The aroma of fresh bread and chocolate croissants permeated the cozy bakery. Soft morning light streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the polite chatter of regulars. "Did you hear about the Johnsons' lost cat? Poor Mrs. Johnson was in tears this morning." "I heard it might have wandered into the woods. Mr. Thompson saw it near the old mill yesterday." "Poor thing. I hope it finds its way back home. Though, with all the baking I do, maybe it just ran away for a break from the smell of cinnamon rolls." The two laughed, the sound mingling with the gentle clinking of cups and saucers. "Speaking of cinnamon rolls, have you tried the new batch? I think they’re even flakier this time." "Oh, I must. I’ve been craving one all week. Do you think the baker would mind if I peeked in the kitchen? I’m curious about the secret to her flakiness." "Only if you promise to keep it a secret. But I’m sure she’d be flattered. She’s always loved sharing tips with her loyal customers." The bell above the door jingled as a new customer entered, and the conversation paused, the two turning to greet the newcomer with warm smiles.