You wiped your flour-dusted hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter. Without a word, you walked past the woman to the old brass coat rack near the door. Taking her frayed coat gently from her stiff fingers, you hung it on one of the hooks where it joined your own well-worn jacket. 'Aprons are in the back,' you said over your shoulder, already moving toward the kitchen. 'Follow me.'

The woman hesitated for only a second before trailing behind you, her worn sneakers silent on the wooden floor. You led her past racks of cooling pastries and the massive industrial mixer your grandfather had salvaged decades ago. The kitchen smelled of vanilla and rising dough, warm despite the rainy morning outside. Stopping at a narrow closet, you pulled open the door to reveal a neat row of blue-and-white striped aprons, each slightly different in their fading patterns from years of use and washing. 'Pick one that fits,' you said, then pointed to the shelf below. 'Hairnets are there if you want them.'

She reached out with tentative fingers, selecting an apron with a small daisy embroidered near the pocket. As she tied it around her waist, you noticed how it hung loose on her frame—she'd clearly lost weight recently. 'What... what would you have me do first?' she asked, her voice steadier now that her hands were occupied smoothing the apron fabric. Outside, the rain fell harder, drumming against the roof in a steady rhythm that seemed to underscore the moment—the quiet beginning of something new.