When you walk into Honey Bee Baking Co., you’re greeted with a salivating spread of baked goods displayed in glass that you can smell from the parking lot.

Kait Culy has been working in the back of the shop since 2 a.m., preparing for her biggest day of the week: Friday. Honey Bee is only open on Fridays, from 6:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. or sellout, whichever happens first. It’s usually the latter, and it’s not uncommon to see customers lining up 15 minutes before opening.

So how can a brand-new micro-bakery that opened in January stay open once a week and sell out of all its goods in hours?

Culy taught herself to bake using the books on a shelf in her storefront. In the back of her 1,200-square-foot space, she’s busy prepping her 50 cinnamon rolls, six dozen cookies, three dozen scones and cupcakes, two dozen muffins, brownies and Biscoff blondies for Friday. It’s Culy’s Super Bowl, and it happens once a week.

Even with the pressure of making over 100 sweets weekly, not including corporate orders that can stretch to 1,600 individually wrapped cookies, Culy goes at her own pace. She makes what she wants to make and does what she wants to do, ignoring any outside noise. Culy has nothing to prove, so her bakery is only open on Fridays.

Culy is the mastermind behind every confection on display. She bakes everything by hand and has learned that she’ll make mistakes.

“Man, I forgot to spray this,” Culy says as she hesitates for a moment before continuing to pour her brownie mix into the pan. “Whatever.”

It’s not a knock on her quality: Culy takes it very seriously. That’s why every ingredient is measured meticulously, ensuring every tasty treat is the same as the ones made before and after. After baking so many cupcakes, brownies and cookies, Culy eventually learned what mistakes she could make without sacrificing her quality.

“Before open, she’s always so particular that she’s like, ‘Oh, these cookies are kind of leaning funny,'” Culy’s brother, AJ Jefferson, said. “She’s like, ‘I don’t know, everything’s gone wrong this morning.'”

Jefferson takes orders in the front while Culy works in the back. She likes making appearances and connecting with her customers; it’s her favorite part of the business. When Culy faces complaints, Jefferson is there to help. The two shared a room until seventh grade and are practically tied at the hip.

“Over the course of the day, she’s like, ‘Oh, it’s a lot slower than normal,'” Jefferson said as he looked at the screen on the cash register. “We have had one less customer than we had by this time last week.”

Culy keeps track of everything, from her measurements to the amount of customers that walk through the door to the prices of her pastries. All new small businesses should do it, but it seems unnecessary for Culy. She has a naturally great instinct.

It wasn’t the path Culy initially intended. Her family is from Detroit, Mich., and she studied at the University of South Dakota before receiving her master’s in public health and industrial hygiene from the University of Michigan.

Culy got a job as an industrial hygienist at Dow, ensuring everybody at the facilities wasn’t at risk of chemical poisoning. This is where she met her husband and was convinced to move to Louisiana.

When Culy gave birth to her daughter in 2021, she went into a reeling postpartum depression and didn’t know what to do with herself. Culy went on medical leave and was looking for something she wanted to do. It’s when she started to pick up the books that now sit in her shop.

Culy found herself reading the beginning parts, understanding the hows and whys of baking. The gears started to turn in her head. This is science. This is what she’s been studying her whole life for.

“I just started making random stuff, and it was really fun, and I was really happy,” Culy said. “It really pulled me back to my normal self.”

When Culy went back to work, she was miserable again. She realized she could never go back to being an industrial hygienist. Culy wanted to be a baker, even if it meant giving up a six-figure salary and a stable career.

Culy started her own LLC in February 2023. She had her son in April and officially opened the business a month later in May. Baking her sweet confections out of her own home, Culy’s mother, Heather Glazer, knew bigger things were in store for her daughter.

“It was very obvious that she was going to quickly outgrow that kitchen,” Glazer said. “But I think initially I just thought, ‘Ok, she’s trying something to see if she can find some happiness.’ But it was very clear she found her happiness.”

Honey Bee opened its brick-and-mortar location in January and has taken off since. The local community has made it part of their routine to come in on Fridays, preferably early, hoping to get their favorite of Culy’s snacks.

“It’s just nostalgic,” frequent customer Heather Parsons said. “You just don’t have a fresh, homemade bakery like this anymore, with that smell of the butter and the vanilla and the everything. It just brings back childhood memories. Kait and her family are such good people, too. That in itself keeps you kind of back because you’re not just another customer.”

Rashad Monroe and his wife are regulars at Culy’s shop. The two run a cleaning business, and when they once got a complaint from a customer, the Monroes used Culy’s desserts to smooth things over.

“I’ve used this for unhappy people,” Monroe said as he held up his box of half-dozen sugar cloud cookies. “It makes them happy.”

Culy cares much about the Baton Rouge community for someone not even from Louisiana. The locals made the wallpaper, signs, logos and countertops. It was important for Culy to give back to the community that has welcomed her with open arms and given her so much.

“I don’t even know how she’s managing to burn the candle at both ends and raise a family,” Heather said.

But Culy does. She’s wanted this her whole life. Heather would buy anything cupcake-related for Culy when she was growing up. A cupcake plate that her mom got from Target when she was 15 still sits on Culy’s dresser, with the matching cup in her office.

Her storefront is neat and clean, with a white back wall lined with soft blue wallpaper and a gilded “Honey Bee Baking Co.” hanging in the center. However, it hasn’t always been like that.

When Culy entered the shop, the walls were lime green and gray. Now, you’re not just walking into a micro-bakery but into a part of Culy’s mind, which she’s visualized for so long.

“Sometimes you stop and you look around here, you’re like, “‘Oh shit, I’m living this,'” Culy said. “This is legitimate. Like, I run a bakery in my community that people come to every Friday. That’s real.”