Closing time. The bell above the door tinkled as Sarah pushed through, cradling her handbag. The bakery was a haven of warmth and comfort after the cold November air. A strong aroma of freshly made cinnamon rolls greeted her, along with the soft hum of the kitchen radio and the hiss of the espresso machine. "Good evening, Sarah." The baker, a tall man with a salt-and-pepper beard, called over from the counter where he was boxing a selection of freshly baked pastries. "Good evening, Alan." Sarah replied, her breath visible in the chilly air. "I believe I have another week's housekeeping fees for you." Alan, always polite, took the neat pile and slipped them neatly into a drawer. "Before you go, there's something I wanted to share with you." His usually jovial expression was replaced with a faraway look, something unusual for him. Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Anything wrong?" "Not exactly," Alan replied, moving behind the counter and pulling out a box from under the cash register. "I found this when I was cleaning up this morning." Sarah's eyes fell on the small leather-bound diary. Its pages were unevenly cut and the binding was frayed from age. "Where did you find it?" She asked curiously. "Underneath the old oven. The one we replaced last year. Must've slipped off a shelf and ended up there." "Well, it doesn't look like anything too important," Sarah said, reluctantly leaving her warm space by the door. "But would you like some help finding out who it belongs to?" Alan nodded and together, they stepped into the mystery that the old diary had unveiled.