As rain tapped at the windowpane, the bakery seemed a haven of warmth and the scent of fresh pastries. "Did you notice the baker’s picture from last week?" the woman asked, hot tea cup clasping hands tight. "He mentioned a new moon and adding different spices." “Oh? How quaint. Something about summer and the moonlight inspiring flavor," the man replied, brushing flour from his apron. "I'm thinking about those roses outside. Crimson, they remind me of the twisted little vine by the baker’s house.” She paused, a look of sudden concern flashing across her face. "Yes, that bush… There's been talk—a minor incident. But, you must let that stay just that, talk." He set down his satchel, steeling himself for the chill in her voice. "You're asking me to bake away the evening, Mary?” She couldn't hide the plea in her voice. "Only we can ensure the town's peace remains. It's sweeter than any pastry, my dear." As the bell above the door jangled, a young boy with curiosity twinkling in his eyes entered, oblivious to the storm brewing behind the counter.