"See?" he snapped his fingers. "I knew it. A baker from birth." He didn't miss the slight look downward she gave and the tightening of her lips that came with it, but he didn't quite understand what the expression meant. In the end he decided not to pry: even if he was exposing his soul to her, they really had only known each other for an hour or so.

"Yeah," he sighed, "that's what most people say. You can do anything! And I guess I could, but it's hard when there's nothing in particular that appeals to me. At least if I, I dunno, collected stamps I'd at least have something that made me me. And maybe it'll click, or maybe it won't. I don't know." He frowned and tapped a finger against the plate, then stood. She was easy to open his heart to--but he didn't make a habit of doing it often. It made him nervous.

"I should probably get going for now, but I can always stop in again, unless you're closed at odd hours. Is this enough?"
He fished in his pants for a crumpled ten-dollar bill and pushed it onto the counter.