I almost had a panic attack when we walked into the Twofish Baking Company at the start of our summer vacation in Sea Ranch. “Are you already out of baguettes?” my eyes widening with fear as I noticed the empty baguette shelf.

“Relax,” Hilla said. “They haven’t even come out of the oven yet. They come out at 9:30.”

“Do they come out at 9:30 everyday?” I asked, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Yes,” Hilla confirmed. “You gals are just here early today.” Even still, sometimes it doesn’t matter if Margaret’s baked goods are not out of the oven yet. She often sells out before she even bakes things, because people-in-the-know pre-order.

We discovered the Twofish Baking Company the year before last when we noticed the bakery in the sleepy Ranch Center. It was probably about two in the afternoon and we were in search of bread. I stuck my head in to see what kinds of baked goods they had, and saw one lone cupcake and a cookie.

“I don’t know what kind of bakery that is,” I said to Jenny as I got back in the car. “They hardly have any baked goods. And I didn’t even see any bread.”

The next year, in search of bread again, and disappointed with the offerings at the Surf Supermarket in Gualala, we decided to try the bakery again. “Drive faster,” I said to Jenny. “I think they close early.” But it was a Wednesday and the bakery was closed. “Open Thursday-Sunday,” noted the sign on the door.

When I woke up the next morning, in our rented house about a mile down the road from the bakery, I nudged Jenny. “Do you smell that?” I asked. “I think I smell blueberry muffins.”

“Me too,” Jenny said. We pulled on some clothes and drove to the bakery. The shelf behind the counter was full of bread, and the glass case was full of baked goods. Chocolate croissants, almond croissants, morning buns, sticky buns, pumpkin bread, bear claws, and blueberry muffins.

“Look!” I whispered to Jenny. “I knew I smelled Blueberry muffins!”

“I’ll have a cup of coffee and a chocolate croissant,” Jenny said.

“And I’ll have a blueberry muffin and a cappuccino,” I said. “And a baguette.”

“This chocolate croissant is just the right combination of sweet and savory,” Jenny said as she took another bite of the pastry.

The next morning the smell of lemons came wafting through our bedroom window. “Do you smell that?” I asked Jenny. “She must be making lemon scones!”

And sure enough, there were lemon scones in the glass case.

“I’ll have a lemon scone and a cappuccino,” I said. “And a baguette.” I’d sidle up to the bakery bar and watch Margaret pull things out of the oven and make conversation with all the local Sea Ranchers.

“Hey Margaret,” said an older gentleman in biking gear. “Can you save me a pizza? I’ll come back after my bike ride.”

“She makes pizzas too?” I whispered to Jenny as I watched Margaret frost cupcakes and Hilla whip up a moccachino. The pizzas come out of the oven just before noon. Margaret also makes sandwiches and salads, and she’ll roast a soup in the baking ovens, usually on Thursdays or Fridays. The semolina rolls come out on Saturdays. Crispy and airy rolls that go great with burgers. She also bakes her own dog biscuits in case you bring along your pooch. Something for everyone.

I had lots of questions for Margaret, but I was too shy to ask. Do you have a stove or only baking ovens? How many pounds of butter do you go through in a week? Is that Focaccia coming out of the oven? How long does it take to make a baguette? Is Hilla your business partner and your life partner? Where did you get your baking training? Do you make granola every day? How did you decide to become a baker? What time do you get here every morning? Do your feet get tired? How many baguettes do you make in a day?

“Look,” I whispered to Jenny. “She’s cutting the baguettes for sandwiches.”

One of our last days of vacation last year, we got to the bakery and ordered our morning pastries and coffee. “And a baguette, please.”

“Sorry,” Hilla said. “I just sold the last one.” We got there late that day. The sandwiches were all made and Margaret was making the pizzas by the time I sat down at the bar with my cappuccino.

I mustered the courage to ask Margaret a question.

“Margaret?” I asked, “Do you make pizzas everyday?”

“Yep.” Margaret doesn’t waste words.

“Could we reserve two?” I asked hesitantly.

“Sorry. Sold out.”

