Sweet Memories At The Cozy Bakery

Tonight’s relaxing story for sleep brings us to a charming seaside village in Rhode Island. Join Melody’s Bakeshop for a cozy late-night baking session, preparing for the holiday rush amidst the comforting aromas of bubbling fruit compote and flaky, golden pie crust. The sense of love and community exemplifies the holiday spirit. Sparkling frost covers the town as you enjoy a starlit walk to the Mill House Inn, where you fall asleep by the warm glow of a crackling fire. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

Snuggle up and embrace the heartwarming magic of the holidays in tonight's sleep story,

Sweet Memories at the Cozy Bakery.

Step into the warmth of Melody's Bake Shop,

Nestled in a quaint seaside village,

And join the annual late-night baking session in preparation for the holiday rush.

As the scent of baking spices and fresh pies fills the air,

You help craft holiday treats before wandering the frosty cobblestone streets to a historic millhouse inn.

As firelight dances on the brick walls,

You sink into a luxurious bed and welcome visions of comfort and sweet confections.

It's time to dream away.

Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.

I'm Michelle,

Your guide to restful escapes,

Here to advocate for your comfort and well-being.

Think of me as a lifelong friend,

Always here to remind you that you deserve this quiet time,

To celebrate making it through another day,

And to reward yourself with a gift of deep,

Peaceful rest.

This sanctuary is yours as much as it is mine,

And together we may inspire your imagination to set the tone for a night of dreamy sleep.

As you settle in,

Take a moment to embrace the calm,

Letting go of the world outside.

Tonight,

I invite you to explore the story like a dream.

There are no rules or limitations.

You are the artist and can change any detail to suit your mood.

Sleep may come at any time,

And you are welcome to surrender to it whenever you wish.

Let's turn your attention to your breath,

Checking in with your body and how you feel.

Every breath and moment from here on out will serve to make you feel better.

Let's clear the air as you let out a big,

Audible sigh.

Cast away any feelings or thoughts that interfere with your intention to feel your best.

Sense a shift in the air as it becomes infused with a sense of community and fun,

And carries the seasonal aromas of cinnamon,

Nutmeg,

Pumpkin,

And ginger.

This fragrance instills a sense of coming home.

As you yawn,

You return to a place where coziness welcomes you in every nook.

Allow this to become another sigh.

Continue this pattern for a few more rounds,

Inhaling the deepest your lungs will allow,

Yawning and signaling that your guard is lowered,

And sighing to sweep away tension as you settle into the support of your bed.

The inviting aromas of the holidays continue to swirl around you.

Savor the sweet infusion of vanilla and brown sugar,

The hint of butter,

And the delicate smell of wood smoke.

Feel the love and comfort as you continue to inhale,

Exhale,

Yawn,

And sigh.

Bring to yourself the same nurturing,

Attentive love that a baker brings to the kitchen.

As you take one more deep,

Cleansing breath,

You fill your lungs with the sweet,

Brisk air of New England,

Savoring the stillness of this time.

Whenever you're ready,

Return your breath to its natural rhythm.

Open your heart and mind to the peaceful journey ahead,

As the holiday spirit reminds you that now,

As always,

The world can be a beautiful place.

It's time for the story to begin.

Someone once said,

Baking is love made visible,

And tonight you are invited to witness that love in its most delicious form,

Rising,

Bubbling,

And crisping to buttery,

Flaky perfection.

In moments when words fall short and the heart retreats in quiet,

Protection,

The skilled hands of a baker know that a warm cookie,

Fresh from the oven,

Can speak volumes.

With each tender crumb it whispers,

I understand.

Let this simple bit fill you with all the love you deserve to feel,

And we need not utter an uncomfortable word.

There are souls out there who radiate light,

Curating cozy moments,

And making it their daily mission to find the beauty and comforts of life and share them.

Some of these nurturing dreamers are born out of hardship,

Crafting imaginary worlds that come to life with the perfect bite,

The softest place to land,

And the most beautiful array of colors.

They have witnessed so much ugliness and darkness that they spend their lives refusing to dwell on such things.

They gravitate towards beauty and create a magnetic force field that always brings beauty back to them.

Madeline was one of those souls.

