She wiped the flour from her hands onto the worn wooden counter as the sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the bakery. "I've got a problem. Regulars came in at 7 am for the usual order," her sister said, her voice husky with fatigue. "A milkshake," he replied, his gray hair streaked with threads of chalky gray, his eyes squinting behind a pair of thick-framed glasses. The baker nodded sympathetically. "You must be talking about Edna, huh?" He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah. She always comes in around 7. Can't have her getting cranky." "But she's getting cranky, big time," he muttered under his breath. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Five till eight. We've lost count. She gets flustered, and it's like adding sugar to the mix. We're practically running the whole operation now." The baker shook her head and refocused on her mixing bowl. "Get Edna out to the back. See if she's got what's been causing the fuss." As the phone began to ring, he glanced up with a frustrated expression. "If only she wouldn't make about twelve hundred shakes to go with that single."