Boz slapped another form on the desk. “In that case, you’ll need a Temporary Food Facility Permit.”
Annoyed at the mounting forms, Marina blew awisp of hair from her forehead. She couldn’t believe all the details she’d have to address to sell a few loaves of bread. And she still had to calculate her costs to determine her profit margin. And test recipes. And create menus. Not to mention photographing food for the website and social media. “You’ve got to be kidding. All I want to do is sell some bread.”
Boz raised his eyebrows and inclined his head. “I don’t make the rules, ma’am.”
Marina pressed her fingertips against her temple. This was suddenly starting to seem like too much. She’d never run a business before. “And if I want to expand the patio area?”
“Depends on what you plan to bu
