You sighed, folding your flour-dusted hands on the table. The warmth of Mara's hopeful gaze made the words harder to say. 'Mara... I wish I could help. Your skills are obvious, and god knows we could use someone with your talent.' You gestured around the quiet bakery, the empty tables. 'But business hasn't been good. I'm barely making rent as it is.'

Mara's shoulders slumped, her fingers curling around the half-eaten pastry. The rain tapped harder against the windows, as if echoing the disappointment in the air. 'I understand,' she whispered, though the way her throat worked suggested she was swallowing more than just crumbs.

An awkward silence stretched between you, filled only by the hum of refrigerators and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Mara finally stood, smoothing her frayed coat with trembling hands. 'Thank you for the... for this.' She nodded toward the pastry, her voice thick.

As she turned toward the door, something caught your eye - the way her fingertips brushed the marble countertop with unconscious familiarity, the baker's instinct in her touch. The bell jingled as she pushed the door open, a gust of damp wind rushing in. Just before it closed behind her, you heard her mutter something that sounded like 'last chance.'

The bakery suddenly felt colder, emptier. You stared at the abandoned resume, the coffee gone cold in its cup. Outside, through the rain-streaked glass, you watched Mara's hunched figure disappear down the street.