“The crust is a bit too thick,” the woman said, her voice a light tremor. “It’s a sourdough, Mrs. Peabody,” the baker countered, dusting flour off his hands. “It’s supposed to have a hearty crust.” “I didn’t say it was bad, just…thick,” Mrs. Peabody said, picking at the bread with a silver knife. “Maybe a little too chewy for my teeth, what with them being so old and all.” The woman gave a laugh, more cough than mirth. “Perhaps you’d prefer a roll?” the baker offered, his voice gentle. “They’re fresh out of the oven.” “No,” Mrs. Peabody sighed, pushing the bread back on the plate. “I need to try these scones. I’m making tea for my book club meeting tonight.” She pointed to the display case. “The cranberry almond ones, if you please.” The baker nodded, grabbing a bag from underneath the counter and placing four scones inside. “Can I interest you in any jam? We have a lovely blackberry preserves.” “No, darling,” Mrs. Peabody said, taking the bag. “I have my own. And I might be adding a little mischief to the tea, if you catch my drift.” With that, she left the bakery, a glint in her eye.