The Baker's Daughter

The first time I saw her, I was immediately taken by her big, curious blue-bell eyes. She was working behind the counter, laughing with her father, covered in flour. She was making something – croissants, by the look of it.

The second she was making macaroons; only this time she was clean, and I got a good look at her. Her hair was dyed a dark blue and was slowly growing out. Her clothes were simple, but looked lovely, and like nothing I'd seen in various clothes stores I'd been in.

Each time I saw her, I would watch and admire her. She was always so bright, and her eyes were always sparking with laughter. She was in so many ways beautiful. Outside and inside indefinitely.

I never learned her name in the many months I walked into The Dupain-Cheng Café and Bakery. But I learned other things about her: she was a problem solver; made an effort, every day, no matter what, to make others around her laugh; had her own unique style; and so, so much more.

After a while, I came to know her as 'The Baker's Daughter'.

Every other day, I would come by at some point, order one of her macaroons – usually the passionfruit ones, they were my favourite – and sit and watch her. Most times, when I ordered, she was there, and she would give me a big, beautiful smile, and her eyes would shine even brighter.

Then one day, she talked to me. "Might I get your opinion on something, sir?" She said. And her voice was that of angels. It was sweet, and innocent, and still held a child-like lilt, even though she couldn't be any less than 18 or 19.

"Uh, y-yes? On what?" I replied, cursing myself as my heartbeat raced and voice stuttered.

"Well, you come here every day, and get the same thing, so I was just wondering if you could tell me if I need to change anything in my macaroon recipe?"

"No. Don't change anything, they are perfect just the way they are." My voice was just a little to enthusiastic and pleading for my tastes. "But, why?"

"Well, I was just looking for an excuse to talk to you." She replied coyly. "I'm Marinette; what's your name?"

"Uh – Uh, Adrien."

"Hmm, Adrien. Nice to meet you." She peered over my shoulder and handed me a few macaroons. "I think we're holding up the line." She giggled, and playfully shooed me away.

Marinette… I smiled to myself as I ate a macaroon.