29/20262 min read
Inès’s family moved into the apartment above the bakery in November.
At first, she loved waking to the smell of warm bread. By the third week, she discovered that bakeries woke much earlier than ordinary people.
At four in the morning, machines rumbled beneath her bedroom. Trays clattered. The bakery door slammed as deliveries arrived.
Inès complained every day.
Her father spoke to Monsieur Laurent, the baker, but there was little he could do. Bread needed to be ready before customers arrived.
Then the bakery began receiving deliveries at three thirty.
One morning, unable to sleep, Inès marched downstairs in her pyjamas.
Monsieur Laurent stood behind the counter dusted in flour.
“Your bread is ruining my life,” she announced.
He looked at the clock.
“You are awake.”
“Yes, because of you.”
“Then you may as well help.”
Before Inès could object, he handed her an apron.
She learned that dough behaved differently depending on temperature. She learned that croissants required folding butter into dough again and again. She learned that Monsieur Laurent began work before sunrise because nurses, bus drivers, cleaners, and construction workers stopped by on their way to early shifts.
At five fifteen, a woman in hospital scrubs bought coffee and two rolls.
“At this hour,” she told Inès, “this place feels like the only light in the city.”
Inès returned upstairs at six, exhausted.
She still disliked the noise, but it no longer sounded meaningless. Each thump belonged to dough being shaped. Each metallic crash meant another tray entering the oven.
Over the next month, Inès sometimes went downstairs when she could not sleep. She helped fold boxes and place labels on bags.
Monsieur Laurent began setting aside a misshapen pastry for her each Saturday.
Then, in February, a pipe burst in the bakery ceiling. Water poured onto the preparation table, forcing the shop to close.
Customers arrived, saw the dark windows, and left disappointed.
Inès created a handwritten sign explaining the repairs. She also organised online orders for the following week from her laptop upstairs.
When the bakery reopened, the queue stretched around the corner.
Monsieur Laurent named a new pastry after her: L’Inès, a crooked chocolate twist that looked imperfect but tasted excellent.
The machines still woke her sometimes.
Now, instead of pressing a pillow over her ears, she listened for a moment.
Below her, while most of the city slept, someone was already preparing its morning.