Waiting in line at the most beloved bakery in town, the pleasant scent of fresh bread and pastries fresh out of the oven made me forget about the gentle Breton rain starting to fall on us. The mother in front of us pulled out her umbrella and softly drew her daughter closer to protect her from the raindrops, while the middle-aged men in the café across the street chuckled, watching a group of teenagers rushing towards the entrance of a clotheshop near them, their cigarette smoke dissipating in the rain. The young couple of customers about to exit the bakery quickly tucked the fresh baguettes into the blonde woman's tote bag, before stashing the large white box of pastries into the young man's green backpack. The booming voice of an elderly man just behind me snapped me out of my thoughts; waiting in the rain didn't seem to sit well with him. Melodic voices reached my ears as three women expressed surprise to see us patiently enduring this downpour. When the blue eyes of the smallest among them caught sight of the beautifully decorated cookies and cakes displayed in the shop, her pace seemed to slow, only to gain back its rhythm as her gaze returned to the rainy sky. Suddenly, the family in front of us moved under the bakery's new yellow rollerblind at the invitation of the shop owner, recognizable by her flour-dusted brown apron and authoritative tone. Her wide smile seemed to thank us for waiting out this pouring rain before disappearing behind the closing glass door.
