“Pretzels?” Audrey asks with a dreamy sigh. “That sounds amazing.”

“You could try me out for a probationary couple of days, and I’ll show you,” I promise. “How’s your oven?”

“It’s all right,” Audrey says. “Nothing fancy like they have at King Arthur.”

“You don’t need a fancy oven to make small breads and rolls,” I say quickly. “The giant oven is necessary for crusty boules and baguettes. In a smaller oven you can bake rolls, bagels, freeform pizza, pretzels, popovers…”

“Pizza!” Audrey yelps. “Now I want pizza.”

“You were just telling me that you had to watch the carbs,” Zara says. “That’s why we agreed to have chicken salad salad for lunch.”

“Plus it’s fun to say chicken salad salad,” Audrey points out.

“So that’s chicken salad—”

“On salad!” both women say at once.

I have a feeling this would be a fun workplace. Besides, if the Shipleys run it, the place is bound to do well.

“Can I have those references?” Zara asks. “I’ll call them today, and then if you were serious about working a couple of days as a trial, I think we should do that.”

“Sure! Let me grab my résumé out of my car,” I say. “One sec.”

I run outside, where I grab a folder. By the time I get back inside, Zara and Audrey are having an intense, whispered discussion. “Hours, pay, benefits,” Zara is saying. “We don’t have any of that stuff nailed down.”

“We can do some research,” Audrey says. “It’s time, right? I’ll ask May about the legal stuff.”

“Okay, sure.” Zara turns to give me a smile. “I thought we’d procrastinate a little longer, but then you walked in. Maybe it was meant to be.”

I hope she’s right. Because if there’s someplace in this world that I’m meant to be, I haven’t found it yet.

TWENTY-NINE

You could do this professionally

Tuxbury Vermont

“Griffin?”

My mother sat down across from me at the big farmhouse table as I chewed the last bite of her home-smoked applewood bacon. My farmhand and I had already finished Vermont-cheddar omelets and homemade bread with butter from our own cows.

Breakfast had been great, but what Mom said next was even better. “I found you some more seasonal help.”

My coffee mug paused on its way to my mouth. “Seriously?”

“I did. And he starts today.”

“You’d better not be teasing.” We were always short-staffed at this time of year, when the grass grew so fast you could practically watch it lengthen, and the bugs waged a full-scale war against my apple trees.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock in the morning, and my farmhand and I had already worked for hours. At dawn we’d milked several dozen cows in two different barns. We always came in for a nice breakfast after the milking, but then it was back to work. For the next eight hours we’d tackle a to-do list of projects and repairs as long as a country mile.

Mom’s promise of a new employee was music to my ears. I lowered the mug to our dining table and met her gaze. But when I spotted her uncharacteristically tentative expression, I felt the first prickle of worry. Maybe I wasn’t going to like the sound of her new hire.