So, she took me on a drive to Wild Flour Bread in Freestone. It's a tiny little bakery fifteen minutes from the coast. There was a line out the door and piles of bread when we got inside.
Piles. Of bread.
Walk inside to the scent of happiness baking in their wood fired brick oven, and be prepared to be ruined for all other breads.
It's a tiny bakery full of beaming bakers, homemade bread full of the best things (like garlic, olives, goat cheese, jalapeños, etc.), and smiling customers. Once one of their bread varieties runs out for the day, they place a fancy little post-it note over top of it on the menu until tomorrow.
We took our scones & sticky bun & coffee outside to enjoy in the garden.
To sit in the garden & eat our homemade bread things.
See? Yes, actual heaven on earth.
I could have stayed there forever.
Then we went back inside to purchase three more loaves (you would've too, don't even judge) and found a baker kneading a pile of dough as big as her. Not an exaggeration.
What a perfect kind of adventure.
And here I am hugging bread.