It drove her to become a pastry chef,

Paying exceptional detail to every flaky layer of dough and each artful drizzle of glaze,

Anything to sweeten the taste of life and soften its bitterness.

She spent her formative years with like-minded souls in the cozy laundrette of her brownstone apartment in Manhattan through the 1970s.

Every gathering there brought a deep sense of community and comfort.

And then there are souls like Madeline's daughter,

Melody.

She was an unexpected gift,

A new life that was raised in the magic of her mother's world.

Melody inherited her mother's ability to create calming,

Homey spaces,

Always striving to continue her mother's legacy.

Every decorative piped rose in ivory icing and colorfully themed birthday cake honored her mother's ethereal grace and mastery.

Madeline's influence gave her daughter the passion and confidence to open Melody's Bakeshop,

Where she poured her talent into the Rhode Island Bakery.

Melody wanted her customers,

Whether ordering a sweet sixteen cupcake or a celebratory cake for a big milestone,

To feel not just seen,

But cherished.

You could not imagine a more festive place to visit during the holiday season.

This Rhode Island seaside village reveals its timeless charm with cobblestone lanes leading to centuries-old Victorian homes,

Stone mansions from the Gilded Age,

And cozy Cape Cod cottages with a colorful palette of a candy shop.

On the edge of December,

The holiday lights come out with a hopeful flicker of electric candles nestled in historic windows and icicle lights dangling from eaves.

Cranberries and holly berries add pops of red to custom wreaths made of spruce and pine.

Lingering pumpkins and gourds from Halloween are replaced with fragrant evergreen garlands and twinkling holiday trees.

Overhead,

Ten-foot snowflakes sway between lampposts,

A dazzling display against the inky blue sky.

Days are shorter and the warm golden light spills onto the cobblestone streets from lanterns just after four in the afternoon.

The holiday spirit permeates the village,

Inviting visitors to partake in Dickens readings and candlelit concerts,

But the population never quite returns to the madness of summer and weeknights become quiet and still as the workday ends and locals retreat to their cozy abodes.

The maritime breeze is brisk,

Keeping the air just above freezing as you come upon the entrance to Melody's Bake Shop.

You're the last to arrive,

But that's okay,

As everyone knows you've traveled far to be here.

Waves of warmth flow through you as the aromas of buttercream frosting and ginger cookies waft in the air,

Escaping the front door.

Silver and white lacy snowflakes are painted onto the dozens of glass panes in the storefront window,

Edged with glittery faux frost.

Elegant gold lights line the edges and surround the hand-painted sign that dangles before the front door,

Squeaking quietly in the breeze.

There's an indescribable sense of fun and adventure you feel in arriving at such a late hour,

Long after the bakery has closed.

It almost feels like being part of a secret New England baking coven.

The door is unlocked and as you open it into the shop,

A bell rings.

You hear the distant voices of Melody and her mother and the quiet laughter of their assistants.

The air is hot and dry and carries the scent of simmering berries,

Cloves,

And baked apples.

The world outside falls away as you step behind the counter and through swinging doors that lead to the kitchen.

There's a dreamlike quality walking through the shop this late,

Venturing past the dimly lit pink and lavender moldings and turquoise wainscotting.

This after-hours visit conjures the energy of the dance of the sugar plum fairy in the nutcracker.

You feel like a kid who should already be tucked in bed,

Yet indulges in the late night magic.

Soft fairy lights lead the way into the kitchen where you are greeted instantly by Melody and Madeline.

It feels like a homecoming and the sparkle in their eyes and their sweet flower-dusted countenances make you feel part of the family.

Sam and Allie,

Two college kids who staff the shop in the busy summer months and during their breaks from school,

Happily fill in and act as runners throughout the night.

Melody steps away from supervising and gestures to wall hooks where you may hang your coat and scarf.

Once settled,

She places an apron over your head and invites you to wash your hands and get comfortable.

The rhythmic sounds of jazz music spill from an old vinyl record player featuring an array of wintry tunes.

Brushstrokes on a snare drum join the clink of metal cutters,

The rhythmic thud of the rolling bin,

And the gentle bubbling of fruit filling saucepans on the gas stove.

