I let out a happy snort. Is it possible that I’ve found my people?

Cautiously, I approach the bakery case. I hope it’s not full of underbaked institutional cookies and rubbery bagels.

But, nope! It’s full of homemade pastries. They’re simple—mostly muffins and scones—but they look too good to have been dropped off by a food distributor’s truck. My stomach rumbles as I take in the offerings.

“Can I help you?” This question comes from a tall woman with dark, wavy hair. “I recommend the lemon muffins, because my partner just made them, and if you don’t have a couple, I’m probably going eat some more of them.”

“I would love a couple of muffins,” I say. Not only am I legitimately starving, but it makes opening up the conversation that much easier. “And a small coffee, black.” I pull out my wallet. Just because I’m broke doesn’t mean I can survive this day without more caffeine.

“Dark roast or breakfast blend?”

“Dark roast. Breakfast blend is for sissies.”

The dark-haired beauty laughs. “That will be four fifty.”

That’s pretty cheap, honestly. I push a five-dollar bill toward her. After she makes my change, I drop the bomb. “Listen, if there’s any chance you are hiring, can I leave my name? I’m a baker by training. But I make a mean espresso, too.”

The woman’s hands freeze on the cash drawer. “You’re a baker,” she says slowly. “Are you looking for part time or full time?”

“Well, full time. But right this second I’m not picky. If I don’t find what I’m looking for, I’ll have to piece together a couple of jobs.”

“Did he say full time?” asks another voice. A sunny-haired woman appears suddenly in the doorway behind the counter.

“He did.”

The blonde emerges from the kitchen, dusting flour off her hands. “So I guess we’re talking about this now?” She steps out where I can see her. She’s a little thing and appears to be pregnant.

“So…” I’m not even sure what to say. “You might be looking to hire some help?”

“We really need to,” the dark-haired one says. “But we’ve been putting it off. I’m Zara Rossi by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Zara. I’m Roderick.”

“And I’m Audrey Shipley,” says the cute blonde.

“Oh, the Shipleys.” That familiar name perks me up. “I remember your family. They were always winning awards at school and running things at church.” Everybody loved the Shipleys. And there were a lot of them.

“Well, I wasn’t enough of an overachiever to be born a Shipley,” Audrey says. “I had to marry one.”

“Whatever works,” I say, and she laughs.

“Do you both run this place?” I ask, trying to get a feel for whom to impress.

“Yep!” Audrey says, buzzing around behind the counter, straightening the empty cups. She reminds me of a jolly bumble bee. “We’re partners.”

“Oh,” I say slowly, not quite sure what she means by that.

Zara laughs, and it’s a rich, full sound. “Not life partners. We just own the business together.”