“Okay.” I let out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry for jumping to conclusions. Tell me what you are looking for.”

“We need somebody full time. Somebody reliable, with good references,” Zara says immediately.

“I can be all of those things,” I promise. “I once did a summer internship with the guys down at King Arthur Flour. That was a few years ago, but they’ll still vouch for me. Lately, I’ve been working in a big Nashville bakery. I have references there, too.”

Zara nods. “So you’re from Vermont originally?”

“Sort of? I was an Air Force brat. I was born here, but then we moved away. We came back my last two years of high school.”

“You went to high school in Colebury, right?” Zara asks. “I thought you looked a little familiar.”

“And you just moved back home?” Audrey adds.

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to look uncertain. “I want to stay in Vermont, but only if I find a job.” The truth is I don’t know how much time I can give myself to look for work. The safest thing would be to get right back in the car and try to get my old job back in Nashville.

“Why did you leave Tennessee?” Zara asks.

Tell the truth, or lie? It’s not an easy decision. “I got out of a bad relationship. Seemed like driving out of state was the only way to fix it.” That’s understating things somewhat, but they don’t need all the gory details.

“Don’t grill him,” Audrey yelps.

Zara laughs. “I managed a bar for five years. Grilling people is how you weed out all the nutters.” She gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry. But it is.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I say, hoping to sound agreeable.

“Well, fine,” Audrey says. “Zara is the businessperson. She keeps me from fucking up.”

I bark out a laugh because it seems wrong to see such a sweet-looking human dropping f-bombs.

“But let me tell you a little more about the Busy Bean. We’ve been open for about a year. It’s just been Zara and me and a part-time employee. But he can’t give us any more hours, and we need someone full time. I’m having a baby this winter.” She pats her belly. “And Zara has a lot going on in her life, too. We need full-time help, but we’ve been putting it off because we’re cheap.”

“You do your own baking, right?” I tear apart one of the muffins Zara served me and toss a bite into my mouth. “Wow. Good lemon flavor.”

“Thanks!” Audrey beams. “We do all our own pastries. But we buy our bagels.”

“I can make your bagels,” I say, putting another bite of muffin into my mouth. “Easy peasy.”

“But would you have to start at four in the morning?” Audrey asks. “That’s why we don’t make bread.”

“Nah. Now, baguettes need a four a.m. start time. But bagels and pretzels don’t need that kind of double rise. I’d use a sourdough starter for flavor, but the rise would come from instant yeast. One rise time. Boil ’em up and bake for twenty minutes.”