Along the back wall of windows,

Shelves of pies waiting to be delivered are neatly wrapped in Tiffany blue boxes tied with pink strings.

They were ordered weeks in advance.

Each pie,

Whether it be the sweet tart filling of a Dutchberry apple pie or the golden brown tops of pecan pies,

Has a story to tell.

A recipe passed down from mother to daughter,

Tested and modified through time to create the perfect holiday dessert.

As Madeline stands at the workbench,

Her hands move deftly as she prepares another batch of dough,

Rolling it out into smooth,

Even sheets atop a guide to get the perfect diameter.

Melody,

Standing beside you,

Smiles as she guides you through the first station,

Making the dough.

She pulls a well-worn antique teal mixing bowl from the shelf,

Its once bright color now softened by years of use,

A patina that comes only with time and care.

It's hard to imagine the number and diversity of doughs and mixtures that have touched this bowl and later brought great joy and comfort in their finished form.

The bowl is an old family heirloom,

One that Madeline used to bake the first batch of chocolate chip cookies for her daughter to greet her each year after the first day of school.

Having a pastry chef as a mother made it all the more special to have cookies waiting just for her.

You run your fingers over the smooth ceramic surface of the bowl before following her lead,

Reading from an index card clipped to the shelf that meets your eyeline.

The flour sifts through your fingers like powdery snow as you pour it into the bowl.

This is the last round of dough to be made.

You add salt and cubes of butter,

Still cold from the fridge.

For this small batch,

You take a stainless steel dough blender and drive the blades into the butter until it forms coarse crumbs with the flour and salt.

You then add a sprinkle of ice water,

Per Melody's instruction.

You dust your hands with flour and take the dough out of the bowl,

Kneading it with the edge of your palms and stretching it until it becomes elastic and glossy.

You join Madeline,

Who still wears the layered paisley patterns that brought her joy in New York in the 70s.

The vintage designs are in rich browns,

Purples,

And reds beneath an ivory apron embroidered with her name.

Her hair,

Now silver and dark gray,

Is loosely fitted in a braid bun covered with a matching scarf.

You bring the fresh dough and take turns cutting and rolling out the remaining crust.

You bear your weight on the rolling pin,

Pressing dough into smooth,

Golden layers as Madeline's encouraging voice guides you.

The rhythmic motion feels meditative,

Each turn and fold drawing you further into the enchantment of the night.

Madeline uses a small paring knife to cut a perfect circle and then folds and places the crust into empty pans lined in a row.

Sam and Allie step in,

Bringing the crusts to the gas range,

Where the berry and fruit fillings have cooled and thickened.

They expertly fill each pie before passing them on to the next station,

Where top crusts are formed into lattice designs or mounds of crumble are evenly spread and pressed.

You are part of something larger now,

Part of a tradition that stretches back in time,

From Madeline's first days in the kitchen all the way to this moment when her daughter carries on the legacy in creating beauty in the form of pies.

There's an easy dance between stations,

An intuitive exchange of ideas,

And you lose yourself in this calming process.

Once all the pies are filled,

Melody invites you to join her at the station where the metal cutters are laid out before you.

Simple but elegant with delicate leaf patterns and flowers,

Each press of the metal creating a design that will top the pies with intricate precision.

As you press the cutter into the dough,

Melody swiftly runs a pie cutter to create long strands of dough that she tightly braids with ease until they resemble fields of golden wheat.

The smell of warm butter and flour fills the kitchen as you work,

Enjoying the artistic freedom you have to design the tops of blueberry,

Apple,

And peach pies.

On the nearby gas range,

A strawberry rhubarb mixture bubbles gently,

A soft hiss of the glass flame joining the saxophone solo of a holiday carol that fills the air.

Your breathing slows as you inhale deeply through your nose,

Pinpointing the sharp scent of rhubarb mingling with the sweetness of strawberries,

The delicate scent of vanilla and baked pumpkin.

The smell alone brings a deep sense of comfort.

You stand still for a moment and close your eyes to feel the transformations in the air,

The warm gusts of air as oven doors open and close,

As Ali and Sam swap cooked pies with those ready to bake.

The night wind whistles in the courtyard behind the bakery,

Rattling the last remaining leaves free from the skeletal trees that have succumbed to the change in seasons.

