![]() ![]() Maybe it was the rhythm of his movements or the fact he seemed to be talking to himself. ![]() A little longer than was probably polite. Something about the sight stopped me in my tracks and caused me to watch him a little longer than I should have. ![]() A large plate-glass window revealed the baker himself kneading a giant blob of dough on a well-worn wooden table in the back of the shop. I found a parking spot on a side street and walked up the shoveled sidewalk to the bakery. This part of the Colorado Rocky Mountains was beautiful, and the town itself was quaint and quirky, with unique shops and restaurants making up the small downtown area. I loved driving down to the valley as the earliest bands of warm pink sunlight washed across the tips of the mountains on the other side of Aster Valley. With the address to the local bakery programmed into my phone and the keys to Mikey’s SUV in my hands, I made my way out into the frigid December morning to pick up the special order of breads and pastries Mikey had ordered for breakfast. “After I get this cup of coffee down, it sure is.” “Is your offer to help still valid?” he asked. ![]()
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