The scent of sugar and cinnamon hung heavy in the air, almost thick enough to cut with a butter knife. The glass case gleamed, proudly displaying its wares: rows of iced cupcakes, a towering Victoria sponge still dusted with flour, and a half-eaten loaf of soda bread sitting on a plate by the cash register. "Morning, Doris." "You're up early. Or is that late for you?" A chuckle, followed by the clinking of china. "Coffee?" "Don't mind if I do. And maybe one of those currant scones? They look utterly irresistible." "You know," a warm, throaty voice confided, "I think I might’ve put a drop too much vanilla in the icing this morning." "Really? Can’t say I’d have noticed." A pause. "But then, you could practically poison me with sugar and I’d probably still ask for seconds."