Ginny's Epilogue To The Berliner

The mechanic shop appeared rather suddenly, though Ginny paid no notice until she had need of it, an attitude she extended to most things. It was four stalls away from the Lieblingessen. She probably wouldn’t have even known it was there at all if one of the patisserie’s neighbors hadn’t come over to complain.
“I can’t believe the landlords allowed it,” the neighbor sniffed. He was a large, greasy seller of formerly-upscale retail. He crossed his arms and leaned over the glass counter. “Such a bad image for the market, don’t you think?”
“What is?” Ginny’s twin brother, Hazel, asked from the register.
The salesman raised his balding head. “Well,” he said, “you know.”
“I…don’t.” Hazel blinked. He turned slightly towards Ginny. “Do you know?”
“I don’t care,” Ginny replied, examining her nails. One had broken off when

“I guess I’ll do the Berliners.”
Hazel gave her a thumbs-up and turned away to deal with new customers.
Berliner doughnuts were a somewhat tricky process; they involved a lot of mixing until just the right consistency, letting the dough sit for just the right amount of time, rinse and repeat. Ginny had over an hour to leave it to its own processes, and she took the time to set the oven, clean up her mess, and prepare for the next stage. Nobody liked a disorderly stall, particularly not one involving food.
In the front, Hazel was trying to upsell nussecken cookies that were about to go stale. She watched him work for a bit. Her brother really was a good salesman, cheerful and charismatic. Hazel appeared genuinely enthusiastic about what he was trying to sell, and considering how many sweets he swiped when he thought nobody would notice, Ginny knew he really meant everything he said. He had been the one to suggest trying for a job at the Lieblingessen, just because he liked it so much. It made her kind of sad to think about now, when the work hours were long and hard and their boss nearly a picture-perfect fairy tale