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"Oh, I didn't know you were a baker!"
The boy (a man, I'm sure he'd say, but honestly! He's younger than my own grandchildren) blinked at me, like he'd only just noticed me.
Oh, poor thing looked so tired, Hana!
"Uh—sorry, Mrs. Park. I'm not really a baker, I just—know a few things."
I clicked my tongue twice, Hana. Twice. "Oh, a baker is a baker! Now, you should join us for the shelter potluck. There's never enough cooks but I tell you there's more than enough mouths."
Hana, I politely did not mention he looked like one.