The sweet aroma of freshly baked croissants wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of gentle chatter in the cozy bakery. A customer sipped on a steaming cup of coffee, eyeing the displayed pastries with a discerning gaze. "Don't tell me, who made the pumpkin pie this time? It looks identical to last year's." The baker at the counter, her flour-dusted apron a testament to her hard work, smiled demurely. "Oh, I think it's a new supply shipment from the factory in town." A raised eyebrow met this response, sparking a faint skepticism. "Oh? I'm sure it's just a coincidence then, that it tastes almost exactly like Emily Wilson's pie, down to the same sprinkling of cinnamon on top." The baker's expression turned guarded, her hands pausing in their task. "Well, perhaps we should focus on the merits of the pie itself. It's certainly a crowd-pleaser." The customer's gaze lingered on the pie, now veiled in a sheen of distrust, before nodding and retrieving a slice from the counter. "Just making sure I'm not the only one who knows a good pie when they taste one, dear."