“Of course.”

She swallowed. “I’m perfect for this job. I know it’s in the finance department, but I’m a firm believer that members of a team must be passionate about the product the company sells. And you won’t find anyone more passionate about the product you sell than me.”

“You’re a fan of bakeries?”

“I love bread. More than anything else. I even keep two different sourdough starters at home. Honestly, I’m obsessed. I’d love to work here to do my part in bringing great baked goods to the world.”

Angie smiled widely, nodding her head. “Leon’s going to love you.”

Reena knew Leon Bergeron was the president of Top Crust. He was a third-generation baker who’d taken his father’s small neighborhood bakery downtown and grown it to a national chain of over fifty stores. He was described as a little eccentric, but was well respected in the industry and loved by his employees.

“Our president is very involved in hiring at the corporate level. He normally conducts second interviews himself. Do you mind if I see if he’s available now? Save us all some time later?”

Reena couldn’t hold back her smile. This interview was going well. Very well. “Of course!”

Angie returned a mere minute later, her face betraying exasperation and amusement. “I should have known …He’s at the bakery. His favorite club has booked the back room. Leon always finds a reason to be there when the NLBACC are in. Anyway, he’d like us to meet him there. Do you mind?”

“NL … what?”

“Just a book club. Shall we?”

The warm, familiar scent of bread baking as they entered the bakery felt so … perfect that Reena’s knees nearly gave out. This could be her workplace. Well, not precisely, but workplace adjacent. She imagined a company discount for bread and soup instead of the practical separates at Railside Clothing. She imagined corporate meetings surrounded by baguettes and brioche. It had never occurred to Reena to work in the food-services industry, but her skin pebbled with longing now.

After warmly greeting the woman behind the counter, Angie told Reena to order whatever she liked, and Reena chose an apricot brioche tart.

“Leon’s in the back,” the woman at the counter told them as she handed Reena a plate. “He’s waiting near the door for them to finish up.”

Angie smiled as she led Reena into the rear of the café.

Leon Bergeron looked as expected, a distinguished older gentleman with sharp intelligence behind gray eyes.

“You must be Reena,” he said, standing to shake her hand as they approached the table. “Welcome to my little bakery. Angie tells me you impressed her with your finance jargon and that you will impress me with your love of bread.” Releasing her hand, he indicated toward a nearby chair. “Have a seat and tell me your thoughts on my shop, here. We’ve just finished an overhaul and will roll out this new look in other locations in the new year.”