“Bakery air is that steaming hot front of thick, buttery fumes waiting for you just inside the door of a bakery. And I am just going to tell you straight up: That is some fine air!”

“Did you just curse? Isn't 'hell' - she air quoted - "a cursed word?""How 'bout you go straight there and see?”

“At the bakery it's just me. It's a small place. Just me and the raspberry horns and the tourtiere pies and my cigarette going in the ashtray near the black sink. Every once in a while a car passes through the dark street outside the storefont windows, but that's pretty much all I see of people while I'm there, until the end of my shift at eight when Monica shows up to open the store for the day. A solid twelve hours by myself, nothing but the radio to keep me company, and I like it just fine, being alone. It's even better in the winter, during a storm, when the snow piles up outside and no cars come by at all. Inside the bakery it's warm and there's plenty to keep my hands busy. Times like that, for all I can tell I'm the only person left on earth. I could go on making pies and watching the snow pile up until the end of time, so long as there was enough coffee on hand. I don't need company like some people seem to.”

“Why ask for your daily bread when you own the bakery?”

“Can you go back inside and have a drink while you wait? I don’t like the idea of you sitting outside in your car by yourself. You are by yourself, aren’t you?”“Yes, I’m alone. But I’ll be fine. I just—”“Olivia, I really don’t like it. Can’t you just go back inside? Consider it a favor.”When he puts it like that… “Okay. I’ll go back inside. Just call me when you get here.”

“I'm just confused. I can't read your signals. One moment you're hot, the next you're cold. You tell me you want me, you tell me you don't. If you picked one, that'd be fine, but you keep making me think one thing and then you end up going in a completely different direction. Not just now—all the time.”