“You should fire me,” I muttered.

“For burning six croissants?

Not unless you plan to burn the café down next.”

I laughed, then surprised myself by crying.

Malcolm quietly handed me a clean towel.

I was learning what a workplace looked like when an error was an error—not a reason to destroy a person’s livelihood.

After my shift I put the ruined croissants into a compost bin.

The smell of burnt butter lingered on my clothes all the way home.