Glittery-glistening pink rain boots pitter-patter across the damp pavement in desperate pursuit of cover. Hand locked with mine, my mom guided my wandering feet towards the nearest lit storefront, one whose bright and inviting look stood out against the muggy indigo air. The soft glow from the building’s windows illuminated the sign that read “Zingerman’s Delicatessen”.

With her other hand, my mom pushed the aquamarine door open. Despite the gloomy state of the world just outside, the other people crowding in the aisles bustled with a warm, welcoming energy that immediately drew me in.

A sweet aroma of freshly baked goods distantly lingered in the air; a familiar scent wafted from behind the counter and overwhelmed my senses.

I looked up at my mother as she picked a few items off the shelves, indecisively tossed them between her hands, but ultimately decided on a small jar of raspberry jam— which she handed me as she led the two of us up to the front counter.

Peeking over the counter, I stare as the employee scans the shelves and selects a plump loaf of Paesano to present to us. He rings up the purchase, slides the loaf into a large brown paper bag, and nudges it in our direction.

The two of us waited for the clouds to lift from our shelter inside the front window, patiently awaiting even the briefest break in the downpour. After a few minutes of silent stalling, my mother reached into the shopping bag and pulled out the loaf of bread. She pulled it apart piece by piece, sending a crisp, resonant echo into the nearby air; every tear and rift she broke into the bread, the golden crust sent minuscule flakes scattering across the boarded oak floors.

A great mess was made, but my eyes stayed glued to the warm, golden dough. She then set aside the collection of bread chunks, removed the quaint little jar of jam from the bag and unscrewed the lid. Then, using a small plastic butter knife, she scooped a large glob of the maroon jelly and spread it on one of the chunks of bread.

Since that day, a sweet, comforting and familiar aroma has remained dormant in the back of my mind: only to be revived on rainy days such as those where I could serve myself a simple serving of bread and jam.