Noah pats the flour from his hands, wiping them on his apron. His dark hair had a dusting on flour on it, though he didn’t seem to mind. He hears the chime of the bell above the front door, indicating the arrival of a customer.

“Good morning! Sorry I’m all covered in flour, the person that’s usually at the counter stepped out for a moment. What can I get for you?” Noah asks with a wide grin, his broad shoulders hunching as he leans on the counter.