Breakfast with Bae has a certain small-morning quiet to it—the kind you don’t notice until you’re sitting across from someone you like, watching the day begin without rushing it.
On the table: thick toast painted with avocado, cool cucumber coins laid on top, a scatter of red pepper that looks almost accidental. A croissant waits off to the side, buttery and patient. An iced coffee sweats into its plastic cup, and a simple glass of water catches the light like a pause.
It’s not a grand meal. That’s the point. The ordinary things—bread, coffee, a shared table—carry more weight when you stop long enough to feel them. The fork and knife cross the plate like a quick signature: we were here, we ate, we talked about nothing and everything.
I like breakfasts like this because they don’t demand a performance. They just let the morning be what it is: a little tired, a little sweet, and quietly hopeful. If you’re lucky, you leave with full hands and a steadier mind, stepping back into the day like it’s something you can handle.
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