His first thought was to lower the prices until customers stopped objecting. Norah, who had called to ask how the opening went, told him that selling below cost would only make failure arrive more politely. She suggested he bake fewer loaves, give people a reason to return, and speak to customers instead of imagining their objections. Ryan knew she was right, but he was tired of being responsible for every answer.
He brought the remaining safe bread to Grace's kitchen and returned to find Sophie sitting at the little table in the front room, completing a drawing for school. Mrs. Alvarez had collected her and waited while Ryan cleaned up. "Did everybody buy the bread?" Sophie asked, looking at the empty rack nearest the window. Ryan considered telling her yes, then decided that the habit of hiding setbacks would teach her the wrong lesson.
"Not everybody," he said. "Some people came to look. Some people bought it, and a lot of people didn't know we were open." Sophie laid down her pencil and considered the problem.
"Then maybe the people who bought it have to tell the other people," she said. Ryan smiled at the confidence of a child who believed adults could solve business problems by speaking to one another honestly. He had no reason to think she was completely wrong.
The next week he started visiting neighboring businesses after the morning rush. He introduced himself to the cobbler, the bookstore owner, the woman at the laundromat, and a mechanic who worked behind a service station two blocks away. He brought samples and asked what they liked to eat, not what he could persuade them to buy. The answers were more useful than the marketing ideas he had written in his notebook.
The laundromat owner wanted breakfast rolls that could be eaten without making a mess. The mechanic needed something filling enough to carry him through a long morning when he could not stop for lunch. The bookstore owner wanted a small pastry that would not crumble into the pages of an expensive book. Ryan changed his plan to include a few practical items alongside his slow-fermented bread, and the response was immediate enough to make him feel almost embarrassed that he had not asked sooner.
He learned that a customer did not always want a conversation about fermentation, however passionately he felt about it. A man arriving on his way to work wanted a warm roll, a fair price, and the assurance that the next morning it would taste the same. A tired nurse coming off a shift wanted something she could bring home to her children before sleeping. Ryan began to understand that reliability was not just a factory standard; it was a small kindness offered repeatedly.
The shop began to acquire a rhythm. At three in the morning Ryan worked alone, measuring flour beneath a single overhead light, and by six he could hear delivery trucks outside the windows. At seven the bell began to ring, occasionally, and at eight he stepped out from behind the counter when he could to greet the regular customers by name. Between orders he washed equipment, called suppliers, and checked whether the hospital had sent another message about Margaret's rehabilitation.