The bell above the bakery door jingled merrily as another customer entered, bringing a gust of crisp autumn air. "Morning, Ethel! Those cinnamon rolls have my mouth watering already." "You're in luck, Martha. Just pulled a fresh batch out of the oven not ten minutes ago." Footsteps approached the counter, punctuated by the creak of the old floorboards. "Oh, they smell heavenly. I'll take a half dozen, please." The rustle of paper bags and the clink of coins exchanging hands. "Anything else for you today?" "Well, now that you mention it, I couldn't help but notice the police cruiser parked out front when I arrived. Everything alright?" A heavy sigh. "I'm afraid not. Poor old Mr. Jenkins from next door passed away last night." "No! Why, I just saw him yesterday morning on his daily walk." "Seems it was his heart. The paramedics tried, but..." The words trailed off, laden with sadness. "How tragic. He was such a sweet man, always commenting on my garden when we crossed paths." "Indeed. A terrible loss for the community." Silence stretched, weighed down by the somber news, before being broken by the gentle thud of a box hitting the counter. "Here, Martha. Why don't you take these bear claws, on the house? We could all use a little sweetness right about now."