The conversation flowed easily as Leon told her about the history of the company, the changes he had made since inheriting it from his father, and the direction he hoped to take the business in the future.

“We’re growing faster than I ever intended. I wanted to maintain that feeling of a neighborhood bakery, but these guys”—he nodded toward Angie—“have managed the impossible. I still feel connected to my customers and to my staff. It’s supposed to be about the bread, not about the market share, right, Reena?”

That led to a long discussion about the types of bread Top Crust produced and Leon’s focus on producing a quality product over cost-cutting or profit margins.

Reena could have talked bread with this man all afternoon. At one point, she forgot he had the power to make or break her prospective career. Well, not really. While the front of her mind talked proofing rooms and dough hydration, the back of her mind set off mental fireworks in celebration. This job was in the bag, and it seemed utterly perfect for her.

“Ooh,” Angie said, turning toward the heavy wood door behind their table. “Looks like the women are done. You couldn’t convince them to let you join them today, Leon?”

He chuckled, standing. “I think I’m wearing them down, though. Won’t be long before I’m an official member of the NLBACC instead of just their sponsor and travel manager.”

What was this NL … whatever group about? Why would a book club need a travel manager? Reena opened her mouth to ask, when Angie smiled at Reena. “We book out the back room here, and this ladies’ group has been renting it for almost five years.”

“I’ve been angling for an invite into their club practically since day one,” Leon added.

She turned to the door, expecting to see immaculate, desperate housewife-types emerging.

But that’s not who exited the back room. The first woman moved slowly, a bright blue wheeled walker supporting her steps. The next woman had a cane.

“Olive!” Leon said, moving to greet the leader. She had to be at least eighty—easily a decade or two older than Leon himself. The other women after Olive ranged in age from fifties to eighties, some with mobility aides, all with wide smiles. Laughing and turning to each other, and joking with Leon, they were clearly a sharp-witted group. And they were completely not what Reena expected.

“And there’s Vanna,” Leon said, kissing the cheek of a woman with dyed violet hair and round glasses. “Who won?”

Vanna slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “No one wins in a book club.” She laughed until she noticed Reena. “Reena! Look at you! You girls have grown up so beautiful. Are you here to pick up your mother?”

What? Reena stood, dumbfounded. Did she know this Vanna? But a sharp exhale from the woman behind Vanna took her attention. And sure enough, it was her own mother.

Mum’s eyes were as wide as roti, and she held Vanna’s arm for support. “Reena! What are you doing here?”