Evangeline Gearheart's Journal Entry #28

The Faceless Friend and the Birth of the 70/30 Loaf

By the end of her experiments, Evangeline was exhausted — not just physically, but creatively, spiritually, soul‑deep tired. She’d spent days chasing sweetness through every natural source she could find, and each failure felt like a small heartbreak.

One evening, after cleaning her corner of the bakery until the marble gleamed and the copper bowls shone like warm moons, she sat on the floor with her back against a sack of flour. Her notebook lay open beside her, filled with crossed‑out ideas, scribbled notes, and the occasional frustrated doodle of a chocolate bar with angry eyebrows.

Her baker friend sat beside her, their shoulders touching in quiet solidarity.

“You’re not failing,” her friend said softly. “You’re refining.”

Evangeline exhaled, long and slow. “I just want to make something that feels… true.”

“You will.”

And she believed her.

That night, she climbed the narrow stairs to the small room above the bakery — the room she’d been staying in since arriving in this timeline — and collapsed into bed. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender from the sachet her baker friend had tucked under her pillow.

The window was cracked open just enough to let in the cool night air.

She fell asleep almost instantly.

And she dreamed.

She dreamed of chocolate first — rows and rows of it, gleaming under summer light. But the heat grew stronger, and the chocolates began to melt, slipping through her fingers like warm silk. She tried to catch them, reshape them, save them… but the more she tried, the faster they dissolved.

Then the dream shifted.

The heat faded. A cool breeze swept through.The bakery lights dimmed, replaced by a soft, otherworldly glow.

A faceless figure stepped forward — not frightening, not strange, just… familiar, as though she’d known them in another life. They carried no features, no voice, yet their presence felt comforting.

They leaned close and whispered a recipe. Not for chocolate. Not for sweetness. But for bread.

A simple loaf. An everyday loaf. A loaf that would feed people, comfort people, anchor people.

A loaf made of 70% white flour and 30% wholemeal. Balanced. Honest. Reliable. A loaf for all seasons.

She woke with the recipe fully formed in her mind, her heart pounding with certainty.

Before dawn had even brushed the rooftops, Evangeline rushed downstairs. The bakery was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerators. Her baker friend was already there — hair tied up, sleeves rolled, ready for the day.

“I need your help,” Evangeline said, breathless.

“With chocolate?”

“With bread.”

Her friend blinked.Then smiled.“Show me.”

Together they mixed the dough — water, flour, salt, yeast, butter, sugar — simple ingredients, but in proportions that felt almost sacred. The dough came together beautifully, soft and smooth beneath their hands, pliant and eager.

When it baked, the smell filled the entire bakery. People walking by slowed down. Customers paused at the door. Even the postman leaned in and said, “Whatever that is, I’ll take two.”

They sliced it warm. It was perfect. Soft crumb, golden crust, flavour that felt like home.

Right then and there, they drew up a contract — handwritten on bakery parchment, signed with flour still on their fingers:

70% of all income from the 70/30 loaf would go to Evangeline.30% would go to the baker.A partnership of craft and care.

The loaf became a staple. A favourite. A daily ritual for the town.

And within months, Evangeline had earned enough to move out — not far, just to the other side of town, giving her baker friend space again while still staying close to the bakery that had become her second home.

She carried the 70/30 recipe with her.Her first true creation in this new timeline.A gift from a faceless friend.A foundation for everything she would build next.