“Harumph,” I sighed out loud. “No baguette and the pizzas are sold out before they’ve even come out of the oven? Maybe I should pre-order.”

“You really should,” Hilla and Margaret both agreed. “You buy a baguette everyday. You may as well rest assured that there’ll be one for you when you get here.”

“Okay, well then I’ll take two baguettes for tomorrow,” I requested. The next day was Sunday and I had to make sure to have enough bread until the bakery opened again on Thursday. “And four pizzas.”

“Four pizzas?” Margaret teased. Uh-oh, did I over-order? Is that bad bakery etiquette?

“We have guests,” I lied.

“Sure you do.”

This year, with the ice broken with Hilla and Margaret, I sometimes hang around the bakery bar for hours. Observing all the baking activities. Locating the phone when it rings. Asking questions. And I pre-order everyday. One baguette on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Two baguettes on Sundays as well as a loaf of wheat or multigrain for toast on the mornings that the bakery is closed. And Pizza or sandwiches for lunch. We don’t usually pre-order the morning pastries.

“Do you have a pastry policy?” I asked Margaret. It seemed the savory croissants were always gone by the time I arrived at the bakery.

“Depends,” she said as she frosted a cake.

“On the customer?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” Margaret said. “I generally require people to order seven pastries if they want them reserved. I can’t reserve one morning bun, just because some people don’t like getting up early.” I didn’t want to press my luck and ask her to reserve me a savory croissant just because I am not a morning person. Maybe since they’re savory, they aren’t part of the pastry policy?

“I wonder if I should risk it and get here early on Thursday?” I pondered aloud.

“What are you looking for?” Margaret asked, leaning in on the counter.

“Well, I’d like a baguette, two pizzas and… a savory croissant.”

“Spinach and Feta or Ham and Gruyere?” I decided on the Ham and Gruyere.

“Consider it done,” Margaret said.

A few days later, we got to the bakery early, in time for the savory croissants. But Jenny and I decided on our own policy. “We better start sharing a pastry in the morning,” we decided, otherwise we might need another policy involving Weight Watchers.

Jenny wanted an Apple Danish that day. The danish was delicious, a crisp, buttery pastry with the perfect combination of cinnamon and apples that were still slightly crunchy. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the ham and gruyere croissants. Liz, another regular, sat next to me at the bar.

“How are you today?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m fine. I’m just sitting here trying to resist the savory croissants.”

“Which one is your favorite?” Liz asked.

“Well I like them both, but today I am trying to resist the ham and gruyere.”

“Want to split one?” Liz asked. “My treat.”

Delighted by this turn of events, I said, “No, it will be my treat. They’ll put it on my bakery bar tab. But we better get on it. Look at all those people in the line.”

The savory croissant was worth every calorie. I was so mesmerized by its crispy and flaky exterior and the thinly sliced ham and gruyere cheese that was melting in my mouth, that I walked out without paying for it.

“We better take a long walk today,” I said to Jenny. Later when we came back to the bakery for our lunch, I confessed. “I walked out of here without paying for anything this morning.” Margaret smiled.

Now we do our bakery finances once a day, either in the morning or the afternoon after lunch. I think it saves Hilla time, especially with all the loot we carry out of there everyday. Our daily order can take her a good three minutes to ring up.

“Hit me,” Hilla will say.

“One coffee, one cappuccino, an apple danish, a savory croissant, an almond croissant, a Sunday New York Times, three baguettes, a loaf of wheat bread, an Italian sandwich, two pizzas, two lemonades, a bag of granola, and two dog biscuits,” I said last Sunday. “Oh and a trail mix cookie.” This order was a little larger than usual because we really did have a guest this time. My seventeen-year-old nephew with a healthy appetite, Akber, was visiting, and he loves the baguettes as much as I do.

“That will be $62.50,” Hilla said as I handed her my card. “Quite a bakery day,” she observed.

“I have a new line item in our budget,” I said. “The bakery budget.”

Rumor has it that Margaret and Hilla are going to start selling their granola online, so those of us who live far away can mail order it. I wonder if I could convince them to FedEx me a baguette from time to time?