Chilly morning sun pressed against the windows of Daisy’s Delights, wreaths of steam drifting from every loaf. The hush was broken by a soft scuff of boots. “I swear I left them on the top shelf last night.” The scent of cinnamon rolls twisted in the air as another set of footsteps approached. “Top shelf where nobody ever looks.” Fingers brushed a chipped teacup. The bell above the door jingled again. “I needed that recipe for Friday’s fair.” A flicker of panic sharpened the glaze on her cheeks. Flour-dusted hands hovered by the mixing bowls. “Maybe someone borrowed it without asking?” She shook her head. “That recipe is my grandmother’s secret.” A sudden crash echoed from the back room. Both froze. “Probably just a stack of pans.” “A stack that belongs to me.” Dust motes danced in amber light. “If we don’t find it soon...” She offered a scone with trembling fingers. “Comfort carbs?” “Always.” He bit in, sweet crumbs at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were already scanning the corners of the bakery for clues. Her heart pounded beneath an apron spattered with flour and worry. Outside, a delivery van rattled by, faint music drifting through the door.