The bell above the door tinkled as it swung open, ushering in a gust of crisp autumn air. The comforting scent of freshly baked bread mingled with hints of cinnamon and sugar, creating an inviting atmosphere. "I swear, if you add raisins to those muffins again, I'm going to—" "Raisins are classic. People love them." "They're an abomination, especially in muffins. Stick to blueberries or chocolate chips." A soft chuckle echoed through the bakery. "You know, sometimes I think you just like to argue for the sake of it." "Maybe. But I also know what our customers like, and it's not raisins." Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the sound of dough being kneaded. The rhythmic thump-thump was almost hypnotic. "So, did you hear about the new neighbor?" "The one who bought the old Johnson place? Yeah, what about them?" "Apparently, they’re some big-shot writer from the city. Moved here for some peace and quiet." "Huh. Guess they haven't met Mrs. Winthrop and her infamous gossip chain yet." A soft laugh filled the air. "True. They won't know what hit them." "Speaking of hits, have you seen my favorite rolling pin?" "The oak one? Check the back pantry. Maybe it wandered off again." The door swung shut, and the bell chimed once more, leaving the warmth of the bakery behind.