The last round of pies is filled and topped.

Madeline carefully crimps the edges of a pie crust,

Taking over where her daughter left off.

Her wrinkled hands move with precision as she shapes the dough into perfect folds.

She senses your gaze and smiles and talks about the hand exercises she's done every day of her life since her first job at a Manhattan bagel shop where the owner's wife taught her how to prevent arthritis.

To this day,

Her fingers have remained nimble,

Slipping between the folds of the crust and showcasing total control and grace.

You could watch her gentle movements for hours.

She describes walking through the dark city streets early on in her career,

Watching newspaper trucks drop off bundles and sanitation workers clear piles of trash from the curbs.

She'd spend the pre-dawn hours boiling bagel dough in malted water in the basement kitchen of a well-known shop.

Beneath the dim glow of fluorescent lights,

Madeline dreamt of the day she would learn and master the art of creating puff pastry and charlotte rouse.

And all that time she spent envisioning her future.

She never could have imagined this beautiful moment shared with you and others.

You realize that you too benefit from the dreams cast across the boiling pot of floating bagels in the dimmest of settings more than 50 years ago.

As the final pies bake,

The kitchen becomes a flurry of activity.

As everyone tackles a section to clean,

There's a methodical rhythm that makes the work fun.

Everyone finds enjoyment in returning the bakery to its gleaming state.

Not every job in this world gives the sense of completion that comes with this night of baking.

You help tie ribbons around boxes of room-temperature pies,

Fitting to be picked up or delivered in the morning.

You watch the mother and daughter pair work,

Sensing their deep bond despite quite apparent differences.

It's subtle,

But it's there.

In the way they move together.

In the way their hands follow the same patterns,

The same rhythm.

Madeline's city energy is still alive in her.

And yet there's a peace that comes to her in the shop.

Their love is most strongly felt in the soft,

Unspoken glances.

Checking in with one another throughout the night.

The mutual respect brings a smile to your face.

And you can't help but feel the nurturing maternal energy gently directed towards you in return.

Allie runs the final load of dishes as Sam sweeps away the flour and you offer to mop.

You revel in how soothing it is to erase the flour with each pass,

Creating a new,

Fresh start for the morning.

You revel in the sense of accomplishment this brings.

The last pies are plump and full,

Their edges crisped to perfection.

Their fillings bubbling and thickening as they cool on a rack.

Madeline prepares a midnight tea,

Steeping with fresh mint leaves.

As the intoxicating steam fills the air,

Her daughter brings your favorite pie,

Along with a knife and plates and dollops of freshly made whipped cream.

The five of you gather around a mosaic table overlooking the courtyard and settle into cushioned seats.

A wave of sleepiness and contentment arrives as you sip on the tea.

The flaky,

Buttery crust melts on your tongue,

Imparting a longing for another bite.

The clinking of forks against plates and teacups against saucers and the wind chimes that hang from the roof of the shop,

Led by the brisk night breeze.

You savor the last bite and sigh,

Satiated and so delighted,

Amazed at how the preparation for other people's celebrations can be just as fulfilling as the celebrations themselves.

Allie smiles,

Gathering the finished dishes,

As Melody wipes down the table.

Her mother wraps the remaining pie for you to take with you.

She wraps her arms around you in a tight hug,

Whispering her thanks into your ear.

Allie and Sam bundle up and take off,

Heading to meet friends in the basement of a nearby home where they will catch up and shoot pool until just before dawn.

You bundle in your coat and scarf and assist Madeline with her wine-colored wool wrap,

Elegant and vintage,

And topped off with a velvet newsboy cap.

Her daughter flips off the lights,

But the silver surfaces reflect the moonlight.

The kitchen may be quiet now,

But the joy,

The laughter,

And the scent of pies will linger long after you've left.

Melody leads you through the front door of the shop and you say goodnight once more,

Hoping to return again,

Feeling a pang of sadness that the night must end.

You step out into the starry night,

Still smiling from the beauty of this quaint Rhode Island town.

The air is crisp as you stroll along the quiet,

Cobbled streets,

Your footsteps muffled by a carpet of damp,

Decaying leaves.

