The scent of cinnamon and warm bread hung thick in the air of Bloom’s Bakery, a comforting embrace against the morning chill seeping through the front door. Sunlight, filtered through the display case, cast golden stripes across the worn wooden floor. "Morning, Eleanor," a cheerful voice chimed from behind the counter, followed by the clinking of ceramic on ceramic. "The usual, I presume?" "You presume correctly, Agnes," Eleanor replied, her voice a little gravelly until she'd had her first cup. She leaned against the counter, surveying the newly baked pastries. "Though those lemon poppyseed muffins are looking particularly tempting today. Did you change the recipe?" "Oh, just a touch more zest," Agnes confided, sliding a steaming mug across the counter. "It's a secret, mind you. Can't have everyone knowing my tricks." A small laugh escaped Eleanor. "And what tricks you have. This coffee alone is worth the early rise." She took a grateful sip, the warmth seeping into her hands. "Though I did hear a rather… interesting bit of news on my way here. About old Mr. Henderson." Agnes paused, her hand hovering over a tray of croissants. "Oh? Do tell. My ears are always open for a good story, especially before the rush."