"One more of those mouth-watering cinnamon buns, please," a cheery voice said. "Coming right up," the baker responded, her hands deftly arranging the morning pastries. "The usual?" "Oh, you know it," the customer nodded, inhaling the aroma of freshly baked goods. "And, honey, please!" "Can't blame you, Brian," came a voice from the corner table, where the village gossip, Ms. Jenkins, sipped her daily Earl Grey. "Martha's cinnamon buns are to die for. Literally." Brian chuckled, taking a piping hot one, "Dying would be a pleasure like this." Martha blushed, placing the goods on the counter, "Now, now, no talk of deaths here, alright?" "Apologies, Martha," Ms. Jenkins said, with zero remorse. "But enough about my latest bridge club scandal. How's the baking business?" "Oh, it's been good, thank you," Martha wiped down the counter. "The Harvest Festival is just around the corner. I've got loads of orders for pies and tarts." "Speaking of pies," Brian interjected, "Have you heard about the newcomer in town?" "No? What's the gossip?" Ms. Jenkins perked up, setting her teacup down. "Rumor has it she's an ex-city dweller, escaped here for some quiet life." "A quiet life?" Ms. Jenkins scoffed. "Hmmph, like we ever have a quiet life in our quaint