The aroma of cinnamon buns mingled with a hint of something yeasty and comforting. Sunlight, strained through the gingham curtains of ‘The Daily Crumb,’ painted warm squares on the worn wooden floorboards. Outside, the familiar chime above the door announced another arrival. “Morning, Agnes,” a voice chirped, a little breathy from the walk. “Did I miss the last almond croissant again?” “Barely, dear. Popped the very last one aside for you, knowing your habits.” A soft chuckle followed, punctuated by the rustle of a paper bag. “Though I fear your habit might soon encompass half my inventory if you keep coming in this hungry.” “Oh, don’t you worry. It’s a good kind of hunger. And anyway, I don’t think anyone else in this town appreciates the flaky perfection quite like I do. Are you baking more of those cheddar and chive scones today?” “Thinking about it. Old Mr. Henderson from the hardware store requested a dozen for his bridge club. Claims they give him a competitive edge.” “I can believe it. They’re practically magic. Anything new and exciting brewing, besides a fresh pot of coffee?” “Not a peep, thankfully. Just the usual flurry of early risers and their pastry preferences. You know – Mrs. Gable debating between a cruller and a bear claw, young Timothy with his weekly sticky bun.” “Sounds like a perfectly peaceful start to a perfectly peaceful day then.” “Precisely.”