The Loaf with a Smile

Dalia stood beside Grandpa at the market's bread stall with an important job to do. They needed a loaf for lunch. Not a long one that would poke out of the bag. Not a tiny one that would be gone in two bites. A round one, just right for the middle of their table.

Grandpa held their cloth shopping bag open. "There's room beside the apples," he said. Dalia peered inside. Three red apples nestled at the bottom. She moved the corner of the bag over them, making a little space for the bread. "There," she said. "Its own seat."