𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗳𝗮𝘀𝘁

i sit my arse on the kitchen table, munching on the warm and buttery croissant with a mug of hot espresso on the side. and sigh watching the patissier laminate the flat, white dough with sheets of cold butter, the room fills with the aroma of baked goods fresh out of the oven.