The bell above the door chimed merrily as a gust of wind swept in, carrying with it the scent of autumn leaves and woodsmoke. The warmth of the bakery enveloped the newcomer like a hug. "Goodness, it's chilly out there," a voice sighed, pulling a knitted scarf tighter. "It's bracing, isn't it? Perfect weather for a warm apple pie," another voice chuckled. "Fresh out of the oven, if you're interested." "Oh, I wouldn't want to tempt fate," the first voice said, raising an eyebrow. "You know how my husband gets around pastry." "He'd be a fool to resist," the second voice countered, sliding a slice onto a plate. "Especially this one. Made with Granny Smith apples, just the way he likes them." "You've got a way with words, you know that?" The first voice took a tentative bite, and a contented hum filled the air. "You're right, it's heavenly. Just what I needed." "Glad I could help," the second voice said, a mischievous twinkle in their eye. "Now, tell me, what brings you to town on such a blustery day?"