A delicate frost sparkles on windows and cars,

Adding a soft crunch to the earth beneath you.

Grand Victorian facades painted in deep pastel hues glow gently under the moonlight.

Thin spirals of smoke curl from chimneys,

Dissolving into the indigo sky scattered with stars.

The cool sea air carries the faintest whisper of the Atlantic,

Mingled with the peppery sweetness of burning logs.

Most of the lights in the houses are turned off as the residents sleep,

And though the air is invigorating,

A heaviness comes over your legs and feet,

Gradually making its way up in a wave of sleepiness.

The Mill Street Inn soon stands before you.

Constructed in the 19th century,

It became an inn in the past decade.

Its brick facade is illuminated by the dancing orange glow of gas lanterns.

Lunar light reflects off the detailed iron railings and embellishments.

Ebony trim,

Both inside and outside,

Adds a touch of modernity to the boutique hotel.

Inside,

The scent of aged wood,

Leather,

And bowls of pinecone potpourri leaves an impression.

You run your hand along the wall,

Feeling the cool,

Grainy texture of brick beneath your fingertips as you walk down the hallway.

Edison bulb sconces line the walls,

Casting a warm,

Amber glow that dances across the exposed beams overhead.

There's an industrial chic quality to the space.

Rustic,

Yet modern.

You reach your suite and unlock the door,

Grateful to return to the intimate space.

The room is a blend of old-world charm and modern luxury.

Velvet sapphire blue accents and a touch of modernity.

Shimmer in the soft light.

While the original wooden floors have been restored and stained a chocolate gray hue,

A navy blue velvet headboard with nail-head trim frames the king-sized bed.

Above,

An industrial chandelier made of reclaimed maritime scraps hangs low,

Its warm,

Dimmed light softening the room.

Florida ceiling windows frame views of the harbor in the distance.

You make your way to the grand bathroom with gold accents and a marble floor to enjoy a quick shower.

It gives you pause and a touch of sadness arises as you wash away the lingering scent of buttery baked goods and sugar on your skin.

The steam rises in gentle clouds as the smells of the bakery are replaced with a scent of fresh soap.

You yawn,

Careful to avoid swallowing the shower water as it cascades over your scalp and sleepiness takes hold.

You step out of the shower and bury your face into the luxurious towel,

Then dry off and change into pajamas.

After brushing your teeth,

Your bare feet lead you across the cool marble floor to a soft area rug.

You curl up in bed,

The sheets cool against your skin.

Your fingers reach for a small switch on the wall,

Flicking it on as a fireplace across the room puffs and comes to life.

The flames cast a flickering glow across the room,

Illuminating the soft,

Velvet accents and luxurious bedding that engulf you like a cloud.

Your head sinks into the mountain of pillows and your heavy lids close.

The evening's memories wash over you.

The laughter,

The warmth of the kitchen,

The rhythmic hum of the jazz music as the pies were made.

It all comes rushing back in soft,

Sweet waves.

You feel the traces of that love and care will inform your dreams,

Connecting you with the pieces of your life that have made you feel the most loved,

And the most at home and part of something special.

And in this state of mind,

You let the tug of sleep guide you into the realm of slumber,

Welcoming the peace it promises.

Finding comfort,

Finding serenity,

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Reviews

I love baking & the way it makes the house smell. I felt like I was at the bakery eating pie & drinking tea. Thank you for another feel good story.

Michelle, this bedtime story is perfect for your upcoming Thanksgiving Holiday tomorrow! Listening to it brought back many wonderful memories of when I worked in R&D for a Grocery company in the late 80’s. Was so much fun in the lab kitchen baking pies, cakes, tarts & bread, etc. for development & taste testing. The other two bakery technicians were a team, & I was new. They had to teach me their standards of quality & procedures. When you spoke about the Mom & daughter working as a team, it brought back these wonderful memories. Thank you kindly for sharing this special bedtime story, which I listened to a many times, because I fell asleep 💤 so quickly & wanted to hear what I missed! Wishing you & your family a wonderful Thanksgiving, with turkey 🦃, all the fixings, and of course pumpkin 🎃 & apple 🍎 pies 🥧 ! 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

I loved this Michelle, thank you! 💜