My Life as a Loaf of Bread

I am a loaf of bread. I was born in a 430-degree oven on a Tuesday morning, and I had exactly forty-two minutes of peace before he walked in.
His name is Marcus Hale. He is a food critic with a notebook and an opinion of everything, and he called Clara Avery's sourdough aggressively mediocre in a review that went to print before he understood what he had done. Clara is a baker who gives everything to her craft — precise, proud, and not remotely interested in being underestimated by a man in a charcoal jacket.
She told him not to touch anything. He sat on a stool and watched her anyway.
He came back the following Wednesday. And the Thursday after that. And the Tuesday after that.
What follows is a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers romance told from the most unlikely narrator imaginable — the bread itself, cooling on the rack, watching two people argue their way toward each other with considerable style and absolutely no intention of admitting what is actually happening.
My Life as a Loaf of Bread is warm, witty, and genuinely romantic — a story about craft, honesty, and what it looks like when the right person finally decides to be a poor critic and a good receiver.
Tagline:
He said her bread was mediocre. Then he couldn't stop coming back for more.