Page 9 of Roommate
“I’ll give you a great recommendation, Rod,” he’d said when I called the number they’d given me at the new bake shop. “Go ahead and fill out an application. But I know the baker gets several applications each week.”
“Great, I’ll do that,” I’d said, my heart sinking.
“Come back next month if you’re still looking. They always need seasonal help in the retail store.”
“Will do. Thanks.” I’d filled that application out, which took five minutes.
But now I climb back into my car again and crank the engine. I have never felt so untethered from the world as I do right now. I have no address. No job. And no real friends, either, because they’re all coworkers at the job I left behind in Tennessee, or—worse—pals of Brian’s.
The scary truth is that if I disappeared from this earth today, nobody would notice, or come looking for me.
Also, I need coffee. Nobody should be expected to solve his not-quite-midlife crisis while under-caffeinated, right?
So I point my car back toward Colebury. Chin up, I coach myself. I can’t expect my problems to be solved within the first hour of job hunting. I’m the kind of guy who always has to hustle for everything he gets. King Arthur is the biggest bakery in the area, but it’s not the only one that could hire me.
I hope.
It’s still midmorning when I reach the Busy Bean. When I step out of my car, I smell good coffee brewing. The scent of a strong brew on the piney Vermont air is like a siren’s song to me. I approach the door, already filling up with hope. Come on, Vermont. Give me something to believe in.
The first thing I notice is the acoustic guitar music humming off the wide-plank floorboards. The scent of coffee is stronger, too. And the place is adorable. It’s full of mismatched furniture upholstered in dark colors and animal prints. There are snarky sayings chalked onto the ceiling’s wide support beams. One verse in particular catches my eye:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I love my coffee
And if you talk to me before I drink it I will cut you
I let out a happy snort. Is it possible that I’ve found my people?
Cautiously, I approach the bakery case. I hope it’s not full of underbaked institutional cookies and rubbery bagels.
But, nope! It’s full of homemade pastries. They’re simple—mostly muffins and scones—but they look too good to have been dropped off by a food distributor’s truck. My stomach rumbles as I take in the offerings.
“Can I help you?” This question comes from a tall woman with dark, wavy hair. “I recommend the lemon muffins, because my partner just made them, and if you don’t have a couple, I’m probably going eat some more of them.”
“I would love a couple of muffins,” I say. Not only am I legitimately starving, but it makes opening up the conversation that much easier. “And a small coffee, black.” I pull out my wallet. Just because I’m broke doesn’t mean I can survive this day without more caffeine.
“Dark roast or breakfast blend?”
“Dark roast. Breakfast blend is for sissies.”
The dark-haired beauty laughs. “That will be four fifty.”
That’s pretty cheap, honestly. I push a five-dollar bill toward her. After she makes my change, I drop the bomb. “Listen, if there’s any chance you are hiring, can I leave my name? I’m a baker by training. But I make a mean espresso, too.”
The woman’s hands freeze on the cash drawer. “You’re a baker,” she says slowly. “Are you looking for part time or full time?”
“Well, full time. But right this second I’m not picky. If I don’t find what I’m looking for, I’ll have to piece together a couple of jobs.”
“Did he say full time?” asks another voice. A sunny-haired woman appears suddenly in the doorway behind the counter.
“He did.”
The blonde emerges from the kitchen, dusting flour off her hands. “So I guess we’re talking about this now?” She steps out where I can see her. She’s a little thing and appears to be pregnant.
“So…” I’m not even sure what to say. “You might be looking to hire some help?”
