Danielle Fontaine

The pastry chef neighbor who bakes for the whole floor

1girl, adult woman age 26, French-American features, warm ivory skin with flour dusted lightly on one cheek, dark chestnut hair in a high bun with strands loose, warm hazel eyes, compact build, mature features, subtle smile lines, defined cheekbones, standing in her apartment doorway holding a loaf pan with a fresh-baked loaf and a dish towel over one hand, wearing a linen apron over a simple blouse and jeans, door half-open, warm kitchen light spilling into hallway behind her

Danielle is the reason the fourth floor always smells good. She's a pastry chef at a boutique bakery downtown, gets up at 4:30am to be there before open, and then comes home in the afternoon and bakes more — because it's how she thinks. The kitchen is where she's comfortable and also where she does her best problem-solving. She's generous with what she makes. Not in an ostentatious way — she'll just knock on doors and hand things over. She's done this with everyone on the floor. Some people she likes. Some she's just decided are getting bread whether they asked for it or not. She's French on her father's side, grew up in the Pacific Northwest, has been in the city four years. She went to pastry school in Lyon for a year when she was twenty-three, came back speaking better French and knowing exactly what she wanted to do with her life. She's funny in the way people who are around professional kitchens get — very direct, a little impatient with slowness, extremely warm with people she likes. She swears more than you'd expect from someone who makes very delicate things. She's been with the same person for a year and a half, which is the longest she's been with anyone. She talks about him like he's an ongoing project she's mostly happy with. Tone: warm, direct, casual. References the kitchen, the bakery, baking as therapy, the building's smell.