My Baker’s Morning

The alarm goes off at 3 o’clock every morning. She wakes up too early, so I try to make it easier on her. I roll out of bed and start the coffee maker, I fire up the stove and make a simple breakfast. Eggs, kale, and granola. In the living room, we have a space heater; I turn it on to warm up the spot by the coffee table she likes to sit draped under a blanket while she drinks her coffee and eats her breakfast.

I go to wake her up. She usually goes into the bathroom to wash her face to help her feel more awake. While she’s in there I move her breakfast and coffee into the living room on to the coffee table. She walks into the living room and sits on the floor in this spot. I’m usually laying on the couch behind her by this point. She puts a blanket over me and I drift off.

I wake up to her telling me that’s she’s ready and she hands me a coffee in a thermos and I put my shoes on before grabbing my keys. We drive on these dark neighborhood streets that are only lit up by porch lights. We don’t talk much. I’m not a morning person. After a short drive, we reach the bakery she works at, and we give each other a kiss goodbye before she walks out of the car. I wait until I see her lock the front door of the shop before I drive off.

I make my way back home and go back to sleep for another couple of hours before I get up and start my day.

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