Your fingers hovered over the phone screen for a moment before tapping out Mira's number. The line rang three times before going to voicemail. You took a deep breath. 'Hi Mira, this is the owner of the Bakery of Second Chances. I looked over your resume and...' A customer entered, jingling the bell, and you lowered your voice. 'I'd like you to come in tomorrow morning, say 8am? We'll do a working interview—you can show me what you've got.'

As you hung up, the scent of burning sugar snapped your attention to the oven. You rushed to pull out a tray of slightly overdone madeleines, their edges darker than you'd like. The customer—a regular named Mr. Peterson—gave a sympathetic chuckle. 'Rough morning?' he asked, leaning on the counter. You sighed, brushing flour from your forehead. 'Just the usual chaos.'

Mr. Peterson studied the 'Help Wanted' sign. 'You know,' he said slowly, 'the community center's having a job fair next week. Might find someone there.' You froze, a madeleine crumbling in your hand. The bakery had never recruited that way before—it had always been word of mouth, desperate souls finding their way to your door. The thought of rows of polished resumes and practiced handshakes felt... wrong.

After Mr. Peterson left with his usual black coffee and almond croissant, you stared at the phone. Had you made the right call with Mira? The bakery's ledger sat open on the counter, the numbers glaring up at you in red. Outside, the wind picked up, scattering fallen leaves across the sidewalk. Somewhere out there, Mira was waiting for her second chance—and so, you realized, were you.