“Cheers,” Jake said, picking up his pint and leaning it toward Charlie. She did the same, and then took a sip of the beer. Charlie was unable to taste it, but the fizz of the beer tickled her throat when she swallowed and, much to her embarrassment, she started to hiccup.

“I’m sorry!” Charlie said between hiccups, laughing at herself. “I’m not really a beer drinker.” Her voice was muffled from the napkin she pressed to her lips to try and quiet the sound of the hiccupping.

“But isn’t this part of the ‘usual’?” Jake asked, using his fingers to make air quotes as he said the word.

“Right. Yes, it is.” Charlie swallowed down another hiccup and pushed her beer away. “I just need some food in me first. I’m really spacey today.” Soon Darla brought over glasses of ice water and Charlie took a long sip to try and quell the hiccups. She relaxed a little, and the hiccupping abated with another sip of water.

“So, Jake. What do you do for fun around here when you aren’t schooling bakery owners on how to set timers so things don’t burn to the ground?”

Jake chuckled. “Is that what I was doing?”

There was a pause as they both smiled. Then Jake cleared his throat, took another sip of beer.

“Let’s see, for fun . . . I take Bonnie for jogs. I spend a lot of time with my grandmother, as you know. She’s actually a pretty awesome roommate. We’re really compatible with our puzzle and Netflix preferences. Highly important details.” Charlie nodded, because she was supposed to be Cass, and of course Cass would know all of this. But Charlie wondered what the story was there, about how Jake came to live with his grandmother. At least she now knew for sure he didn’t live with anyone else, like a girlfriend. She felt buoyed by this realization—then reminded herself she wasn’t supposed to be falling for anyone right now. Even if he had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen . . .

“Cass?”

“Sorry. Just a bit distracted.” Charlie sat up straighter.

“The blood sugar thing?” Jake asked.

“That, yes . . . and the fact that I ruined a lot of loaves yesterday and had to stay up far too late tripling the recipe.” She scowled. “I don’t know how—”

Charlie had been about to say, “I don’t know how Cass manages to do all of this without a website or online ordering . . .” but caught herself.

“I think it’s time for a Web presence for the bakery,” she said instead. “I know it’s the way things have always been done, taking orders by phone, but it slows down the process. A website with online ordering would make things much more efficient.”

“I could help you, if you want.”

“How so?” Charlie asked. Jake seemed about to answer, but then Darla was back, placing the chilis in front of them, steam rising from the deep bowls. She then returned a moment later with the pullaparts, a circle of soft milk buns, dripping with butter and melted cheddar cheese. Charlie breathed in deeply through her nose, wishing she could smell all the mingling, comforting scents surely rising from their food—savory notes from the chili, a sweet aroma from the baked rolls, the garlicky butter sharp and mouthwatering. But there was nothing.