Ryan looked toward the front window, where the sign Sophie had painted reflected faintly in the glass. "We only reopened a couple of months ago," he said. "I don't have a fancy story, and I'm still learning how to run this place." Daniel told him those facts sounded more interesting than a polished promotional biography. He wanted to film the work, not pretend Ryan had been born knowing every answer.
"You really think people would want to watch me knead dough?" Ryan asked. Daniel laughed. "If the bread tastes like this, they might watch you sweep the floor." He outlined a simple filming arrangement, explained what the show would need to record, and promised that Ryan would have time to review the practical requirements before agreeing. He also warned him that television attention could be unpredictable, and that one good segment might bring a crowd his small oven could not supply.
That warning mattered more to Ryan than the flattery. He asked whether the camera crew would interfere with safe kitchen operations, whether customers would be asked for permission before being filmed, and how much notice he would receive. Daniel answered each question without making fun of his caution. When he gave Ryan a date just under two weeks away, Ryan said yes with the feeling that he was accepting something far larger than a visit from a television crew.
He did not tell Sophie immediately. He waited until she had finished her spelling homework that evening and then sat beside her at the kitchen table. "A man wants to make a television story about the bakery," he said, trying to sound ordinary. Sophie dropped her pencil and asked whether she would have to wear a fancy dress, and Ryan laughed so hard that she accused him of not taking the situation seriously.
He explained that they would film the bread and the kitchen, not turn their family into a spectacle. Sophie asked whether Grandma would be able to watch it from her room, and Ryan said he would make sure she could. Then she asked a question he had not expected: "Will they tell people you used to work at a factory?" Ryan hesitated and told her that Daniel might, because it was part of how he learned what he knew.
"Good," Sophie said. "Then they can see you didn't stop being good at things just because you changed jobs." Ryan looked at his daughter for a long moment. He had spent so much time trying to keep her from worrying about his failures that he had forgotten she might already see him more clearly than he saw himself. He kissed the top of her head and told her the television crew would be lucky if she agreed to design the day's chalkboard menu.
Norah responded to the news with a complicated silence. She was happy for Ryan, but she had lived long enough to know that sudden attention could ruin a small business as efficiently as neglect. She asked whether he had enough equipment, staff, and money to handle the filming without putting his customers second. Ryan admitted that he had not worked through every question yet, and Norah told him to start there instead of imagining what he might say on television.